Don't worry it's not that bad.
Anyway.
So maybe I just quit writing. Or maybe you quit telling me you're going to read and respond if you're not really going to. I don't handle it well. Every time something like this happens (and not just with you) I start to question: 'Did I do something? Are they mad? What could I have done? Damn, I suck!' and on and on. It makes no sense, I know that, but I still do it. Heck, last week I skipped church because I hadn't heard anything about worship rehearsal and so I start with 'Well they must not want me to play. No surprise I'm not that good lately and my voice has been effected by all this purging. Still that's really not fair; they should have told me.' and blah blah blah.
So. Given that I do this often enough without your help... could you just quit? Or at least, if it's just that your busy, let me know you're still intending to get back to me? Or if you are too overwhelmed, that's alright you know. I know this is unreasonable and stupid. But I just can't help it. I'm Borderline. However reluctantly.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Identity Disturbance
A couple of my musings as of late seem to fall under the same theme. With that in mind I have decided to spare you all several separate posts on essentially the same thing and combine them in to one, longer post. Aren't you lucky ;)
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Pieces
Right now I feel a little like I am trying to put together a puzzle (which, by the way, is one of my least favorite past times). Never having been very good at them I am easily frustrated because I am making almost no headway at all. There's a reason for that, I have discovered. It seems that what I have been given to work with is not one whole puzzle. It feels as if I have been given a box of mismatched pieces. Wooden pieces, cardboard pieces, foam pieces. Big, small, and in between. Round and square edges. As you might have guessed it doesn't work very well. Oh some of the pieces match. There's an eye here, a watering can there. But there's nothing with which to make a picture. What makes it that much worse is that the puzzle and the jumble of mismatched pieces is my life. I'm trying to put together a (WHOLE, WORKING) person from this mish-mosh of things and I have no idea how to do it. And at this time, it seems, I am doing it mostly on my own.
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What I Really Need
Sometimes I think what I really need is a stylist, not a therapist. In my attempt to piece together an identity I keep landing on my 'look'. I don't know, it's almost as if I feel that if I can get a handle on that it will help somehow. I believe in a previous post I mentioned that I recently came to the conclusion that my brother, sister, and I had little choice but to become the people we did and that in my case at least it is not necessarily who I am. And that includes 'look'. Mine, before, was what I have referred to as 'regionally casual' (the region would be 'identifying information' which I try to keep to a minimum). It fit with my family. But it doesn't seem to have fit with me. I know how to dress that part. I know how to act that part. But I think, I feel that it is simply that. A part. Just another Mask. And I'm so tired of masks. They serve a purpose, I know, but can I be honest? They hurt. They really do. Like smiling can hurt (How Smiling Can Hurt) so can employing a mask.
Only problem now is... having come to the conclusion that I am not this 'regionally casual' person... who am I? I have some of those pieces. I love my Converse (I won't tell you how many pair I own; I am sure there are people with more but it's still pretty sad in my opinion). My glasses (which I recently decided I liked the look of better than my contacts) are rectangular, black, and bold. My bangs (also a new discovery) are cut low and (mostly) straight across (they get a little longer as they go out, if you understand my meaning). But for the most part I have no real clue and no idea how to figure it all out. I have to stumble across it, it seems, and that could very well take too long.
*shakes head* It sounds so absolutely trivial and yet it feels so very vital...
__________________________________________________________________
Pieces
Right now I feel a little like I am trying to put together a puzzle (which, by the way, is one of my least favorite past times). Never having been very good at them I am easily frustrated because I am making almost no headway at all. There's a reason for that, I have discovered. It seems that what I have been given to work with is not one whole puzzle. It feels as if I have been given a box of mismatched pieces. Wooden pieces, cardboard pieces, foam pieces. Big, small, and in between. Round and square edges. As you might have guessed it doesn't work very well. Oh some of the pieces match. There's an eye here, a watering can there. But there's nothing with which to make a picture. What makes it that much worse is that the puzzle and the jumble of mismatched pieces is my life. I'm trying to put together a (WHOLE, WORKING) person from this mish-mosh of things and I have no idea how to do it. And at this time, it seems, I am doing it mostly on my own.
_______________________________________________________________
What I Really Need
Sometimes I think what I really need is a stylist, not a therapist. In my attempt to piece together an identity I keep landing on my 'look'. I don't know, it's almost as if I feel that if I can get a handle on that it will help somehow. I believe in a previous post I mentioned that I recently came to the conclusion that my brother, sister, and I had little choice but to become the people we did and that in my case at least it is not necessarily who I am. And that includes 'look'. Mine, before, was what I have referred to as 'regionally casual' (the region would be 'identifying information' which I try to keep to a minimum). It fit with my family. But it doesn't seem to have fit with me. I know how to dress that part. I know how to act that part. But I think, I feel that it is simply that. A part. Just another Mask. And I'm so tired of masks. They serve a purpose, I know, but can I be honest? They hurt. They really do. Like smiling can hurt (How Smiling Can Hurt) so can employing a mask.
