all-of-my-socks-dont-match

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

Don’t persue something that won’t persue you.

Sometimes I feel like I need to be a bit dramatic to get my point across. It’s one of the saddest feelings in the world to realise that someone you care about doesn’t care about you. I want to refer to it as unrequited love, but it’s not love. I guess if you want to, you can call it the beginning stages of love. Obviously it’s not the full blown thing. But yeah, regardless; it sucks to a pretty extreme level.

People can be so stupid sometimes, myself included. We’re also a pretty cruel species, as it seems. We hurt unintentionally, do all this bullshit without even realising what we’re doing. 

I feel really stupid now for typing this all out. It seems so unnecessary now. But I guess my point is- don’t go on Tinder, and don’t let a guy convince you that he likes you when he obviously doesn’t care at all. It’s cool to occasionally be a sexual toy...but not an emotional one. Bro, it fucking sucks.

Thanks dudes,

Leah.

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

In regard to the chaotic way I think-

I made the mistake of looking into the absurdism theory of philosophy. It’s been killing me ever since. Well, not actual killing- more like melting my brain. Why do we do anything? Anything at all? Life has no real meaning to it. And being unable to cope with this, we look for- or better yet try to create meaning ourselves. That in itself, creates the meaning for our lives.

I don’t mean to sound like an asshole with the whole “I’ve discovered the meaning of life” because I really think there is no meaning. That, and I can never really say that I have anything 100% figured out. I am probably the most squirrelly person that I know, in terms of thought processes. My opinions and thoughts are constantly changing and it really fucks with my head. Sometimes it makes me feel bad for the people around me. I feel guilty that I can never give a solid stance on anything without the possibility of it changing within less than a moment’s notice.

If I had to describe it, I would say my thoughts are in a semi-permanent state of being a liquid. Most of the time, what I’m thinking about is highly dependant on what’s happening to the liquid. Maybe I’m leaning a bit forward on a particular day, and since my thoughts are comparable to a liquid that’s going to adapt to whatever container they’re in, that means they’re all going to fall forward. Maybe that’s a really bad explanation, but it’s all I can think of at the moment. 

Maybe a better way to explain it would to say that it’s like emptying a bottle of dye into a very small, poorly filtered swimming pool. You throw a large bottle of green dye into a pool. It has a filter, so it technically is able to filter out that green color. Though, this filter is poorly functioning. It’s going to take a long time. Until that filter is fully able to get rid of the dye, that greenness is going to assimilate into the rest of the water. It’s going to take it over, so the pool looks less like a pool and just a small container of dye. Depending what’s in that dye (or the basis of the thought, for the sake of this explanation) it could either benefit the water- make it cleaner, do absolutely nothing, or fuck up the water to no end, until it get’s filtered.

I guess my point is that sometimes, the dye gets thrown into my pool. Lately, all that dye has been black. I realize that I’m a naturally cynical person. Maybe it’s more deeply rooted than I understand, or maybe it’s just a surface thing used as a coping mechanism. I don’t know, I can’t tell the difference. Regardless, it’s irritating. 

That’s what I meant about the squirrelly thoughts. I came here to say that boys are dumb. Why instill any sort of false hope into someone else? Does it make anyone feel any better? Is it an illusionary thing that you think makes yourself look or feel like a more decent person? Either man up, or get out. I don’t have time for this nonsense.

I don’t really mean that...I think. I have trouble empathizing with things I can’t understand, and one thing I really don’t understand is petty fear. I can understand emotional immaturity, I can understand not being able to make up your mind. I go through the lack of solidity all the time, but I genuinely think most fears are petty. For me personally, I have one fear (which is childbirth). I am aware this is extremely petty, because it literally happens everyday. But this is a fear I am not able to face without making dramatic changes to my life at this moment in time.

Otherwise, there is nothing to be afraid of. Fear is one of our age old instincts to things that could potentially harm us. You’re a caveman, and you see a scary looking animal. Chances are, that scary looking animal is going to kill you. It makes sense to fear it. That is not so much the case anymore, at least here in the developed world. Fear is....unnecessary in my mind. Do the things you’re afraid of, that way you’ll never be afraid of anything.

Be not afraid.

Leah.

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

Sorry for the spam.

I haven’t written in a while lately, so this is kind of like a purge of all the things pressing in my head.

