unfilteredgrounds

[unfilteredgrounds]

Beauty in Madness

There is something to be said about the period of coming out of a mental breakdown. I'd liken it to weathering a particularly horrible storm-- you're not sure if you're going to make it through the roiling black clouds, pelting rain and hail, and high winds, and almost want to curse nature itself for making things this way, and then, you emerge from your hideyhole, shocked at how serene the landscape has become.

I used to be embarrassed when I broke down. Due to my upbringing, I'm sure, I saw it as a shameful thing, to sink so deep into your own misery that you scared yourself. But that's not very constructive, is it? I had the most wonderful trip with my partner, and though it was unfortunately brought about by how worried he was for me, it ended up (in my opinion) bringing us far closer together than we'd previously been.

I wrote a letter to myself upon my return, where I bared my truest feelings, those of which I've been too ashamed to really talk about.

I present as someone who is so conscious of others' feelings, someone who is kind, but there is calculation in that kindness. I don't actually trust people, in fact I find it nearly impossible to. To the point where I will actively put myself down instead to get reassurance instead of just asking for it from people.

I have no idea how to articulate what I need. Maybe this is because that part of me was hushed so much as a child that it's just gone silent completely, but it's crazy how I'd rather call myself stupid and needy than ask someone to spend some time with me, or shoot me a text more often. It's calculated in an accidental way. I am fully aware that I am making less of myself, however, it keeps me safe, because I'll not be surprised if the person I'm interacting with leaves me. I can't be betrayed if I set myself up for disappointment, and even though that makes so much sense, it's so... sad.

I don't think I've ever fully sat and come to terms with the fact that, by nature, I'm actually a very lonely person. I like being alone, don't get me wrong, but independence and loneliness are two separate, but crossing, paths. I've done so much work to isolate myself from potential threats that I've completely shaved my personality down to an insecure husk, all because I'm terrified of being mocked and shunned again. Independence is all fun and games until it's not your choice. Kinda mind-fucky, right?

And, my womanhood brings a whole other layer onto the mess. I want to be a strong, independent woman that other people look up to, but the idea of what that actually looks like has been so warped in my head that this insecure husk is my girl boss. Keeping everyone at arm's length keeps me on top. And that's not healthy.

Let's make a list.

The parts of me that I've hidden away:

-Hopeless romantic. I love love, I love showing affection.

-Wanderlust. I am an airhead, in the nicest way possible. I like to daydream, I like to play in the rain, I like soft textures and small bells and windchimes and wandering around outside, not doing much else.

-Philosopher. I have so many thoughts about so many things, but have hushed myself up for fear that I sound stupid.

-Advocate. I hate it when others are mistreated, and that needs to start being directed at myself, too.

I don't know whether it's the ever-looming autism diagnosis that is evasive as it is elating? Daunting? But I've realized just how much of a mask I have formed over the years, just how much I've added layers and layers onto myself in the name of protection, while in reality, I've been screaming, locked away inside this horrible trap with no one to help. Just as intended.

Recently, I've been trying to live more fully. Not by journaling (you'll have noticed the absence on that front), or any of the other crap the influencers say works wonders (for the content, maybe, but are you really happy?). I've gone off most of my social media. I do my best not to look at Instagram, or Twitter. I only contact people through text, and I've been vocal about others reaching out to me for once. Maybe it's a bit harsh, but dammit, I think I deserve to hash out a little bit of harshness myself. And yeah, it is a wake-up call. I'm not some fun, shiny thing that can be tucked away in a corner until someone decides they need my specific flavor. You want to be in my life? You have to be in it. And it's been working. My friends have gotten more involved, or at least they're trying to be. And that feels good.

As much as I revolt against the idea, it feels good, asking for things. It's nice, getting to voice my wants and needs, and hope that they're answered (most of the time, they have been). The other day, I got it in my head that I'd take a bath, put on some ambient music (think spa) and just focus on my breathing and how my body felt in the water. Emerging, I felt more relaxed than I think I've felt in years. It's amazing what a little care can do for you.

It's not frivolous, it's not bitchy, and if people think that, who cares??? They're not worth my time. The people that are will show it.

