Like a good neighbor.

To say I’m stressed is an understatement. Every day is a constant battle. Constant battle. Just fighting, fighting, fighting.

God, why does my mind go blank at this prompt? What the fuck happened to me? I have this constant stream of consciousness and now.. what?

Like trying to recall a moment, but the moment has passed. This moment is one of relief, a brief reprieve before the next. I have this massive urge to speak in riddles, as if the naked truth isn’t enough.

The naked truth.

I got up at 7, like I always do. Fed the cats, ate breakfast. I wanted to start studying at 8 or 9. Library opens at nine. What happened? Distracted? Still doesn’t feel like the words are enough. I couldn’t STOP being distracted. Like the revenge of apathy, the silent killer. But it wasn’t apathy. I kept glancing at the time. “Oh, I’ll go then.” “Oh, I’ll go in five minutes.” Time passes, time passes. I was supposed to do a take-home quiz. A fucking time-home quiz. I had ample time to do it. I tried on two separate occasions to do it.

Perhaps my hesitancy to write is because this pages are strewn with failure. I was supposed to be better than this. Old narrowed eyes glaring at me. Of course, I know it’s all mostly internal. But it doesn’t stop the feeling. How many failures have I had? A life full of potential, missed opportunities, and lots of running from my problems. Fight or flight, I used to always pick flight. I’ve gotten better, I suppose. I now am painfully aware of the negativity that’s spewing from me. Doubly bad is I’m aware of the judgement that comes from being negative. “Stop being negative, what the fuck, you’re better than that.” A spiral.

I felt so weak the other day. Trying to find the inner strength to keep going. I tried to scream, to summon anger. “COME ON, DAMN YOU, COME ON!” I got up to get myself a drink of water from the kitchen. Summon the strength, I thought. I got halfway into the kitchen and slumped against the stool a weeping mess. I couldn’t “just” summon the strength. I couldn’t “just” be okay. Just the same as, those years ago, I couldn’t “just” do all the things I needed to do.

The laughing, the perceived laughing of those not in my life anymore. Knowing it’s in my head doesn’t make it go away. The perceived judgement.

I know to fight the negativity. I know that clinging to positive words I can’t feel DOES make a difference. But boy does not certainly not feel like it most of the time.

I just wanted to be okay. Just okay. Do this with dignity and grace. Head held high, with style. Instead it feels like I’m just falling down the stairs. I am fucking walking to Mordor to purge my demons. The cost may just be my sanity, I don’t know. I know how it feels to taste victory. To taste control of one’s life. That taste of accomplishment after all the shit’s over.

I also know the unexpected depression that follows a lack of a driving force in one’s life. You think everything should be happy because you reached that mini-goal of a larger plan. Then you’re fucking depressed because you don’t know what to do with yourself and all that extra time.

A question of things being wrong. I stopped feeling sane a long time ago. A part of me has accepted that there’s something wrong with my head, has been for a long time. I thought that accepting flaws was just part of the process. Embrace them, as Cliff would say, whereas the old me wanted, in vain, to vanquish them. But what if this is just resigning myself to negativity? Wouldn’t that be ironic? Accepting our fate to pills is one thing. Believing ourselves critically flawed is another. Because most days I do feel pretty fucked up in the head. It’s a constant discussion with my brain that teeters on madness. Hey you up there, stop that. Stop being mean to me. Hey, stop making me want to cry for absolutely no reason. Hey, we have shit to do and we could NOT have panic attacks, we’d get shit done and we’d have NO REASON TO PANIC. I’m to believe this is normal? I don’t doubt everybody struggles, but this much? How much of a lie does society weave that everybody is like this but it’s not out in the open? Why aren’t people just randomly breaking down in tears for everybody to see? I’m not alone in this, but we as a sect certainly feel alone at times.

I keep looking back over my writings for wisdom. A constant “What the fuck happened and how did I deal with this?” Everything’s a riddle, even to me. I’m hard-pressed to find rambling writings where I’m actually OKAY. I know I can ramble, holy hell. When I get that facet of mania going, I’m a goddamned goofball. But I suppose it’s only natural that I’d plop down here when something’s wrong. Never judge someone by a diary of sadness, for who ever says, “God, this day was so awesome, I need to document it!” We’re far more motivated to reach that twitching point of wanting to punch the universe in the face when we write.

Or perhaps I’m just talking about myself and projecting myself onto the universe. Probably. Yeah. Plenty of people write about nice things.

An overcompensation by my sense of humor. I’ve been above baseline. I KNOW I have. But I’m so terrified of dropping below it that I’ve compensated by my ability to make puns out of EVERYTHING. Being serious is depressing. I HAVE to be goofy. I am fucking emo weird al.

That feels like I got something across. Always afraid I’m not being heard. In part because I can’t hear other people as well. Like being in an alien world without a universal translator. I speak strongly out of fear that the words aren’t enough. It’s why I’m so melodramatic. Perhaps when I have money, someone with some letters having their name can tell me WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME. Everybody’s got some “disorder” these days. Every fucking person. How did this fucking race survive if so many are “flawed”? Fuck all this, maybe there’s nothing “wrong” with me at all. Maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I’m supposed to be. Let’s not deny the curse of intelligence. Not as an arrogant bastard, but the self-awareness of humans. How can you NOT be self-aware of your existence and not be fucked up in the head a little?

I didn’t get to the library until 11 AM. I didn’t finish that take-home quiz, but I did what I could. I ended up being a full-hour late to hand it in and take the test (which I was aware of). And then something unexpected happened. The professor said I could have extra time. My first thought in my head was “I don’t fucking deserve that! I brought this shit on myself. This is MY fault. I don’t deserve that kind of pity. I deserve to fail with the effort I’ve put in. Don’t give me special treatment, grade me based on what I’ve put forth!” My second thought.. well. It made me want to cry, that random act of kindness. I still probably failed, but it could have been worse. I contemplated skipping both classes, which would have been REALLY BAD self-sabotage. I thought of the semester I failed all my classes, and how I just… gave up. I have yet to actually complete a full assignment this semester, but I’ve handed in a lot of half-assignments. I’m fucking trying, okay?

She said I should drop a class, because I’m taking too much.

Just.

Holy hell. Validation.<BR>

Complete validation.

Some professors are total dicks who have these insane standards and don’t think we’re people. And then there are others who respect THIS SHIT IS HARD. She’s a nice professor, I like her class, and I SHOULD be able to stick it out.

I was late for my next class, but it ended up being okay. Nothing like a group presentation we didn’t rehearse. Somewhat made me less nervous, since I figured at worst I’d just start crying. Which, once I was in the classroom, I realized I wasn’t going to just start crying in front of the class.

I gotta drop something, because I won’t make it otherwise. So much for charging into battle, head-high. But enough hard-ons. (I’m being hard on myself. I always forget people don’t know the five steps it took my brain in .05 seconds to reach my current thought.) I’m failing a lot, but failing means I’m trying. I’m attempting. I have plenty of days where i just CAN’T, and that’s okay.

The thing with negativity is I feel I HAVE to get it out of my system. I can’t just bottle it. It’s like any other emotion. I’m fucking frustrated with myself, but once it’s all strewn into the light, that’s when I can say, “And fuck all that, I still got this far. And it’s far from over.”

I was once told I express things that people feel but could never find the words for. And really, I have been expressing myself a lot lately, just not writing it specifically here. You know how it is when you have a moment, you go BLARGH on someone, and then feel a little “Uh, I’m not recounting that” when someone who genuinely does care wants to hear it again. There was a time when this WAS my only venting place and I’m forever grateful for that. Like an old, reliable friend.

And boy can I be a shitty friend.