I’ve been called many things throughout my short time living. Maneater, the reaper, a heartbreaker. The second one, the reaper, I’ve only been called by one person though. He’s an irrelevant piece of garbage though, enjoyed sexually harassing me as a kid. But in a way, he’s not wrong. I am the reaper. I realise I have the power to get what I want, the power to destroy. I’m actually pretty decent at getting a good read on people, I spent over four years studying behavioral psychology. Obviously, I don’t know a single thing about myself. But with other people, that I know in person, I’m a decent shot at it.

I think that’s what gives you the power to crush. Knowing. Figuring out what someone’s biggest fears or insecurities are. A lot of the time, the reaping is unintentional. I can’t even explain fully what I’m talking about to you, dear reader. And I apologize for that. For not knowing what I’m talking about really, and just typing what I wish would come out of my mouth. 

I scare people. I intimidate. Life is crazy, and so are we. Be afraid, or not. I don’t really care. So I guess it is what it is. Call me what you will. Crazy, nuts, maneater, reaper. But in the end, we are what we are. 

Yours truly,

Leah. 

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

The ramblings of an idiot.

Note to sober self

 I’m a sucker. I am incredibly easily swayed by a little bit of charm, giggles, and the ability to make me instantly like something about you. It happened before with a guy I dated for a few months, [obviously redacted for personal reasons]. Since I’m such a sucker, it didn’t end well because he was a massive asshole. I’m used to people being either disinterested, or interested only in sex. I’m not going to lie either, I’m the same way. We’re all human, we all generally want the same things.

 I’m an attention whore, so it’s not that I’m sensitive. I only want what I can’t have, which is why it seems to enticing. In turn, I think that’s why I want attention, because I can’t have it. I don’t even have the money, but I had no problem dropping the [redacting currency and show name, but yeah it wasn’t cheap] it was totally worth it to A. see the show and B. see other people happy. All of this equated to...you guessed it....attention! I actually genuinely enjoyed it, but I’m not an excitable person- so it’s hard to get a read with me.

 I do realise that I’m pretty fucked up, with my minor drug problem, health issues, insecurities, what have you. Everyone has their own little pile of dirt. I’m not idea relationship material, I know. But then again, I’m only human just like everyone else. I feel like an idiot all the time lately. Not because anyone around is smarter than I am (one in particular has yet to prove they are), but usually I’m pretty on the ball. I can quote random things, spit out odd facts, song lyrics, whatever pops into my head. But there’s some sort of jammer somewhere, signal blocker. I’m so distracted by something; it makes me look like a moron. I’m not even trying to say that I’m not a moron, because I am. Just not to that degree.

 This is kind of just fucking with me, because usually I’m a pretty detached person. It used to bother a lot of people in my life. But hey, now I guess it’s bothering me. I can easily compartmentalise things, which is sometimes a good thing. But I’m having some difficulty with this. I’ve been at this whole, screwing around thing, for like the past year. Honestly, I just don’t want to do it anymore. As my friends like to say, tits or gtfo- do or die. I don’t even care if I end up without all the side hoes, without this dude. I either want this one, or really none at all. I just want to mellow out.

 On a more personal note: I hate that I can be so vulnerable with particular people, with no reciprocation. I want to know a person inside and out. What they’re afraid of. The worst thing they’ve ever done. Past relationships, things that make them violently angry. Insecurities, everything. I hate how comfortable I can get with some people…to open up about my life (not trying to be dramatic, but that’s literally what it was about) so quickly. That’s the reason my best friend is my best friend. There is one person on this planet I don’t feel judged by, who I trust with every fiber of my being. I’ve never felt that way with anyone at all, which is I guess why I love her so much as a person.

While I’m in an all out rant, I hate that I love the way particular people irritate me. I hate that he’s cute, snuggly, and I hate the way that I retardedly enjoy his affection. The little things, the kisses, and the way he laughs when he’s tickled. I hate all of it. It’s not fair. But then again, it’s no one’s fault but mine.

I guess nothing is fair though. People come and go, and that’s just the way life is. Wow, now I’m getting all dramatic and shit. Life really isn’t that bad. You do what you do and keep moving forward. Like a shark, if you try to travel backward- you’ll die. It’s actually because sharks dorsal fins don’t bend the way other fish’s do. You’d be surprised at the way your own brain and thoughts can rot you from the inside out. I’ve experienced it before too! I’m convinced my body is trying to kill me, one way or another. But that’s a conversation for another stoned letter.