As long as I do my best to be kind, to be responsible, to put out goodness into the world (keep in mind I said "do my best," no absolutes), I think that will come back to me. I know this to be true. And, if I extend the trust to myself to trust in others, the bad times may not be as bad. Or at least, I won't be alone.

[unfilteredgrounds]

Place

Whenever it seems like people are about to talk shit about where I live, I automatically get defensive. Because, well, duh, it's my home. I was born and raised on my farm, and once my parents die it will be my farm. Most of the time when people talk shit, they're just being classist assholes who have never taken the time to learn anything more about rural people than what they glean from Jeff Foxworthy specials and the worst of us running rampant on Facebook.

There are drawbacks with living out in the middle of nowhere. It's not like I can just have an aesthetic morning where I do a cute little jaunt to get brunch at one of numerous cafes, hit up the indie bookstore, maybe buy some flowers from a flowershop and go make pottery all in one day. I don't need to go through all that the small towns that are near where I live don't have to offer, because that's literally all other people who have migrated from small towns can ever talk about (the worst are those who do it with a sense of superiority, look, if you really love your town so much, why don't you go sell insurance there, townie-- I'm getting off track here). We do have a cute little cafe run by swedish immigrants, and SO MUCH lush forest life all around.

The plus sides to living in the middle of nowhere mean that I can go outside without my stupid brain reminding me that other people exist, and are probably looking at me. Being able to lay in the grass of whichever pasture I choose, doing whatever I want, is a godsend, and I now know that I'd be miserable without it. I love the animals on my farm, because animals are easy to understand and easy to get along with, and I love just being in the middle of nature, and the ability to pretend I know nothing of what happens outside my farm's borders (the world is on fire).

But it occurred to me, as my partner delicately mentioned the other day that "I think you could do with some time away from... that farm," that no place is simply bad on its own (I'm sure there are exceptions but I'm not here for that), it's the people that make it bad. When the words left his mouth, I immediately felt a sense of hurt, of betrayal-- he knows how much this farm means to me. But, thinking on it later, I realized he was trying not to say what really has had me in this rut. My parents. My lack of reliable social system. Of course he has no ill intent against the gravel roads, or the trees, it's that to an outsider, the people in my life, well, they look kinda shitty.

This realization is one of the reasons I don't talk about what bothers me, because I hate making other people look bad, and I hate looking like someone who only ever talks shit. Most of that is conditioning, but also because two of the most important people to me, my parents, are really bad at being that sometimes, and no kid wants to admit that. I love my parents, and I owe them a lot, so when I talk about the not-so-great things they say and do, I feel so guilty, like a traitor to some big alliance. But then things like my dad getting upset with me because I simply answered a question from mom and she (honestly idk how she managed to get pissed off at him from what I said that woman can make anything personal and insulting) got mad at him ? (he did not explain) happen, and I feel like my parents forget that I am their kid, not some hired hand to help out on the farm who's supposed to pick sides or whatever. At least with Dad, he forgets he's upset as easily as he forgets most other things.

I also felt guilty about even asking to take an extended trip. Which I shouldn't-- I don't often ask for things, and I certainly have done enough to earn it. I never complain when Mom takes me as an accessory to the trips she goes on-- I am once again dreading the trail ride this year because it will just be a lot of me sitting and being ignored while she and her friends hang out, and then get the occasional reprimand for "not being happy" enough even thought I get to come with. And yeah, I like riding, but I also like getting to talk to people who are interested in what I have to say, and every year I've asked to bring a friend, she gives me a scathing look and is like "oh so you don't want to hang out with me?" As if me sitting silently in the back while she and her friends talk about work is "hanging out."

See, if things really were as shiny and great with my parents as I present, I wouldn't have these feelings in the first place, and, as much as I hate to admit when men are right, my partner is right. I need a break from whatever the hell my family dynamic is. Even though our temps are far more bearable, and the pastures are green, mom has been texting and calling every day about rain, heaving dramatic sighs and grumbling when my answer is no. I really want to snap "Will you shut up about the damn rain already??? We're FINE. The sheep are FINE. Can you just relax and be content for fucking once?"

But whatever, it's been nice having a break from the doom hanging over the house when she's home at least, and I can go outside without wanting to die, so, plus for that. And I will have a good time away, regardless of whether other people approve of that or not.

