Today I was reading through a bunch of my old blog posts and I came across one titled “Level 8”. In it, I talked about how I had been dealing with mental issues for about eight years. It was published on December 21,2014. It’s now December 21, 2015. So now, I’ve been dealing with mental issues for about nine years. It’s funny how time passes without you even realizing it. I vividly remember writing that old blog post. Feels like it was just a few weeks ago. But it’s literally been an entire year. And that summarizes my thoughts on what kind of year 2015 has been. It’s almost over already… What happened?
Mess of a Human Being
It’s been a bad few days, and I’m not feeling too good. My guess is it’s mostly just because of exhaustion. But whatever. I’ve been getting progressively lower over the past few days. I have today off which I am very thankful for. However, I can’t just sleep all day and eat mac’n’cheese like I want to. Because hey! Having no work today gives me no excuse to run away from my responsibilities at home. Not that those responsibilities are that hard. I just don’t have any motivation, so they seem insurmountable. Here’s my list for today: Bake, clean room, hang pictures, wash bedding, bathe my dog, aaaannd I think that’s it. Easy peasy right? I even already have the baking done, and my sheets are in the wash. But no, it’s not easy peasy still, because I’m tired and sad and cranky and I don’t want to do any more things today. My room has been a disaster area that I’ve been putting off cleaning for well over a month. It’s ridiculous. I don’t like when it looks like that. It takes me forever to find my clothes. It looks messy and screams at me that I don’t have my shit together. Which I don’t. I never used to care about how my room looked. Now that I do though, it somehow seems like even more of a chore to clean it up. With every unmatched sock I pick up, it’s another slap to my face saying that I am a mess of a human being. I know this sounds dramatic, but it’s how I’m feeling right now, so shut up. Anyway. I feel like crap, so I’m gonna go try to eat something semi healthy and see if that helps. Go me.
I Wouldn’t Be Here If I Didn’t Have Wry Humor
I’m at a point in life where quite a few of my age group are getting married. Some even have kids. This is a new thing for me. When you’re fourteen, your age group isn’t popping out chilluns. I’m twenty now and this is something I’m finding that I need to adjust to. It’s okay. It’s okay that these people are finding love and starting families. It’s great even. It’s also okay that I’m alone. It’s okay that I haven’t even so much as held a boy’s hand since I was sixteen years old. It’s okay. But it’s really not okay. I feel like there’s something wrong with me. It seems like everybody around me is hooking up, dating, engaged, or married. Everybody has a person that they spend their time with and laugh with and yada yada yada. I don’t have that person. I don’t even have a friend that I can just call up and say, “Hey, come get ice cream with me.”, because my only friend lives three hours away. I know she’s doing well there though, so I can’t be mad at her for that. I do miss her though. Nevertheless. I don’t have that person that I can just hang out with and be myself with and it sucks and I’m lonely and this is an atrocious sentence. I just got back today from vacation with my mom. I had a blast. I feel like I’m slighting my time with her by feeling this way now. Basically I am just a ball of guilt, loneliness, anxiety, and just general depression. It’s super fun.
The Face Of My Sickness
I feel very alone right now. I don’t like it. But I don’t really want to be near anybody either. I’m just… I’m depressed. I am still depressed, years after I thought I was getting better. There’s something wrong with me. There’s something in my head, in my heart, in my soul, that is WRONG. Because I revel in this. I’m drowning, but I feel alive. This is the only time I feel. I might be laughing with you, I might be having a great time, I might be smiling so wide it hurts my face. And I’ve come to realize that I’m not faking those times. I’m not, I swear. But underneath those times, I am still deeply aware of my depression, my anxiety. I know that it’s there. It’s not lurking or waiting. It just exists. I push it to the side so I can just keep on trucking. Keep on keeping on. Because that’s all I’m doing. And then. Then when I let my guard down, when I let things affect me, it crawls out of it’s tight corner and yawns, grateful for the chance to stretch again. It purrs, and I stroke down its body. I missed it. I missed the feeling of it curling around me. Enveloping me. When it’s there with me, I feel. Even if it’s only pain and sorrow, I’m finally feeling something deeply. And yet. And yet, as I look in the mirror, I see these eyes staring back at me. Dull, deep-set, dark. Dead. I look at the space above my shoulder, for I can feel a presence resting there, and I see these eyes. Shining, bulbous, bright. Alive. Is this the face of my sickness? Ugly, but smiling, baring hooked fangs. Teeming with the power it drains from me. Is this my monster? It roars me into submission again, and underwater I go. Drowning. But alive.
I Try
I can’t do this. I’m so tired. I’m so sad. I’m so ready to be done. I want to stop trying. I’m sick of putting forth so much effort into being happy and bubbly. Every day, I try. I try and I try and I try. Try to be better. Try to get through. Try to suck it up. Try to handle it. Try to start good habits. I try so hard. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but if you ever knew just how freaking hard I TRY, you’d never ask another thing of me.