Only problem now is... having come to the conclusion that I am not this 'regionally casual' person... who am I? I have some of those pieces. I love my Converse (I won't tell you how many pair I own; I am sure there are people with more but it's still pretty sad in my opinion). My glasses (which I recently decided I liked the look of better than my contacts) are rectangular, black, and bold. My bangs (also a new discovery) are cut low and (mostly) straight across (they get a little longer as they go out, if you understand my meaning). But for the most part I have no real clue and no idea how to figure it all out. I have to stumble across it, it seems, and that could very well take too long.
*shakes head* It sounds so absolutely trivial and yet it feels so very vital...
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Je ne sais pas
There is a solemnity with which I go about things most days, any more. Tinged with melancholy it at times seems to contain a sense of finality as well. Beyond that it is very difficult to describe.
I first noticed it some three months past, at the end of December. Just three weeks ago I experienced something very similar. And now here we are again. If I am to be honest the solemnity and it's tinge of melancholy are present as often as not any more. What makes these three instances different (three months ago, December, three weeks ago, the beginning of March, and now) is the sense of preparing for something, and the sense of finality. This time around the reason for the sense of finality is vague and I have a feeling that I am reticent to admit it to myself. And the other two times..? To be honest it was a sense of impending death. My own. By my own hand.
My suicide.
At neither time did I have an actual plan, apart from the 'If I did it I'd do it this way'. There was no (real) intent. Each time it was simply a feeling that it was coming and that what I was doing was in some way preparation. I cannot recall what that preparation was three months ago. Three weeks ago it was, among other things, I'm sure, a good cleaning of the apartment, something I hadn't done in ages.. This time (because let's face it; the reason for this sense of finality now is the same as the two times before, whether or not I want to admit it to myself), along with some basic tidying up, it was a purge of my closet and dresser. I filled one large black trash bag with cloths for Goodwill and ended up with three plastic grocery bags of clothing that needs thrown out. Now, to be fair, it was all clothing that I never wore and/or that no longer fit. But the act in and of itself may not be as important as the melancholic solemnity with which it was done and the sense of finality with which it was accompanied.
This time, however, I am ambivalent to the idea of my suicide. This ambivalence confuses me a little, in light of the aforementioned sense of finality. I worry that this sense of ambivalence will not be enough of a protective factor, however, and a time may come in the not too distant future when I finally say 'Enough, I'm done' and, without plan, give in.
I first noticed it some three months past, at the end of December. Just three weeks ago I experienced something very similar. And now here we are again. If I am to be honest the solemnity and it's tinge of melancholy are present as often as not any more. What makes these three instances different (three months ago, December, three weeks ago, the beginning of March, and now) is the sense of preparing for something, and the sense of finality. This time around the reason for the sense of finality is vague and I have a feeling that I am reticent to admit it to myself. And the other two times..? To be honest it was a sense of impending death. My own. By my own hand.
My suicide.
At neither time did I have an actual plan, apart from the 'If I did it I'd do it this way'. There was no (real) intent. Each time it was simply a feeling that it was coming and that what I was doing was in some way preparation. I cannot recall what that preparation was three months ago. Three weeks ago it was, among other things, I'm sure, a good cleaning of the apartment, something I hadn't done in ages.. This time (because let's face it; the reason for this sense of finality now is the same as the two times before, whether or not I want to admit it to myself), along with some basic tidying up, it was a purge of my closet and dresser. I filled one large black trash bag with cloths for Goodwill and ended up with three plastic grocery bags of clothing that needs thrown out. Now, to be fair, it was all clothing that I never wore and/or that no longer fit. But the act in and of itself may not be as important as the melancholic solemnity with which it was done and the sense of finality with which it was accompanied.
This time, however, I am ambivalent to the idea of my suicide. This ambivalence confuses me a little, in light of the aforementioned sense of finality. I worry that this sense of ambivalence will not be enough of a protective factor, however, and a time may come in the not too distant future when I finally say 'Enough, I'm done' and, without plan, give in.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Proof You Have An Eating Disorder #157 (a totally arbitrary number btw... you will not find 156 more on this blog)
You order from a different pizza establishment because you are afraid that the folks at your regular one will notice just how often you have been ordering from them lately. The fact that they will most likely not care in the slightest does not matter. Because... what if they notice how often you've been ordering from them lately?