 That’s another thing. It’s nothing serious, just annoying. But I would literally drop every single side hoe in a minute if asked by the right person. Realistically, it’s not even like anything would change. Just no more tinder and side hoes, which I would easily do for this one particular idiot. I guess the point of this entire thing is that I want him to be my idiot. I want to do things with him, keep him around for sexy time, all that stupid, stupid bullshit. I don’t even know why I want it. But I always want what I can’t have, so there you go. Guess I answered my own question there. I think one of my biggest secrets is that I am a hopeless romantic. As much as I say I don’t, or try to deny it- I do believe in some form of love. I don’t think I’ve ever told a soul that. I’ve never witnessed it, but I do say things that would hint toward it occasionally. I think my biggest issue with admitting it is that in some way, love equates to vulnerability. Any type of vulnerability in the real world indicates weakness. And if others see you as weak, what are they going to do to you? If you’re not strong, what are you? There is no other way to be, or at least not in my short life. This doesn’t even relate (in my head, at least) to wanting the approval of others. I gave that up long, long ago. I think it’s more about self image and self worth. I value my strength. If I lose it, what am I? What do I have?

 But then I guess that poses the question of what the fuck do I plan on doing after? I’ve always been an independent. I’m not good with group shit, because it’s easier to just do things alone (in terms of things that need to get done, not social circles). Nomadic style. Pick up and go, the way I did when I moved here. This place makes me miss New York a lot, the place I was dying to get away from. I miss my friends, I miss being able to do all of my usual shit. Hold a job, drive, whatever. I miss being able to meet new people easily, and having access to basically anything all the time. Before, the plan was to do my masters in cyber security, get into remote government contracting, which is extremely common (for hire hacking) and country hop until I get bored or end up with a kid somehow. But now I have absolutely no idea what the fuck I want to do….except this dude. Hah, that was kind of a joke. My last ditch resort is living on a boat halfway between Japan and the continental US, right above Hawaii with two golden retrievers. When you think about it, it may drive me absolutely mad. But when you put yourself in the middle of nowhere, with no other signs of humanity in sight, aren’t you a little mad already?

 I guess the moral of this 4am nonsense is that you’ll do what you do, and it really just won’t matter in what ever designated period of time. So go for it. Or don’t. You don’t really give a shit, do you? You just want what you can’t have. But I guess the real question is….why can’t you have it? Boo hoo, fight me I guess. Thanks for reading/ writing/ listening.

  I really need to cool it with the early morning drugs.

 And there you have it, my more recent ramblings. A manifesto of the absurd nature. Maybe that’s what I’ll call it.

Yours truly,

Leah. 

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

I wrote a manifesto type thing a little while ago.

Recently I’ve taken noticed of a bit of a drug problem that I developed. I was speaking to a friend, and he said something along the lines of: I’m sorry you feel like you need to self medicate. 

Self medicate what? What was I self medicating? I guess I just feel the emptiness again. It’s a cold, hollow feeling in the middle of my chest. It’s something that makes me feel more aware of the fact that my life is going to be cut shorter than most due to all my medical issues. More aware of the little things I see throughout the day that no one else would ever care about- or in other words, sensual hypersensitivity. It’s the thing that keeps me up until past six in the morning on any given day of the week, the reason I can’t sleep. The reason I can lie for hours and stare at nothing while I try to organize my thoughts. It’s the thing that makes me feel squirrely. And it’s the thing that drives the need to find someone just like me. If there’s 7.3 billion people on this planet- even if I was one in a million type of person, that means there’s at least 7,300 people exactly like me. 

After all, I’m only human. I want what we all want. Acceptance, whether it be from ourselves or someone else. I think I just want someone to accept me and all of my crazy. Is crazy even the right word for it? Anyway, I figured you might be interested in reading my manifesto that I wrote one morning at around 4am when I was was mildly high. It’s an interesting read, like these posts and makes absolutely no sense; also like these posts. Fight me? I don’t know. Thanks again for reading. 

Yours truly,

Leah. 

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

And I’m back...again.