[unfilteredgrounds]

6/7/23

I am officially in a Bad Place. Today, it was really hard to drag myself out of bed. Then, of course, I got mad at myself for lazing around. Nothing seems appealing to me today. I was supposed to have a meeting with my grad school's career counselor, but he cancelled on me, so that's that. I'm not too torn up about it; to be honest, I was pretty nervous going in because I was going to talk about how I think I'm autistic, and I'm finding that i don't know how I feel about that.

When the thought first occurred to me, it was a comfort. Finally, all of these things that I thought were just me being weird or bitchy actually have nothing to do with something I can control, I'm just neurologically different. But the more I think about it, the more I question myself. Is it really that, or do I just have very particular preferences? Am I just being antisocial? Am I being bossy or controlling?

And if it is autism, why does that upset me? Part of me thinks that if I have a diagnosis, a piece of paper that says the exact same thing I've been asking people for years (to listen to me and accommodate my preferences) that finally I'll be taken seriously. Which makes me really angry. I shouldn't have to explain why I don't like loud places, why I need plans, why I get upset if those plans change late in the game, or why I spend more time with certain types of people. People, if they truly do care about me, should be willing to accept that, right? But they don't. Time and time again I have to explain myself, have to deal with looks exchanged between people I don't know well enough to know if they're looks of sympathy or judgement, and get the head cocked "you're-a-weirdo" look myself. I hate it.

I don't like loud places like bars and big parties because it's too loud. Too many people talking at once. Too many noises competing with each other. Too much yelling, and too many expectations. Drinking games expect me to share information with people I don't know, and that makes me anxious, drinking makes me anxious around people I don't know well because I can't think straight enough to try and anticipate what they want me to say. And most of the time, both of these places require me to participate in some way, and I look weird and creepy when I'm observing. If the conditions are right (not too late at night, I'm with people I know and trust, etc., then I'm fine. But of course, none of this makes any sense outside of my head. I just sound picky, bitchy, and most of all, controlling. And I hate that.

I need plans because I need things to look forward to in my week. I need routine. Not having it just turns me into a ghost, because yes, I don't know how to relax. And, as I've already established, sitting on the other end of a received message isn't fun. If I have a plan with someone, I know basically how things will go, and how to prepare myself. For example, when I have date nights with my boyfriend, I know I can fully relax and be myself, because it's just us. There, I can relax. And I know that that will be my whole night. And it's comforting. When I ask my friend to go grocery shopping once a week, I know I'm not taking up too much of her time because we're doing something we both need to do. When I have plans, I don't have to worry about being taken out of a state I've set myself up for.

It's not that I can't do spontaneity, it's just new for me, and new things are hard. I've realized that I can only ever really do new things with people that I really trust. The first time I went to a party that I actually really enjoyed was a party with two people I really trusted going as well. I was told how many people, what we would be doing, and when I started to get too anxious and spaced out, my friend pulled me out of the social spotlight to just talk to me like a regular person but without the pressure. And that meant so much. People, when I say I'm not a party person, usually just shrug and say that I haven't really tried enough. "Well, they're all my friends, so it'll be fine!" No it won't. If your friends are all like you, then they are loud, and have a lot of energy, and I can only handle people like that in bits, which is why you are my only friend that is like you.

People are such a mystery to me, and I hate to say it, because it makes me sound mean and judgy and cruel, but I view people like characters in video games sometimes. Certain people demand more of me energy and social battery wise. This doesn't make them bad, it just means that I have to prepare myself differently to hang out with them, and I just can't relax the same way I do with my very close friends. But every time I try to explain this, it just sounds like I don't like people like that. But it's not true.

You can drink water every day, no matter what time, and you will be fine, in fact, it's good for you. But if you drank nothing but coffee for three hours straight, you probably wouldn't feel good, right? That doesn't mean I don't like coffee, it just means I have to regulate how much I have over a period of time. Some people are like water to me: I can be spontaneous with them, can hang out with them all the time, and I'm fine. But other's aren't. And I don't see why that's a bad thing.

