Denying hysterics

     Anxiety often plagues me, even though it probably shouldn't considering I take Vyvanse every morning before my eyelids are even completely open and aware of the world. A big part of my conscience believes—or chooses to believe—that it's just excitement though, and who's to tell me I shouldn't be excited? I am a seventeen year old fairly attractive girl that's not a mother, pregnant, on drugs, in a relationship, and my life is nearly completely void of restriction on what I do when I want to do it. I am assuming so because my parents trust me enough with typical daily-do's that they let me create my own boundaries— which I do. I also don't have any problems in my life that I cannot handle alone, therefore I'm a pretty stable, free person. Or teenager, your pick depending on how much you respect me.

     I've wondered if my anxiety/excitement brews from the fact that I like building up casual events to seem like extravagant evenings that only exist in fairy tales. A perfect example is watching movies at home. For the majority of the time we spend together, a friend of mine comes over at night and we watch at least one movie that we've typically decided on earlier in the afternoon. Throughout the entire day I'll pump myself up about the movie, repeating in my head and out-loud to anyone who's willing to listen about how amazing and kickass this cinematic experience is going to be, even if I think I won't like the movie or if I've already seen it. On occasion, I'll even try to get him pumped about it, by talking about it if we happen to be on the phone, or texting him asking him if he's as excited as I am, silly stuff like that. This is irrelevant to my point, but by the time the movie ha actually made it into the DVD player, I am so ecstatic for something that's really not that exciting that I sit on the edge of the couch for a good fifteen minutes into the movie. I'm almost to the point of being unable to contain myself. Eventually though, whoever I'm watching the movie with gets me to relax and sit back. Regardless of my calmed exterior, I still hop up several times throughout the movie—even if I'm thoroughly enjoying it—finding things to run around the house and do "real quick".

     I learned in my days of active addiction that making small things seem greater makes the greater things seem unrealistic in how wonderful they are. Turning events like going out to get ice cream with my dad every night, something so simple and insignificant to the bigger picture of my life, provided me something to look forward to, and in a sense, a reason to live. I was on a daily suicide mission that was never followed through with, and I firmly believe it's because of things like this that it never was, but because of the build-up I gave this nightly outing, I will remember them as a whole, therefore making them part of the "bigger picture". It helped me a great deal in gathering the strength to dig myself out of the abyss I knew all too well.

     This truly is all over the place, I'm spazzing right now. Some days are worse than others for me as far as anxiety level, or excitement, or whatever. I'm not exactly sure why, I've even exercised today, even if it was only a few mile bike ride before it began to rain too hard for me to ride safely. I am assuming today however it is because of my sugar intake, which has been a lot higher than it normally is. I had two cups of Coke earlier today—I cannot remember the last time I've drank Coke by the way, I don't drink soda anymore—and my dad's girlfriend Lisa brought me iced coffee this afternoon unexpectedly. She said I could save it for later, but it's pretty hard to save iced coffee because for one the ice would melt, and saved coffee in any form never tastes the same later. She also brought me a brownie which I've taken a few nibbles of, which is of course more sugar.

     I had pizza for lunch, another rarity in my diet. I'm sure sugar is somehow in that. Oh and I had cake. Damn, that is a lot of sugar today... I have had half a smart water though, so maybe that could flush some of it out? I definitely need to drink the rest of that water now that my coffee is gone. I know when I am in the process of consuming sugar and I start to slow down with the speed of intake that I've probably had too much, I just wish I had realized that earlier before it took me an hour to drink a small cup of coffee. My body really isn't used to sugary things anymore, and with Vyvanse, or any type of ADD/ADHD medication in my system, it can really send me into overdrive mode where my focus is on the borderline of not even useful anymore because the only thing circulating in my brain is all those organized thoughts already in existence, but then they start becoming warped again and I am in hysterics. It's so close to the abyss of relapse, it's insane, but without the relapse desire. Almost. Sometimes I seriously consider relapse when I'm like this because I know it'd calm me down real quick, but I still recognize that it's not worth it because I haven't been triggered by something I might find convincing enough. I cannot imagine the terrible things that could happen if I were to be like this and be triggered. I feel drunk, high, insane, bi-polar, excited, happy, nervous, anxious, like an addict all at once right now, and I'm hardly any of those things. I feel crazy, but I know it's not my fault. Yet in a sense it is. I just forgot to control myself, let's write that line down in the book of "famous last words", okay? I really did forget though.

