*warning: this is not a seed post. This is a Therapy Thread!*
When did this occur, I wonder? When did I change from someone who becomes 'friend sick' when alone to this person that would much rather be by myself than go to visit someone, never mind the proximity? One moment I'm marveling at how well I am doing in spite of adversity, the next I am clawing tooth and nail just to maintain this 'stable' exterior.
It seems that no matter what I do I create some form of stress against myself, complicating my decisions and slowing my reactions.
I keep wondering why I care so much about everything that I have to not care at all; maybe it's because I have been used, stepped on, lied to and ignored far too many times. I simply cannot do it anymore--I will not allow myself to be put through that pain again. It's not that I cannot take it, it's that I have enough internal insanity to deal without exasperating the situation by heaping loads of fear and hate upon myself from outside sources.
Even before I began writing this, I was conflicted. Should I write? Of course I should, I eventally decided; nothing else is going to ease this crushing sensation on my heart. Then the 'what do I write' questions start. Should I work on my book? Probably, but I am not in the proper mind frame to be what I need to portray through my active character in the peice I'm working on. Maybe I should work on the bit that I started this morning, but I may become agitated recalling how I was interrupted from it now that I'm feeling all wound up and let down.
Maybe I should write about not being sure what to write about.
'Maybe I should' made into a stamp would be quite useful for me.
[Maybe I should] get one.
I notice that I am not only my own worst enemy but my biggest ally as well--but most often, it's the former. I place restrictions on myself (of varying strengths and complexities) that I feel need to be followed and strictly enforced. At first, when I was much younger, it was marvelous: I would diligently do my chores and homework so I could reward myself with free time that did not include someone truncating it in favour of 'responsibilities'. Unfortunately, I began doing this automatically with everything in my life. Suddenly something that could not all be finished in one day was the enemy because I could not get the fact that it was not complete yet out of my brain. I then begin seriously over-thinking not only the project but all of the things that could go wrong--and the guilt of not having it over with so I can move on and stop worrying about this sets in.
This is no ordinary guilt, the guilt I feel. (Or is it?) I feel guilty about not going out of my way to do something nice for strangers, I feel guilty about staring or speaking or even being around some people. If someone asks me for something, I feel guilty whether I give it to them or not--doesn't matter if I could spare whatever it is, either. I feel guilty every time something goes well for me, and I feel I deserve it plus more evil when things go awry or turn out negatively for me. I can't win.
I have an extensive list of things that I have done or said that I heavily regret. I think karma has multiple copies of this list and is quite aware that it has been repeating my punishment for old, unduplicated mistakes. I recall these deviations from my true path like they were fresh as the blood from a new cut; it isn't like I'm not intelligent enough to know when I am wrong or harming someone else. In fact, it's generally so clear that I will never forget--I will carry these emotional and spiritual burdens that I have saddled myself with to my grave. I'd take them further, but I'm abandoning my guilt (among other things) when I shed this skin.
I could run in circles forever and never find an answer or a reason for the way I am. Wrong or right, I am am who I am today because of all this and a desire to continue to be who I am now, and better. I've met less true friends than I can count on one hand, and though I understand why they are gone I am filled with an old, still dying sorrow when one of them crosses my mind. I am proud to have become the kind of person I would love to have as a friend; it's too bad that my unwillingness to get hurt by those who I am close to has me holding everyone at arm's length.
I was treated very poorly by **almost** (not all) every acquaintance that I upgraded to friend.
In some cases, you're damn straight I deserved it--but the majority of the time, I was simply an easy mark for people to go for. Being kind and easy to persuade for a cost or a cause did not help me here either. In the end, it has always wound up the same: with me alone, writing it out so I can try to shed my sadness.
Just like right now.
Only difference is I've got a blog this time, and you're reading it.
So from suddenly sappy me with my therapeutic writing ways:
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