Uncleverbot
I just realized that people probably see my username “uncleverbot” as “uncle verbot”… If you have ever wondered, that’s not what it’s supposed to be. It’s supposed to be “un-cleverbot”. Cleverbot is an online thing. Just look it up. It’s stupid and frustrating, and I just thought adding an “un” on there would be funny. Stupid me didn’t realize it would make me look like a middle aged man. I’m actually a girl in my early twenties. Oops.
Daily Rambling #1
Tonight I went to catechism class for the first class of the year. It was interesting. Here, lemme give you some background first. Looking back, the exchange between me and my parents on the subject was actually pretty ridiculous and humorous. I summarized a little.
Days Ago:
- Parents- “carly, u is planning on goin 2 catechism rite?”
- Me- “idk. not shure if i’m feelin it.”
- Parents- *talks about faith and asks lots of questions*
- Me- *cries lots cuz i can’t handle questions*
Today At Lunch:
- Parents- “so u is goin to catechism rite?”
- Me- “idk”
- Parents- *don’t have time to talk bout it*
- Me- *promptly forgets*
Today at 9:01pm(catechism starts at 9)
- Me- *playing with ipod*
- Mom- CARLY. *with angry eyes*
- Me- *bewildered*
- Mom- CATECHISM.
- Me- *thinks, oh shit*
- Mom-GO. RUN.
- Me- *scrambles in fear* “but ma, i don’t wanna walk in late”
- Mom- “it’s yur own fault u r late” *more angry eyes*
- Me- *brain aneurysm* “i FORGOT. i’m SORRY” *says like a snot*
- Me- *goes to catechism and ends up being fine*
So there ya have it. I may have overreacted a bit, but it was rather infuriating at the time. I was pissed that my mom apparently thought that I had just ignored catechism on purpose. Then I remembered that I have indeed done that in the past, so she was pretty well justified in thinking that. Whoops. Anyway, so the class itself was fine, I suppose. My pastor teaches it, and he’s a fairly nice dude. As soon as the class starts though, he’s like, “heyo, this class is gonna be in lecture style” and then he proceeds to ask a bunch of questions about names and dates that we all learned a year to several years ago. And it’s not like we ever actually learned those names and dates. We all just have them written down somewhere in an old notebook. Does he honestly think that we remember what year Guido de Bres threw the creed over the wall of the castle of Tournai? No. Dude. We don’t remember that. Me especially. I can’t remember names and dates even if I study. Anyway, he carried on with the lecture, and I learned some interesting tidbits. Then I came home and talked about Montana with my parents. And now I’m writing this with my dog on my lap. Riveting stuff, huh? I know this isn’t my standard of late, but I would like to get into writing more daily, whether I’m feeling darkly poetic or not. So here it is. Daily Rambling #1. Enjoy.
i don’t feel like capitalizing all this shit
I have a lot of feelings right now, but I’m actually annoying myself whenever I try to write them out. So I’ll just stick with this. I’m scared. Maybe I’ll write more about this tomorrow or something. I just don’t have the energy. I will, however, say that you should all go listen to “Truce” by twenty one pilots. Just do it. It helps.
Medicated Detox
My blood is moving slow. It makes it’s way through my veins at a glacial pace. It gets a little thicker with each day. My own mind is poison to me, it makes my blood congeal. My own brain, the one thing that’s supposed to keep me alive, has turned away from me, given me the cold shoulder. I want my medication back. No, I don’t. Yes, I do. I don’t want to put my hope in it. I just want to feel control. I need that power back. I could take all these and end it. I could take one a day and be broken. Maybe I could mend myself. It’s my decision. The drugs could be my detox. They could cure my sickness. They could clear my mind. They could make that monsters go away. They could make me even worse. I just want to feel like I’m doing something.
Who’s Heart?
I’m searching for community. I feel the need to be a part of all these cool things, but my religion/family would never approve. I want tattoos. I want piercings. I want crazy hair. I want to go to concerts. I want to go to Comic Con. I want to get into these things, but I also want to not be shunned by everybody I love, ya know? I know the things I want are wrong in the eyes of God, but I just plain wish they weren’t. Because I’ve wanted these things my entire life. Even as a small child, with no one in my life to influence me to think that way, I wanted all those things. But I can never have them. Because, while I live under my parents roof, I want to respect their wishes. And because even when I do move out, they’d still never approve. My own dad would probably see me as a freak. He doesn’t say things like that so much around me anymore, because he knows I wish he wouldn’t, but he’d probably be thinking it, heart breaking all the while. So, I guess it comes down to who’s heart am I going to break? Their’s or my own?
moodswingsandcrudethings 