I change a lot for the people around me. I make jokes about things I don't really find funny, I pretend to be super into things that I don't really like, and I only show the parts of myself that I think the person in question will like best. It's exhausting. But it's what I have to do in order to be liked. When I was at my most authentic, as a kid, that's when i got picked on the most. And no amount of "just be yourself" or whatever non-helpful advice stopped that. So i just learned how to be palatable.

When I think about it now, maybe I never really got better from middle school, and I just pretended so well that I convinced myself in the shuffle. All my slip-ups, losing friends, my first relationship, isolation, they were actually the real situation. I don't know. I've been building this lie of me, this me that I hope everyone will like so I don't have to deal with the emotional fallout of being rejected again, for so long that I don't think I even know who i really am anymore.

I sit with a blank notification stream again, and I wonder how many people would actually miss me if I was gone. Not in a big, scary way, but just if I evaporated right now, how long it would take people to just shrug and get on with it. "Well I messaged her on insta asking if she was ok" You know I'm off insta, and you have my phone number. Again and again, the voice in my head tells me that people don't actually care. Because it's just all talk and no action.

I'm just so tired. I know I'm in a bad place because all I want to do is lay around and just rot. And even though writing helps, I can't shake the voice in my head telling me that I'm just whining, that I'm looking for attention, that I'm just not trying hard enough.

[unfilteredgrounds]

Scraps

CW: I don't plan on anyone reading this but this is a public profile and I want people to be informed so if for some reason you are here and have peepers on this, please be aware that this post will talk about triggering topics involving eating.

I never thought that I'd be someone who struggles with food. It's kind of surprising that I'm surprised, considering the wii fit board called me morbidly obese when I was in middle school (I was tall for my age and the BMI scale is a lie) and my mom immediately whipped out the weight loss stuff. My mother has never modeled a healthy relationship with food, so how I'm shocked I struggle to eat sometimes is beyond me. I should be more surprised it took this long, I guess.

I used to be made fun of for my thighs. I should point out, I have always been a normal weight. Like, medium. Moderate. Neither fat nor skinny. Just a kid. But I have always had big thighs, along with what my mom called a J-Lo booty. I never was one to be insecure, until that stupid piece of plastic said that I was unhealthy. Oh, my mom hated that word. The only reason we even had a wii was because it was the only consul that I could convince my mom to let me get, because you had to move in order to play (she was convinced that video games make you fat at that time).

So, when I got super upset at the board, mom broke out the measuring tape, the fat pincher (literally a thing that pinches your body and allegedly shows you how much fat you have grasped in its plastic claw), and a walking podcast for fitness. She never made me diet to her credit (though I didn't get to have any chip bags or dessert snacks until high school), but I was upset at the way my body looked nonetheless.

And then, I wasn't. I had bigger fish to fry I guess, and years went by without me ever having to think about how my body looked. Until this school year. Going to grad did a number on me, and the kitchen set up was atrocious. At undergrad, our dining hall had tolerable food, and I usually had someone to walk with me to the mildly crowded dining hall. The dining halls at grad school? Terrifying. So many strangers crammed into one building, so much noise and chatter and other sounds that would be entirely overwhelming, not enough prep for me to feel like I could get food without looking like an idiot (I say this as if I ever went there. I didn't.), it was just too scary. I know, what a whimp of me. But if I can't eat because I'm too overwhelmed and anxious then why go to a dining hall in the first place?

So I didn't. I did my best to try and meal prep, I really did, ut then I got busy, then tired, then busy again. In order to cook for myself, I had to walk from my dorm all the way to the kitchen, where there would be people gathered usually who would always fucking stare at me and it was just too much to do by myself. Sounds really pathetic again, but what can I say, that's who I am.

I'd eat junk food for meals, then wonder why I felt like shit. I didn't realize just how much of a tole it had taken until I went home in October, to which several people, including my mom, said "wow! you've lost weight, you look good!"

Did I look bad before?

Imagine the shame of not doing one of the simplest things to take care of yourself, having negative results in your health because of it, and then being praised because you lost weight. Weight that you never noticed in a negative way. I know they didn't know. I know they just thought they were giving a compliment because they were raised in the era where pencil girls were in, but shit, man. I had been skipping meals. Actively not eating. And I already felt like shit because of it.