     If you took notice, this started out as me trying to construct something that appeared calm and collected, when in reality I have been neither the entire two hours I've been trying to write this and make sense of the topic— denying my anxiety. Towards the end I just let it go freelance style, which something I never do, let alone publish. But I'll be daring—more daring that starting a sentence with "but", which is a big "no-no" in my world of style of grammar rules—and let it be known that sometimes I'm a little crazy too.

Kicking & Screaming

     Like everyone else on the planet likely experiences, every day is a constant, never-ending battle. Songs such as "Love Is A Battlefield" have been written, but it doesn't cease after you get through the romantic battle of the war— at least not for me.

     For years my dad and I have shared interest in the concept of a large tattoo—if he were to get it, stretched across his shoulder blades—outlined in a Victorian font that says "FIGHT", filled in with a metaphorical scene of a man versus angel battle on a field of war. I imagine I think about the idea of it more often than he does, because I feel like what this tattoo would express, if it were to ever exist on skin, is how I feel constantly. I am surrounded by evil men I am sacrificing my "life" to help, yet with unfamiliarity they are trying to kill me (amongst many other reasons). They'd rip off my wings if they could, just to make me appear the same as them. I'm not claiming I'm an angel sent down from heaven,—which I'm not sure if I really believe in anyway, but you get the idea—but I strongly believe in a "class system" of humanity that is predetermined, similar to the common concept and belief of "destiny". I have a belief so deep within me that I find it impossible that I, nor anyone else could have instilled it. I believe I am a saint.

     Knowing that my suffering has the ability help others as long as I process and present it in the correct way keeps me positive in fighting everything that has been thrown at me. I may get angry and upset, or sometimes feel like I don't deserve bad things happening to me, but in reality it's not about me at the end of the day and it never has been. It's about me only to the short extent that I should always be creating a graspable presentation of an event that has recently taken place so that I can help others help themselves.

     Somehow this has transformed into an essay promoting inspiration and uplift to the reader, when that wasn't my original intention. (Not that I am surprised, I am void of any complete selfish desires.) When I first opened this document over an hour ago I was very angry, and I wanted everyone to know what I was sick of fighting and why. As I type these letters now I am even considering not listing anything at all, because I'm not sure if it would help. Although, if people had knowledge that I fought and at the bare minimum survived fairly basic things like they, alongside extremely difficult things that they may never experience, they could relate on a new level with me.

     Perhaps tomorrow.

I don't believe in "don't worry, be happy"

     My entire life I've been advised to always "be happy" with what I have and not complain. Occasionally over the years I've wondered, what about when you don't like what you have, or you want more? Both are perfectly normal desires. No God, government, fellow human, etc., has any right to say you should ignore those emotions as if you don't have them. (If you want something, go get it.) Why should anyone express false gratitude for something they don't like, or settle for something when they know they could obtain better? I see sense in that to a degree. If you receive a sweater you don't favor from your grandmother for holiday, you should probably smile through it and pretend you love it because it's not going to affect your day or life. Personally though, if I'm not satisfied with something that affects my day-to-day, I'm going to change it—not try, big difference—so I am beyond satisfied.

     I do my best to not complain while I do so, and I think I do a pretty damn good job of not. Although I'm made fun of for it—big surprise—I do not typically speak of things that bother me if I believe a conversation about it won't result in a solution. To me, sitting around and talking about things that won't be fixed by talking about it just seems like dwelling. Personally, I feel it is more effective to be quietly upset for thirty minutes and move on as opposed to talking about it for two hours, crying, and then moving on with still no closure to the issue in sight. I suppose not everyone can do that though, partially because recent society has gotten it into their heads that people give a shit about every single thing that crosses their mind when in reality that's why "listeners"—therapists—are still being employed in growing numbers. The average person you talk to won't give a shit that you're having a bad day because you spilled coffee on your blouse and it reminded you of your gang rape when you were fourteen, and blah-fucking-blah the list of trivial events that have nothing to do with each other that you just connected in your mind for some reason goes on and on. It never ends and unfortunately, and I wish everyone did, but no one cares.

