I've been meaning to write this blog for awhile. It's written quite clearly in my brain but when I try to encourage my hands to write or type they lazily concede but miss a majority of what I'm trying to convey. Then I get frustrated and just stop. Sometimes I regret splitting my blog and creating a separate one that deals with my mental issues because I've accepted that it's a part of me. But my brain has always liked to put things in compartments which I refined via therapy because that was the best coping mechanism. I've also created different versions of myself. In a way they're masks to hide the mess that is the core of me. But they're beginning to crack. Mainly because that core has become messier, bigger, and more confused.
I've tried to ask myself why I write this so that it's open to the public. The main reason I started this blog was the hope that someone who thought like me would stumble upon it and realize they're not alone. That other people struggle with… existence isn't the right word but it's close. It's not that I want to die or anything but I feel like the world is a round peg and my brain is square. It just doesn't fit. So I have to just kinda rest on the hole but never really fit in it. Reading Kay Redfield Jamison's "An Unquiet Mind" changed my life. Yes, it sounds cheesy but the relief of knowing that someone else felt like this was overwhelming. It's also why I adore Fiona Apple's music. Her manic voice and lyrics say things that I sometimes can't.
Another reason was that I wanted someone I knew to find it and see a side of me that I don't really show. I am much better at writing how I feel rather then expressing it. There are many reasons for this. Being told as a child that I was just being dramatic or that I was being weak is part of it. I'm also worried that I will scare them. I have a handle on my disorder a majority of the time, but when I don't… I understand it's terrifying to view. I grew up watching my mother fade away because she didn't take care of her disorder. People want to help but they can't if the person doesn't want help. Or they don't understand. Which is their right. It's unfair to expect someone to understand my actions when in the throes of a manic or depressed state. They don't understand that I can't just stop. And that is not their fault. But that doesn't stop it from hurting sometimes. I wish I could explain how it actually HURTS. My emotions hurt my brain, not in a physical sense but in an overwhelming rush of emotion that threatens to sweep my consciousness away. It makes me vulnerable which I LOATHE. I also don't want pity or sympathy. I don't want someone to cry with my while I cry. I need someone to stay solid and stable while I can't. Otherwise I'll brush my feelings aside to deal with later, alone, while I comfort them. Not being able to control your own brain is fucking terrifying and frustrating.
But now the dam I built to help control my disorder is beginning to break. I know it's being agitated mainly by my job. Which leads one to say "Why don't you just find a new one?" That question makes my breathe hitch and heart pound. I know a little bit about a lot of things. But I'm not proficient in one solid subject. I created my job. The tasks I do are of my creation. Or used to be. I've had shit piled on top of me to the point of suffocation. And I've yet to receive a "good job" or a raise. My work load has tripled and there has been no positive reinforcement (ahhh Skinner, always right) which leads to apathy about improving or keeping up. What's the point? I wish that I could leave this field all together and be a bartender or teach myself self-discipline so I could write one of the thousands of stories that live in my head.
"Just do it then."
Therein lies the problem. Stability is something that I need in order to keep my brain in check. Especially financial stability. I have medication I need, Dr visits to approve the medication, and rent to pay. I have a studio now and the thought of moving back in with roommates makes my eyes prickle. My place is my home, my solace. A place where I can retreat to and not worry about hiding any aspect of myself. Hence why I don't do well when someone is in my space too long. I've been thinking about going off medication but recently I haven't been doing well. If the medication is my buoy, I'd be drowning without it. There is never a time where I am thinking about just one thing. There are always other thoughts bouncing around and I have to try and catch just one while the others bump into me.
So I write as a way to dump my overthrow. And right now I'm beginning to choke on words that need to escape. So time to start writing again. So this is a look inside my brain. Maybe it will intrigue you, maybe it will scare you, but if you've read this entry in it's entirety, then I needn't fear I'm being vain or stupid writing this. Because you read it, so clearly there is an interest some where.
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