I looked at myself in the mirror afterwards, and only one word came to mind, and it wasn't "hot." It was frail. Suddenly, my collarbones were much more noticeable, but in a "not eating way" not a flattering way. I felt like I looked sick. Nothing crazy, mind you, I'd only lost a few pounds, but my muscles were nowhere near where they were usually. Suddenly, things were too big. And when you aren't intending to lose weight, that's fucking scary.

I've been trying to be better. 3 meals a day. And it's mostly been better since I've been home. But recently, when things started getting bad, three full meals dropped to one. With some snacks throughout the day to keep me going. It's not an intentional thing. I just can't. Sometimes nothing sounds good. Sometimes I'm tired of having to make every meal myself, so I choose no meal. Lately I just haven't been hungry, and I don't know why. But I'm trying.

Even my comfort meal had to be forced the other day. I love eggs with rice and some soy sauce, it's easy, it's one pot, and it tastes good, and you can add stuff according to your energy level. But last night, I had to force myself to eat it. I just wasn't hungry. But... I have to eat. Why does it feel like my body and my mind are working against me?

And then there's the mirror. I know I'm not actually wasting away. I'm fine. But I look at myself and just notice my bones more than anything else (and they're not even that noticeable!). I hate it. My mom is literally bones and sinewy muscle, and that's scary, because I go to hug her and she feels like she weighs nothing. Am I going to end up like that? God, I hope not. The thought is terrifying.

Why I am always at war with myself is beyond me, but I'll tell you this: it is so fucking embarrassing. And sad. My partner doesn't trust me when I say I ate, and he's right for it, but how silly is that? That I, now, even struggle to do a basic thing?

God, I'm tired of being such a hassle to myself.

[unfilteredgrounds]

Wolf & Lamb

When I try to be introspective, I feel like I'm, split into two version of myself. There's Lamb: the part of me that's been the same through childhood, the optimistic one, the one that gets so excited about very specific things, the one that talks nonstop, the one that likes cuddles and soft things and when nice things are said to her, the crybaby, the dreamer, the singer. The me that very rarely gets seen around others because I know better. The me that was constantly questioned, made fun of, and rejected when she was too young to fully understand what was happening. The me that had no one to talk to for a very long time.

Then there's Wolf: older me, jaded me, me that snaps at any sign of my own weakness or shortcoming, me that hold myself to the highest standard, me that needs a plan, always, me that's afraid of everything that could potentially hurt me, me that gets so angry when people treat me poorly that I still get the urge to burn down my old elementary-middle school when I see it, me that shys at any sign of real authenticity, because that's what makes people leave. The me that bares her teeth at anyone who tries to start shit because for fuck's sake I am too old for this game.

I don't know why the split feels right-- and it's not always 50/50 obviously, because I am of 1 body and mind, but these two sides are constantly warring in my brain. For example, tomorrow, my partner will call me to watch fmab, and he will ask me how my weekend was. There are two trails of thought.

Wolf: I try (and probably fail, because I can't lie to my partner, because it makes me feel like the worst person on earth) to lie about it or (more likely) just say very little and try to shift focus away from whatever the fuck I'm going through right now. I do this because I feel like I am just constantly complaining every time we call (and, a part of me that I would really like to shut up wishes we could talk more, but that's not fair because you know he's busy), and even though he is so patient and kind that has a limit because it always does, and him leaving me, I think, would be one of the worst pains I have ever had to experience. I also don't want him to worry about me, because then he would be upset, and I want him to be happy (especially when it involves me).

Lamb: I tell him the truth, sob over the phone, and panic even more because I can't see his face so it's even harder for me to work out how he's feeling. Then, I feel guilty about the way I feel, because he probably has things he's going through too, and just because he's my boyfriend doesn't mean I have to dump all of my problems onto him-- he just wants to have a nice chat with his partner, not get trauma dumped on. But at the same time, I need some comfort, because I'm not getting it anywhere else, and I feel very alone right now, and he always makes me feel like A.) I'm not crazy, and B.) loved and okay.

Whenever the fighting between these two factions is at it's worst, I just feel sick to my stomach. Paralyzed. Like I don't even know who I am. Like I'm losing it. It takes me forever to make a decision because I have to decide which version of myself gets to make the decision, consider every outcome I possibly can. from both sides, and then maybe go with something.