And if you want to know, Dominos is superior to Pizza Hut in every way but one: this pizza is so greasy I should have little trouble with the next phase of this operation. TMI? Sorry *blush*
And if you want to know, Dominos is superior to Pizza Hut in every way but one: this pizza is so greasy I should have little trouble with the next phase of this operation. TMI? Sorry *blush*
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Piercing Tip
For those of you who are considering an upper (cartilage) ear piercing have them use the hoop, not the stud. There's a little disk on the back of the stud, it's not a ball on either side and it makes it hard to clean well. With my first upper ear piercing I had the hoop and didn't have any problems with it. This second one was with a stud and I just got back from a doctors appointment where I got a Rx for both a topical antibiotic and an oral antibiotic. Fun times.
Nothing to do with my blog really, just thought I'd share *shrug*
Nothing to do with my blog really, just thought I'd share *shrug*
Mumford & Sons, After the Storm
Oh my gosh I love it! From 'Sigh No More', I can't say it's my favorite but only because I just love the whole album!!
To Come
You know what I'm trying to do? I'm trying to figure out a life, make a whole (functioning) person out of a bunch of pieces; only none of them match. They all belong to different puzzles; there's no continuity. Now how the hell am I supposed to do that, I'd like to know? Different puzzle pieces. Different people, yet one person. *shakes head* For the love of all that is good, why?
And all the time plagued by the desire, not to die, just not to be alive.
New therapist.
And oh my lord, my weight! Don't even get me started (actually you'd maybe prefer not to on this matter?). Let me tell you, eating disorders are not one of the most fun disorders a person can have, lol
Good things to come, my friends (all four of you, lol). I hope anyway. You know how I write. In fits and starts. Go me!
And all the time plagued by the desire, not to die, just not to be alive.
New therapist.
And oh my lord, my weight! Don't even get me started (actually you'd maybe prefer not to on this matter?). Let me tell you, eating disorders are not one of the most fun disorders a person can have, lol
Good things to come, my friends (all four of you, lol). I hope anyway. You know how I write. In fits and starts. Go me!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Implicitly
Probably the biggest difference was the fact that he actually cared. Not only did he care but it was an implicit sort of caring; a caring that was evident from the start and did not need to be put in to words. If you want my opinion (and you're going to get it anyway, lol) if you feel you need to actually tell a person that you care... you probably don't. At least, not in the way most valuable.
Funny it was also sort of a sticking point for me, at times. More than once I wanted to look at him, sigh in exasperation (mixed with a bit of perplexity, I must admit) and say 'Oh, R-, why do you even care so much?'. Of course I never asked because I figured I already knew the answer, at least in part. Because if I were him (he? it's a good thing no one reads this the spelling errors, typos, and incorrect English would be enough to cause many to tear their hair out by the roots, lol) I would first ask whether or not the questioner would care were our situations reversed. My answer (the real me, not the 'role reversal me') would be that of course I would care... but it's different. Really it would be a long conversation and I would be left simply with, 'Yes, but, it's different...', knowing that it really is not.
Actually, that's the biggest reason this is so hard. Because he cared, without having to assure me of that fact.
So, if you should ever read this, thank you for caring.
Implicitly.
Funny it was also sort of a sticking point for me, at times. More than once I wanted to look at him, sigh in exasperation (mixed with a bit of perplexity, I must admit) and say 'Oh, R-, why do you even care so much?'. Of course I never asked because I figured I already knew the answer, at least in part. Because if I were him (he? it's a good thing no one reads this the spelling errors, typos, and incorrect English would be enough to cause many to tear their hair out by the roots, lol) I would first ask whether or not the questioner would care were our situations reversed. My answer (the real me, not the 'role reversal me') would be that of course I would care... but it's different. Really it would be a long conversation and I would be left simply with, 'Yes, but, it's different...', knowing that it really is not.
Actually, that's the biggest reason this is so hard. Because he cared, without having to assure me of that fact.
So, if you should ever read this, thank you for caring.
Implicitly.
Monday, March 12, 2012
The Harder I'll Fall
I need to head over the mountains this week. I've made promises that I really should keep. I've told several people I am coming. My only hope is the weather and frankly it doesn't look promising.
So I will put it off. I will fight against this feeling, this need to fall. I feel it coming. The Fall. (Not to be confused with The Fall, as in Adam and Eve) I feel it's imminent. I've fought against it before and each time it gets closer and closer. And now I feel that if I fight it too much more, if I resist any longer...
The Fall will be that much harder.
So I will put it off. I will fight against this feeling, this need to fall. I feel it coming. The Fall. (Not to be confused with The Fall, as in Adam and Eve) I feel it's imminent. I've fought against it before and each time it gets closer and closer. And now I feel that if I fight it too much more, if I resist any longer...
The Fall will be that much harder.
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