Lately I’ve been feeling myself fall back into my old patterns of insanity. Someone recently said to me that they’re a strong believer of willpower. For surface problems, I agree. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve put every ounce of energy into not passing out from low blood sugar, or kept my body from trying to kill itself by making my blood overly acidic. But that’s not the way the world works, that’s not how things go. Someday, something is going to get you. Something is going to make you snap, whether it be physically or mentally. There’s not going to be a single thing you can do about it, and it’s going to kill you. It will be the end of you, I’m almost certain. All I can do is say I hope it’s something worth it. Maybe I’m wrong, and it won’t. Pseudo intelligence is quite common. The idiots think highly of themselves, and it’s either hit or miss with the rest. You’re either smart and know it, or you’re smart and accept that you will never know anything. As lucky as they are, it’s the idiots that’ll last. They’ll never be able to detect the thing; the thing that finally gets to you and kills you.  Dear reader, if you’ve stuck around this long- thanks. The internet is the most public place I can think of. It’s comforting to know that the insides of my head can be spilled out to the public; that no one will ever realise it’s me, or even read what I’m writing. Or that you may not even exist. I genuinely enjoy all of it. 

Yours truly,

Leah. 

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

Welcome, welcome one and all.

Gather round dear non-existent readers for I have returned from the dead. I stopped posting for quite some time, all for good reason. I did not get myself committed again. I did not drop off the face of the earth. I got better, I truly did. I do not have the slightest idea as to why, but it happened. As the days went by, it started to seem like they were not dragging on as long as they used to. It felt like I was finally doing something with myself besides holing up in my room and crying. Surprisingly enough, the amount of times I cry per week went from about 36 to nonexistent. I no longer wish to stop existing. It is quite the liberating feeling. When I wake up in the morning, I don’t feel like it should be the last day. I don’t sit in silence and feel like life defeated me. Honestly, I’m proud to say I emerged victorious. I won. 

Of course there are always the little things to stress about, but in the long run they don’t really matter. You know that, I know that. It’s common knowledge, but sadly not everyone can believe it. In two years from now, or even only two months, it won’t matter that my room wasn’t clean on today, May 17th. That’s actually what I was here to write about. The little things that were getting to me. As I read through some of my previous posts, I realized that virtually none of these things matter. In exactly a year from now, absolutely no one, myself included, will care that my room isn’t clean. Not a single person will remember that I woke up late today and missed a class. It will no longer be relevant that I went to sleep early instead of doing my laundry. 

I feel much better than I did before, and in the long run, that’s what I’ll remember the most. I may have lost quite a few battles along the way, but I seem to have won the war.  I will never be in the place I was in a little over a year ago. 

The bright side to falling so deep down and hitting your rock bottom, is that the only possible direction from there is up. 

Yours truly, 

Leah. 

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

Why does everything have to be so stressful?

I’m kidding. Everything really isn’t that bad, I guess. But some things, like school, just get so overwhelmingly stressful that you can’t really take it. 

I’m not really in the writing mood at the moment, but it usually helps with what ever I’m doing. 

I like writing. I wish I was good at it. I wish I was good at something. I don’t do things in general, so how could I be good?

I need a job really bad. I’ve applied for five different jobs now, and haven’t gotten one still. Where I used to work offered me a spot back, but I can’t really work there. It’s not the type of environment that I’d like to put anyone else in, so why would I expose myself to it?

None of my thoughts are connecting at the moment. What ever though. Who said they had to? 

And to you, dear non-existent reader, how are you? What are you up to?

I hope this doesn’t sound like I have no friends. I have friends, but I just don’t want to bother them with any of this stuff. It just seems like it would upset them too.....Wouldn’t it?

I don’t know. It might, or it might not. For the time being, I’d rather not share any of this with them for the sake of my own privacy. I’m not a very straight forward person with this kind of stuff. I can’t really talk about it as freely as I’d want to like I do here. Even though it’s up on the internet for everyone to see, I feel like this is my private little bubble to post whatever I feel, when I feel it. 

Maybe I’ll find another outlet, but until then.

Yours truly, 

Leah.

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

Thinking is stressful.

I couldn’t figure out what it was that gave me such bad anxiety until I left the hospital. Going to, being in, thinking about, remembering anything remotely related to school sends me into a panic. I don’t know why though. I feel like something is squeezing my heart, I can’t breathe, and I want to pass out. I can’t calm myself down either, because there’s literally no escaping school. 