     Rereading what I've already written, it honestly sounds like I need to talk to someone that will listen and truly express what's on my mind, but that's just what the instilled ideas that I haven't cleansed myself of yet are telling me I need to believe. I don't want to believe that I need other people to survive, so I don't.

     Or so I'd love to convince myself. If I really believed that I didn't need emotional human interaction, my tattoo wouldn't say what it does. I've always wanted to push through things on my own, that's a trait I was born with, despite all the encouragement to deal with shit on my own and keep quiet.

I want to know what's inside you.

     A long time ago people tried to make me feel like shit for writing about "disturbing" things—my real thoughts—and it worked. (After writing this, I have come to believe that the phrase "disturbing thoughts" derives from the reality that it doesn't bother—"to bother" is the definition of disturb—the thinker, it "disturbs" people that hear about it.) I admit and understand that they didn't make me feel like shit, but that I let their influence ultimately decide that I was going to make myself feel like shit. This really started then I was nine years old so I was only a child, but regardless they were relentless in their goal of getting me to shut up about my personal truths. Recently, I've discovered that people will not listen to anything I say once they get the idea in their head that I'm talking about just them—since when is something I talk about all about someone else? I don't care about you when I'm talking about me.—so I'm going to say right now that I am speaking of my family, friends, peers, and school system. Wade into one of those pools if you belong there, and for the first time in your life of knowing me, listen up to what I have to say.

     I cannot and do not blame you for my choices and actions, but I can fairly claim that you assisted me in the path I took of leading myself towards choices of suggestions you implied. I'll start with the one highest on the scale of seriousness— my addiction to self mutilation. Of course no one chose that for me, I was the one that decided to pick up pliers the first time I put a toe in that ocean. However, by telling me for years to shut up and not express my thoughts that disturbed you, I was taught that no one cared and no one wanted to hear about it. Therefore, I inflicted the pain I felt within upon myself. As led to believe, I was the one at fault, and the one that is supposed to deal with it privately and silently. Oh the confusion that drove me towards once my thoughts became visible in a way that wasn't the ill-advised words, all of a sudden people showed concern and pointed more fingers in wonder at why I never spoke about anything going on in my head. (What the fuck? It was too late.)

     I'm sick and tired of being pushed into the ground amongst worms. People have to get very sick (and tired) of something before they refuse to stand—or lie down in this case—for it any longer. This day has come for me way too late in my life, but regardless it has come, and it's probably as unexpected as Christ's second coming will be (insert a ha-ha).

     Depression hits me at times, but I'm not depressed all the time. Although, my mind has been forever tainted, and is constantly clouded with sick thoughts and ideas because I suffer from a very serious addiction that is barely recognized in current society. People consider disorders as reasons for my life-long "depression", but in reality I have been self mutilating since I was five years old. That's kindergarten, if you're curious. My point is that I have been ill with addiction from the age that my words started making sense and people could understand me, so they have come to believe that I was born with something wrong, when in actuality I wasn't.

     Due to recent depression, I contemplate suicide often. As Nietzsche explained better than I ever could, "The thought of suicide is a powerful solace: by means of it one gets through many a bad night." It's comforting to consider suicide in the midst of crying fits, because it gives me the sense of having another option. Deep down I know that for me, personally, my life is of too great value that it's not a realistic option. Still the fact remains that by simply pretending that I could make such a selfish decision, it sometimes helps me drift into sleep, which is ultimately the goal of crying after the sun has set.

