7/22/2022

I know I haven’t written much in a while.  I guess I just got tired of writing the same thing over and over. . . complaining about my depression, my BF.  I think I’ll try to write about other things.  I don’t really know what to say.  There’s so much I could get into, but I don’t even know where to start.

I was thinking about something last night.  It’s about the way I think.  I don’t know if anyone else has this problem, but most of the time, I always feel like I’m doing something wrong.  No matter what it is, even if I do really know I’m doing something right, I still feel like I’m doing it wrong.  The most basic tasks, I constantly question myself, “Am I doing this wrong?  Is there a better way I’m supposed to be doing it?”  At work I feel that way all the time.  Everything I do, I keep telling myself, “I think I’m doing this wrong.”  Even if I’m really not.  I found out that way of thinking comes from the way you were treated in childhood.  I always felt like I was doing something wrong.  I had to walk on eggshells around my dad.  He was always yelling at me for thing smallest things.  He would yell at me for not knowing something that children just don’t know yet.  He would say something like, “You’re not supposed to do that!”  Or “You’re supposed to do it this way!”  And there was no way I could have known  it until he told me.  So now everything I do, I feel like I’m wrong.  I’m not sure if I really explained all that right.  Hahah!  You see??!!   So basically, I feel like this is something seriously wrong with me that I don’t know how to fix.  And now I’m with someone who treats me the same way. . . pointing out all the things I do wrong (or the things I don’t do the way he does it).  It’s exhausting.

I can’t remember all the rules and shit that I’m supposed to do for everything in our apartment.  There is a certain way I’m supposed to shower.  You know I haven’t been able to shave my legs in months because I can’t take a shower long enough to do it.  He gets pissed about water usage, I guess, and hot showers making the apartment hot, but I’m the one who fucking pays for it.  I say if I want to pay to take a longer shower, I should be able to do it.  I could shave my legs later when I’m not taking a shower, I guess, but by that time, I’m too exhausted, and it doesn’t fucking matter anymore.  There’s a certain way to walk around stuff, a certain place to put stuff, there’s a certain way to close the door, and a certain lock I’m supposed to use. . . and fuck me if I accidently break something or knock something over. . . then I’m just irresponsible and I need to learn to watch where I’m going and what I’m doing.  Why can’t I just be more careful?  Why am I so clumsy?  Why do I make noise and drop things while he’s trying to sleep?!  I don’t mean to, but it doesn’t matter.

Fuck, I need a drink.