You can’t run away from it, you can’t avoid it, you can’t even pretend it’s not there. I want to do well, but I really can’t. I can’t make myself do any of the work. I can’t make myself sit in class without feeling like I’m going to burst into flames. 

I feel sick and antsy just trying to write this small blog post. Another bad part about this is that even if I suddenly, miraculously feel capable of getting all my work done, I’ve dug myself into such a rut that I’ll need a 50 foot ladder to get out. I’ve left all of the work to pile up and pile up to a point where I feel like it’s nearly impossible to get myself out. 

These posts are supposed to be somewhat therapeutic, but let me tell you, dear non-existent reader; I feel worse than I did before I started typing. I feel like there’s nothing I can do to save myself. Don’t even get me started on taking standardized tests. I can’t do math for....I’m trying not to swear on my blog. But you get the point. 

I need to sit myself down, give myself a pep talk, and plow through the work. That sadly isn’t possible at the moment, as my abilify makes me feel like I need to vomit all the time. I can’t even turn it into a positive and go to the gym to work it out, because I live quite the distance from the gym I go to. I guess I’ll have to wait until tomorrow. HA! Oh wait, I have to go to another psychologist that won’t help me tomorrow, instead of going to the gym, which has been proven to help with anxiety. I know psychologists are professionals, but not a single one I’ve been to has helped me. 

I need to get rid of this abilify. It’s absolutely horrendous. 

Well, until then. 

Yours truly, 

Leah.  

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

I wonder what all of my friends would think if they read any of this.

I wonder what they would think if they knew that their friend who had been given the title of “happiest person” at camp was actually struggling with depression. I wonder what they would think if they read all of this one day. Maybe they should, maybe they shouldn’t. I know some of them are on Tumblr anyway, so maybe they might stumble upon my blog and happen to read it. How would you react, reader that may or may not exist?

I wonder if these posts sound like letters.

I mean, they probably could. But I’m never really writing with anyone in mind. This blog is more of a, therapeutic type of thing. I usually feel better after writing. I’ve been feeling better lately, but probably because I’m not in school. That’s probably the most stressful thing in my life at the moment. I don’t know why though. When I’m not in one of my fits, I’m usually pretty good at getting work done and handing it in on time. Though more often than not, I’m in one of my fits where I feel like I’m going no where fast, and getting nothing done in the progress.

I’ve always liked that expression. 

“Going no where fast.” I think it accurately describes my attitude towards the way my life has been spanning out lately. I mean, what ever floats my boat though.

I’m glad that I can write and ramble without anyone judging me. Or maybe you are secretly judging me. Then again, maybe you don’t even exist, dear reader. I want to say that I wish someone would answer my posts, but I don’t really care. They’re here for me, and me alone. 

Hah. Me alone. Yeah, that’s definitely me. 

Yours truly, 

Leah.  

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

I haven’t written in a while, which is a good thing.

I write when I feel nervous, which is pretty much all the time. Lately though, I’ve been feeling pretty okay. Now, my medicine was switched and I feel like literal crap. I can’t take anything when I feel anxious enough to punch a hole through a door. This sucks. I don’t know what to do with myself, so I write after I’ve tried literally everything else. I’ve tried listening to music and trying to relax, I’ve tried playing music, like with my guitars or drumming, I’ve tried going to sleep (but I can’t), I’ve tried video games, coloring, reading everything. Nothing is working, and I feel like no medical professionals are trying to help. I really am trying to help myself. I was hospitalized for like two weeks because of depression, and since I’ve been out, I haven’t seen a single therapist, or psychologist, or anyone like that except the one who prescribes my anti-depressants. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t form coherent thoughts, and I can’t function. Usually, when I write, there’s a little more structure to it, but now I feel like I’m just rambling. I am, but I don’t want to be. I want to convey to you, in a way you can easily understand, why I’m in such distress. But I can’t. I can’t get this across to anyone except the people I know who are experiencing it now. It sucks, because I barely know anyone like that. I have no friends to talk to, not even a stuffed animal to listen to me, And I’m freaking out. My back hurts from not being able to relax, I’m tired from not sleeping, even though I slept well last night, I want to eat, and this sucks. 