     Without editing and logical explanation for why some of these things could never be followed through with, I think hard and often about: the indescribable feeling and sight of slicing my skin open again, how great relapse would be as a wonderful finale for this clean time in my life, locations of possible self mutilation in the future, words and phrases I would want to cut into my body if I ever chose to again, ways I could kill myself so my body isn't ruined for my funeral, planning specific details of said funeral such as location, my outfit, and attendees, spitting on my birth mother's face at her funeral if she were to ever commit suicide, and physically beating her body into the ground now as she stands live and well. The list goes on, but I don't believe it matters if you speak about things you'll never follow through with—except spitting on my birth mother's face, that will happen at her funeral even if it's not the result of a self-inflicted death—despite how fucked up they may be, and it doesn't scare me. It scares other people. I've written all of this before, and I never published it for the world to read. I am not afraid.

20 Life Lessons I Learned in My 20's: #20

20. Remember, change happens for a reason.  Roll with it.  It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it.

(From www.marcandangel.com)

     Applicable? You bet. My "love life" the past few weeks—even though I am not even close to love, but you know the term—can be summed up in this single life lesson. Things have clearly changed, but I cannot grasp the reason why. The change is so foreign that it's led me to believe there has to be some sort of reason besides the obvious, even though I strongly disbelieve in the idea of things happening for a reason. I am thinking that the reason lies within the minds of the parties involved, that maybe perhaps they have a reason that I just haven't been let in on yet. Regardless, I never expected anything like this to ever happen, and when I say ever, I mean ever. I am surprised everyday when I wake up that my life has become what it has, but it still provides great material for awkward, sometimes depressing jokes about my life that I'm so good at cracking.

     I'll be told that I just need to get over the idea of "reasons" because it's juvenile, and I will. I'm done, as I put the period on this sentence. It really is just as simple as that. In any case, my "problems" could always be worse. Depression could cloud my mind that no one finds me attractive, fun, cool, etc., as opposed to just feeling dumb for thinking certain thoughts or being in weird situations every now and then with people I didn't expect. Thus is part of growing into being a real woman, but I'm not going to let myself take the blame for things that just happen to occur. That's a big problem girl's have—they take the blame for just having feelings.

     I think I just got a peek at why this will all be worth it.

Place of mentality

     A spectator's glimpse into my mind isn't the same as asking me personally about where I'm at mentally.

     Place of mentality is something that I believe is crucial to frequently inquire children about. Unfortunately however, parents habitually waste their time badgering their children about insignificant details of who they were with that night, and where. Of course you should always know where your children are and who they are with, but with age and maturity, the questions should gradually ease at a respectful pace of growth.

     Back to my point, I haven't been this depressed in years, I actually haven't been this depressed since I was in my prime years of self mutilation addiction. The desire to hunt for a razor blade pangs at my sides with every heavy half-breath that lifts my rib cage, and only causes additional physically painful sobs to ensue while I mentally fight the nearly impossible battle of being sucked back into the darkness. Do you really know how hard it is to not give into something your mind is compelling you do?

     I'm at the point now where one of the reasons I want to relapse is just because it'd make some actual sense. I don't understand how I can be miserable to this extreme degree on a daily basis without self mutilation co-existing within my life.

     I'm just tired of people having the idea in their head that reading COSA18 is the same thing as asking me how I'm really doing. Reading this doesn't count as a conversation at all, especially if you never bring up the topic you read about. Also, poking fun at or taking lightly anything I've blogged or Tweeted about is completely heartless. If anything were to stop me, it'd be people I care about making a joke out of me.

Exhaustion

How tired does one have to be before they sleep forever?

     I'm so tired of feeling and being homeless, it's so emotionally draining. I could go back "home"--my father's house--but things haven't been the same since I first completely spoke my mind about the real situation going on there. I know I should be grateful for even having a roof over my head as an option, but everyone is fully aware that when it comes to personal problems, people are very selfish, and could care little about starving, homeless children in foreign countries. It's absolutely necessary though to be selfish while trying to solve problems, otherwise they're only ever going to be half-solved at best. This is one of those times for me. This my life's problems, and I'm trying to deal with in a healthy manner. Any attempts made to make me feel guilty will never phase me, guilt doesn't exist in my persona. Regardless, guilt never changes anyone's minds anyway, it only makes them shut up for a little while.

