old/new @frozen-pizzack - Tumblr Blog

“It's taboo to admit that you're lonely. You can make jokes about it, of course. You can tell people that you spend most of your time with Netflix or that you haven't left the house today and you might not even go outside tomorrow. But rarely do you ever tell people about the true depths of your loneliness, about how you feel more and more alienated from your friends each passing day and you're not sure how to fix it. It seems like everyone is just better at living than you are. A part of you knew this was going to happen. Growing up, you just had this feeling that you wouldn't transition well to adult life, that you'd fall right through the cracks. And look at you now, it's happening.”

showmeyourskeleton

'it seems like everyone is just better at living than you are' is a dagger in the heart.

thoughtcascades

I’m sorry if i seem weird it's because I literally am

javarisx-fightingthosedemons

catchymemes

tiredandlonelymuse

My therapist once told me, “You are the guiltiest feeling person I’ve ever met” and just to prove her right, I took it to heart. An astrologer said, “You have so much water in your chart. What is it like to feel the emotions of every single person alive, everyday?” and I wept because I sensed he was displeased. A teacher told my parents “She’s very sensitive. Far more than the other kids in her class.” I took my SATs at 9 years old, but they encouraged my mother to hold me back because of how my eyes glistened when I heard the word no. She told them to go to hell. So I cried my way through my education until high school when they said “You take everything so personally, you’ll never survive in a company environment. You wouldn’t make a good employee.” So I employed myself (out of spite or…necessity) and then later, I hired 200 people. A boyfriend told me “Don’t be so dramatic, everything isn’t a movie.” Fine, so it’ll be an album then. The doctor said “This shouldn’t hurt a bit.” I tread daily on a minefield that leaves me classifying the variations in footsteps, the tonality in voice, a change in breath. “Is everything okay? You seem mad” is my pledge of allegiance to this tightly wound bundle of flesh. I am cut open, butterflied and flayed, with every single nerve exposed like live wires and, yes, they all hurt to touch. Each interaction is a litmus test of how well liked I am, and therefore how worthy to live. I wake up every morning and the moral barometer resets, T-minus 12 hours to prove to myself that I am not the bad person I believe I must be. Sleep, repeat. An amnesiac nightmare. Prometheus on a rock and the gull in my guts is myself. I once envied those with greater armor, but not anymore. “Why do you care so much?” Guard yourself from the little grievances, but the shield does not differentiate. The space where I am vulnerable to the pain that passes through is an entry point for the microscopic good that others may miss. I live in technicolor torment. If I could do it over again and choose the comfortable grey, I would seize a knife and cut the little keyholes back into my every limb. So the light can get in.

vapericot-deactivated20230126

"im so over it" <- guy who has not even begun to crest the hill

There are so many people out there but I’m so alone.

Oh, the confused looks you get from people when you tell them you hate Christmas- priceless.

Truth is they are willing to accept it, but they need a tragic enough story, to make it worth their while, accepting that you could, possibly, yes, hate Christmas (shudder) if say half your family died that day, when you were a kid, and not even then, they'd be like yeah, I get it. No, most people are like "aren't you exaggerating a little?"

I'm not. Also, the story is made up, obviously, because my truth is, it's the tiny little papercuts of all the Christmases past, the insignificance of each one of them separately, but the enormous amount of pain they cause together, all the destroyed nerve endings, the rawness. That's what I mean. That's what I'm consciously avoiding by trying not to see anyone on Christmas day.

I can hold it together 363 days a year. Christmas and NYE omfg no.

Also, it gets weirder for people with good, functional families, the ones I call unicorns, they feel hurt, offended even, like you kicked a puppy in front of their eyes, they say "How could you?" and stare at you, "Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year!!!" Maybe for you, but not for me.

Where do you wear your grief today?

I wear mine around my ankles, like an ankle monitor, like a ball and chain, it keeps me stuck in a place, I can't move, I don't want to move. I've stopped wanting things for Christmas, I always feel sadder around these days -yes, otherwise I'm a professional ray of fcking sunshine, I know- and I don't want to go anywhere or do anything...Maybe actually I do want a coffee.

Mental Unhealth

I'm not going to change the sheets today, I've been meaning to do that for 1 week now, but every time I have to actually do it, it's just overwhelming. At least I washed my hair.

There's this "thing" tomorrow at work, to "evaluate" all of us, we've been given 1 week to go through some 20 something, 60 pages long pdfs, a short of "exam" if you will, even thought it would be supremely stupid to call that since most of us haven't had a test in at least 5 years, and all I can say is that "well, if I don't already know this shit, then maybe I shouldn't be working here anyway". i just can't be bothered.

I've been meaning to finish a book, any book really since the beginning of December and all I've done is clog my kindle with 7 books left at 5%, because I can't even concentrate enough to do something I enjoy- aka reading books.

All I want for Christmas is for it not to be Christmas. I hate Christmases. Hate might sound harsh, but it doesn't even cover it. I can't stand Christmases. I don't want to go back home and fight with my mom for 7 days straight, then come back home even more exhausted to continue fighting with her over the phone, but I obviously don't want to work either, because I still have a 2% of soul left. i think.

I can't understand why my anxiety just stopped "working". I mean maybe I just "broke" it. Nope, still here, I had the urge to double back and erase all of the "s, just to be cool, which makes me even less cool if I think about it enough, I think that ship has sailed. Never was cool, never will be. So, let's take it from the top.

My anxiety is only working when it has to do with useless matters such as the fucking use of "s, but I can't even bother about important things in my life, I have completely stopped caring. And as I'm writing this I realize that I should, but I still don't, and I should be stressed, but I'm only curious to see, when after twisting my arm behind my own back will it start hurting.

The last thing I find amusing right this moment is how worried my cats are about me. They take turns chaperoning me and I honestly find this hilarious.

Also last thing, after I finished writing this I wrote mental at the # space and that made me realize that I am as of indeed having a breakdown, but the slow burn caramelize your onions type of breakdown, not the tequila why color is the sky ay mi amor ay mi amor type of breakdown. Just like us, they come in all shapes and sizes and I gotta catch them all.

#mental breakdown

heyanobody

IF I CAN’T HAVE LOVE, I WANT POWER + sound waves

old/new

Beginning of December and shit.

Now listen, it's been a while, I haven't even written a single word (I'm not counting work here, like bitch please) in almost a year, I stopped writing in my journal right at the beginning of the pandemic, like the tap just closed and not a single drop since then, SO YEAH I know this will be weird but I need to write now, so yeah, I will.

Creatively speaking, everybody wants an audience, we are screaming in the void and hope that miraculously our rumblings will stick to some imaginary wall like a stick bomb and find "our people", but what if, wait for it, we don't need it? What if we only need to speak to ourselves and talking to someone else makes it less wonky, less I need help kind of way and more like "hey, so, this happened" and that's more bearable...

Anyway, I know I need to write and I know that I haven't spoken much if at all, I don't call, I don't text, I have more or less disappeared from sm and like I don't go out and these last 5 years have been hard and I'm bottling up so many feelings from, bitch, like decades ago and I don't care if no one cares and I don't care if someone will bully me for writing this here like my ex promised someone will and shut the fuck up Ted get out of my head I'm writing this for MYSELF, because I need to. I will burst if I don't.

If you end up seeing this, if you have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all, because some people like me are fragile and words can hurt people, like for real.

Beginning of December and maybe this year I will heal, but at least I will try.

[I'm so stressed, I'm so paranoid that someone will make fun of me that I want to take it down, delete it, act like it never happened, but I need to keep this here and be brave]