So, if you’ve made it this far into my rambling, feel free to say hi, because it’s always welcome. Thanks.

Yours truly, 

Leah. 

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

I know it’s cliche, but I really do find solace in writing.

I haven’t been able to post lately, because I’ve had nothing to say, I guess. When I get anxious, I really can’t speak, and in this case, write. I don’t know why. My thoughts feel cluttered, fighting themselves to escape my mouth. It’s irritating. I feel like I’m going to stutter if I try to speak, although that hasn’t happened yet. Although, when I do try to speak after a period of anxiousness, my voice comes out timid, shy or scared sounding compared to its usual boomingly vibrant tone. It sucks. 

I’m used to being an extrovert. 

I have been my whole life. It’s weird how much has changed in the past year or two. I’ve always been loud, obnoxious, outgoing, and now suddenly, I’m quiet. I can’t speak. I’m constantly anxious about absolutely nothing to the point where I’ll literally do anything to make it stop. It’s horrendous. It’s absolutely awful. It makes me want to vomit. I know that isn’t a pretty picture, but it’s true,

I wouldn’t lie to you, non-existing person who isn’t reading this because you don’t exist. 

Or maybe I would. Maybe that part of my personality has changed too. It’s weird. I feel guilt for just speaking to males. Any of my guy friends? I feel guilty for talking to them. My friend kissed me the other day. I felt guilty about that too, even though I kind of like him. I just can’t. I want to be normal again, and I want to make it stop. I know that sounds weird, doesn’t it? I want to start my life over and be normal again. I want to go back to 6th grade, where my biggest problem was losing my colored pencils at school. I want my life to go back to being simple. It sucks. 

This is one of my rambling posts, I guess. But then again, all of my posts are rambling. I guess I’m just writing so I won’t get anxious while I’m sitting here. 

I need to go back to the doctor, but they’re not really doing anything proactive to help this. I just need the anxiety to stop. I’d rather be depressed than anxious. I’ve seen the green of both grasses, and I can definitely say that the green of depressions is greener than anxiety. Anxiety is like the dead, yellow, crab grass of the metaphorical green grass world. 

And there’s your daily dose of my nonsense. 

Yours truly, 

Leah.

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

Most of the time, it’s better to leave yourself to wallow in your own ignorance.

When you ask a question you really don’t want to know the answer to, how are you supposed to react when you get that answer? I don’t really know. 

I once read, “Fill your heart with bees. That way, when someone breaks it, they’ll have to deal with all of the bees.”

I’d do that if I had the bees. I don’t know where to get any bees from.

I wish there were heart exercises, so that way, it would be less prone to getting hurt, kind of like the rest of your body. It’s so interesting in the way that other people can influence your self esteem so substantially. It’s actually scary and upsetting and slightly nerve-wracking how much someone else can affect your self-esteem. 

I don’t want to be the age I am. Everything seems like it sucks. Although, everything has always seemed like it sucked. From when I was about 5, and able to form my own thoughts, all the way to now, things kind of just sucked. My life has taken some interesting turns of events; disease, death, and general loss. But I’m still here, so I guess it all couldn’t have been that bad. 

I’ve never understood when people try to console others by saying “Oh, don’t you worry, this all won’t matter in (insert period of time) here.” 

People say that about everything, all the time.

So tell me, after that period of time, what will matter? If this won’t matter in three years, and what happens in another three years won’t matter in the following three years, what will eventually matter? Nothing? Everything? My lack of paired socks?

Sometimes, when I’m trying to deal with my periods of depression, which have been alarmingly increasing in frequency, I think of my life as a giant pile of socks. Some days, the socks match. They’re clean, nice, and exactly the same. Other days, they’re mismatched. They’re mismatched, and they somehow work. The clash of colors, the texture. They work. Other days, they’re still mismatched, but they just aren’t working. The sizes are totally different, and one smells different than the other. Yeah. And then, there’s the really bad days where my socks are dirty, there’s holes in them, and I feel like crying. But I wait until I can go home, or the next day so be it, and I change them. I purposely sought out socks that match. And it makes me feel better.

I guess you can say I really find comfort in socks. 

Well, that’s my existential crisis for the night. 

Yours truly, 

Leah.    

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

Sometimes, things just get so weird.