     I'm so tired of my family treating me like the Elmer's glue that should hold us together. If they didn't realize it in grade school, Elmer's glue isn't the most reliable glue. Not that it doesn't try to make things stick together, it's just not strong enough to bear heavy burdens outside it's capabilities, but no one can blame Elmer. It wasn't created to hold things beyond it's realm of thin printer paper together. I am a lot like Elmer's glue, in the sense that it's not my responsibility to hold together relationships I'm not in, and to try and control chaos--which is impossible, by the way. I'm a responsible person, but I'll be damned if I pick up other's responsibilities when they possess the power to handle them.

     After writing this, it sounds to me like the people around me are weakening, and because I'm the stronger individual now, trying to nudge me into the direction of paying them back for all the help they provided me over my crucial years of growth by fixing and taking control of their problems. Besides being an impossibility, that's just not going to happen. My focus is, and will always remain, on education and awareness of self mutilation addiction, and what I have to do or sacrifice to get there.

Life in the Fast Lane

     I'm rarely asked questions that have personal significance. It's always very flattering that someone cares enough about me to inquire about something other than self mutilation, local drama, or what event I'm going to be at next. While those topics are wonderful to casually converse about, that doesn't express that the questioner cares about anything deeper than the subject matter. I always strive take the opportunity of a great question having been asked to come up with a well thought-out response.

     "If you could be doing anything right now, what would you be doing?" A fairly basic question, and an answer lacking effort would be one of life's many simple joys. "Sleeping", "eating Chinese", or "riding a roller coaster" are all examples of answers that clearly show that little thought had been put into them.

     When asked this tonight, something very specific instantly filled my head with wishful visions. During this leg of my journey of turning eighteen, a lot of things are changing around me and within me. Such events have placed me into a constant, thought-progressive spot deep within an unexplored area of my mind. At a healthy pace, I'm working on digging my way back out and into a normal state. All is part of the process of experiencing, suffering, and most importantly learning from things that will assist me in transforming myself into a productive adult, when that time comes.

     Speeding through the softly building-illuminated streets of New York City in a white Maserati, is where I would be at this very moment. No other cars around, just me driving and a man who's company I enjoy next to me, with his hand resting on my thigh in a friendly manner. I don't want to love him; that just complicates things. My thoughts would be diverted to my love for him, and that's not part of my perfect vision. No, I just want interest with the tighter grip on the leash. My thoughts can focus on the night, on me, and on my aspirations. Like everything connected to me, he is a personal accessory, and I am just taking him along for the ride.

"Those who shall be a lamp unto themselves...they shall reach the topmost height." - Buddha

Lost in gravity.

     I haven't been "here" often, and I think that's my biggest problem. I've just been in my head. Sure, physically I've been existing and acting as a part of daily society doing day-to-day activities with the rest of the world, but regardless, for a while I haven't been majorly immersed in the events taking place around me. "I am a part of all I have seen", but how big of a part have I played? Lately, hardly a role at all, and the disappointment isn't even accountable for blame.

     Perhaps if I start forcing myself into the role of the biggest star--I am a Leo after all--I won't be let down as often. I won't feel compelled to complain on a near daily basis about always being "second favored" in people's opinions. I know I will never possess the ability to change people's minds on whim, but if presenting ideas to be adopted won't work, I'll force myself into the place I want to be.

     And that is exactly what I'm going to do.

"Criticism is easily avoided by saying nothing, doing nothing, and being nothing." - Aristotle 

"Love yourself first and everything else falls into line. You really have to love yourself to get anything done in this world." - Lucille Ball 

"Take care of the luxuries and the necessities will take care of themselves." - Dorothy Parker 

"How many cares one loses when one decides not to be something but to be someone." - Coco Chanel 

Gravity

     The only thing I can hear is the faint clicking of a creature that's only alive every seven years and how this gravity is affecting me. Surrender I did, but now what? Tugging from the bottom is my fate for all of eternity. Without, how would I be where I am now? I think they know this better than I. If angels shall exist, THEY are a better depiction of them than any religion has ever offered me. That is the biggest worldly shame I can think of right now.

     I hope I can move on to do the greater good for a greater number. I'll sacrifice my social life and my friendships to do what needs to be done before my time is up. My heart is in Orlando, but my mind is elsewhere.

     My mind always wins, even if that means I have to miss you.