No picture on this one. I can't think of one that would fit, and I really can't be bothered right now. I should be sleeping, but my brain will not stop whirling and diving into self-destroying circles. This blog is for me, and so I will use it and hope it will help me get some sleep.
Part of my personality defects lies in my inability to let the past go. I hold on to things for a long time. It's stupid, but it's not something I have ever been able to control. Things that happened years ago still find a way of snaking around back to me. It drives me utterly batshit.
But, I suppose I am a product of the things that still bother me, and perhaps they still have a hold on my current mental condition. Certainly they are a big part of why I am socially retarded.
To understand, my dear readers (my roommate, and the ginger), a little more about me, let's take a look at specific things that bother me today.
I had a shitty social life as a child
I am not referring to anything my parents did, no. They both loved me and I grew up in a stable home. I had a big brother who did what all big brother's do. My family has nothing to do with this.
I honestly can't remember a time when I wasn't painfully shy. I know there had to have been a point when I was a wee little fat kid (well I still am a fat kid) in elementary school that I still stubbornly held on to the hope that I might be capable of making friends. I had a few off-and-on friends.
I also had entire groups of kids calling me names. I didn't have a thick of enough skin, and it's ruined me for life, I think. I never got the thick skin my parents told me I needed. I grew and we went from name calling to other things.
Shoes thrown at me in gym class. Nails dug into my arm. Someone pushing me down the concrete stairs on the way to the buses--and then so many people laughing when I started to cry. (It's funny when the fat girl falls, right?) Things thrown at me while I was on the bus until I sat in the front. Then things thrown at me from the windows of the bus while it was pulling away.
Kids laughing when I destroyed my left knee.
Boys betting each other to ask the fat chick out as some big joke. The boy I liked in high school agreeing--after I got the courage to ask him--to go to that stupid fucking Winter Dance with me only because he knew my hotter friend was going. The group of kids who took my walker--I have no balance and couldn't use crutches at that point--and threw it into the middle of the cafeteria after I had surgery.
For my entire life, my peers essentially told me I was shit. And I believed it. It is my fault for believing it. It is my fault for still believing it. But please refer to my previous entry about depression. This, too, is like drowning.
I have this bad habit of getting really attached to people who treat me like a human being--especially those of the opposite gender. I think that plays a large part in why I liked the boys I did in high school. It's why I make such a big deal out of something so simple as a guy opening a door for me. It's nice to be looked at as a person, instead of a big steaming sack of shit. Which is how I think the rest of the world sees me.
Hell, I don't even like me. I hate the person I am and the person I'm becoming. I still don't know how to behave around people, and I have a huge disliking for social gatherings. I would rather hide in my car during my lunch break and read than run the risk of having to try to gather what little scraps of social ability I have to jump into a conversation. Large groups of people make me nervous.
I was the type of kid who, at recess, would find a corner to read. My parents would tell me to go outside, and I'd take my book and climb a tree to read out there. Trying to make friends and be active was too much. Far too much.
During my last year of college, I'd hit the gym with my best friend. I couldn't have done it without her, because I couldn't stand the thought of being around so many people like that. The fuck puppets who thought I was disgusting because I'm so fat--and I am disgusting--yet also looked at me like I was a moron for trying to loose weight in front of their delicate eyes.
Honestly, even if I was skinnier, I wouldn't be happier. I would still have this shit personality, and this stupid fucking mental problem. It's a problem that sucks the life out of me and has me dwell on shit that happened long ago. I hate that I can't seem to be happy. Even when I'm having a good time, it's there. Yesterday I was perfectly happy at my friend's house, and then I almost cried over something stupid. It was instant.
I hate myself. I absolutely hate myself. I am twenty-two fucking years old, college educated, and gainfully employed AND I HATE MYSELF.
I always have.
And right now, I feel like I'm losing the fight.
No comments:
Post a Comment