Sometimes, because I take an anti-depressant, I get anxious. It’s like of like watching yourself about to get hit by a train. But you know there’s no train. There’s almost nothing wrong; except you’re just so nervous about something. It really sucks. You know how you have your thoughts, and you kind of hear them in your own voice? Well maybe you don’t since there’s no one reading this, but still. I’ll entertain the thought. 

You hear your thoughts in your own voice.

When I get anxious the way I do, all I hear when I try to focus in on my thoughts is screaming, and sometimes crying. I don’t hear it like it’s real, or there’s someone else crying, but it’s my thoughts.I think screaming when I get anxious. It’s all I want to do when I freak out. 

It sucks because none of my friends or anyone I spend a lot of time with really thinks of me as a tense, anxious, or nervous person. 

I’m the calm friend. I’m the friend that my friends come to when they want a level headed, non-emotional response. I’m not the one that would be depressed. I’m not the one that would be so anxious. I’m tough. I’m rock solid. I like working out and martial arts. I don’t ever cry in public. I don’t have emotions sometimes. I mean, I do. But everyone seems to think I’m the happiest person they know. That’s what makes it so hard to be taken seriously when I do need to cry. When I need to be able to freak out. Or when I need to feel okay. Feel normal. It just doesn’t happen. It’s strange. 

Things are strange. 

But I guess stranger things have happened. 

Yours truly, 

Leah. 

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

I don’t talk much.

Well, I don’t think I talk very much. If you ask my friends or my parents, I won’t, can’t or don’t ever shut up. If you ask me, which you probably wouldn’t, I don’t really think I talk that much.

I feel so quiet all the time. 

Maybe it’s because I don’t say all the things I think I want to say. That’s probably a good thing. If I said everything that came to mind, I’d definitely be in some serious trouble. Why?

I have no idea.

I learned something interesting today. Those little cups you get from Burger King have lines on where to fill up the ice and where to fill up the drink, so you don’t get jipped on your liquids. 

Wow. This blog probably sounds like it’s being written by a 12 year old. Maybe it is. How old do you legitimately think I am?

Or fakely. 

Doesn’t matter to me. No one’s reading this anyway. It’s pretty funny that I write these stupid posts and have them up online with the intent of no one being able to read or see them. I mean, it’s the internet. Someone is going to have to see one of my posts eventually. And to you, that very unfortunate person who happens to stumble upon my writing in the near or distant future, I am sorry. Sorry for not making much sense, sorry for thinking that this blog was a good idea, and sorry for thinking almond milk is gross. My family sees something seriously wrong with that for some reason. I have no idea why. That stuff is pretty nasty if you’ve ever tasted it. It taste like someone super pressed an almond, so that all the liquid came out, mixed it with some water and white dye, and presented it to the public as some new sort of substitute milk. Which it is not. It’s pretty nasty. Don’t get me started about that unsweetened type either. 

Ew. 

Well anyway, that’s all I have to say, or well, write for now.

Yours truly, 

Leah.  

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

Well look at that, here’s a cat.

I’m a living poet, and I definitely know it. I changed my theme. So here’s a picture of a cat that lives in my basement. She’s sweet. We like her. 

Yours truly,

Leah.

[all-of-my-socks-dont-match]

I was going to write something witty and interesting.

But sadly, I’m not that witty, or interesting. I don’t really know what I could write about. Besides the fact that I can’t write and don’t make much sense when I try....I thought having a blog would be fun.

It’s not. 

My life’s just not interesting enough for people to want to hear about it. Well, read about it. You get  the point. Or don’t you? You may not even be reading this. For all I know, no one will see this in a thousand years besides myself.

Or I could be totally wrong.

I could become internet famous. That would be pretty interesting since I’m writing under a pseudonym. Am I allowed to call it a pseudonym? I’m not much of an author by any means. That’s like, an insult to authors, to consider myself an author. I can’t write.

Maybe something interesting is the anti-depressants I was recently put on? Oh well. I promised a picture with every update, but the theme I chose and really happen to like doesn't really allot for pictures or any sort. So I guess I’m going to have to pick a new theme, or you’re going to have to deal with it. And since you don’t actually exist, because no one is reading this, the theme stays.

Wow this post made no sense. Enjoy.

Yours truly,

Leah.