I need to be honest. I hate myself. I hate that I'm like this, and that I don't know why. I hate that because I'm like this, i self-sabotage any chance I get, all in the name of protecting myself. I hate that the wolf part of me feels the need to filter everything I say, and the lamb makes me feel guilty for doing so. I hate how tired this back and forth makes me.

People look at me and see someone who has it together. They have no idea how hard I have to work to present that image. I have to script out every interaction I have, out in the wild, as best I can. Half of the time, I can't even listen to what people are saying, because I'm trying to think of the response they want to hear. I am always being tested and am terrified of failure. I filter so much of myself away so that I can be palatable to people who don't even text me to ask how I'm doing. And when I don't think, when I let go, then I freak out afterward. I lay awake at night, playing out scenarios of how what I did could possibly have been wrong, how it was a mistake to be myself, how I have no fucking clue what I'm doing with my future and I'm just lying to everyone so that no one gets mad at me or is disappointed.

[unfilteredgrounds]

Fuse

You are no one's priority.

That thought occurred to me as I drove to the grocery store this morning. From on perspective, it's comforting, knowing that I don't need to be constantly worried by what everyone else thinks. But this morning I'm sad to say that it was born out of spite. As I was driving, I was thinking about how I am never texted first, by anyone, except my boyfriend, and that's every now and then, and doesn't usually last a conversation. I was thinking about how it's already June, and I've barely hung out with anyone, but for once, not for lack of trying. And you know, I was angry. I'd never say this out loud, but it's really exhausting that I always have to be the person to reach out to my friends, and never the opposite. I texted some of my undergraduate friends a week ago, because I know they'll be around, to hang out, and they just left me on read. Why does that happen so much to me?

What am I doing wrong? I have never been good at making friends, in fact, I'm so bad that as a child my mom had to buy me a how-to book. And I haven't gotten better with age. I only keep in contact with one friend from high school, and even that seems like it's dying. The last time we hung out, I just, I don't know, I got a vibe that they didn't want to be there, and maybe it's because their partner is here or whatever, and I can't help that I'm awkward with new people, but it made me a bit angry.

I get angry because I don't understand why I give so much and just, have to continue giving. I drive, I message, if I get the vibe that something's off I ask if someone is okay, I try so hard all of the time and I don't understand how I am just put in a corner. I feel like a dusty something, pulled out only when someone wants a laugh or wants to be comforted. Not a one of my friends asks me if I'm okay until I am so far gone that it is beyond obvious. And even then.

I went to visit my undergrad friends during spring break, after I had had what can best be described as a meltdown and had to take an extra week off school. I said this, and no one said anything about it. I just felt like it was shrugged off in favor of talking about my boyfriend or what I'm teaching and I just don't know how to feel about that besides angry.

Ella affected me too. But no one asked me if I was okay after it happened. No one asks me if I'm okay now. I wonder if she felt like she was in the same boat-- that she was cool only when she was shiny and happy and interesting, that she couldn't share her struggles because it would just drive people away. I wonder if she always texted first.

What makes me the most angry is how easily my partner picks up on if I'm not okay. Not angry at him, but angry at the fact that someone who hasn't even known me for a year reads me better than people I lived with. And that he asks. And they don't. I shouldn't be the girlfriend that relies on her partner's texts to brighten her day. I shouldn't be the girlfriend who feels like she needs to be reminded constantly that she is loved in order to believe it in general. But I am. And I hate it. I hate feeling like I'm dependent on attention from someone else in order to feel. But yknow, can you blame me?

He kind of is all I have at the moment. Before I met him, no one remarked about how much I apologize or what I say in humor is actually quite mean to myself. No one offered to cook for me, or give me their jacket when I was cold, or take care of me when I was sick. Not a single one of my friends ever called me just to talk. How pathetic is that?

Even my best friend, if I can really even call them that anymore, has drifted away from me. They never send letters anymore, they barely respond, and when I finally broke down and told someone that I was not okay, just... silence. Nothing. I've gone off social media, so I don't know if they actually ever replied, but. It just makes me feel like a nuisance.

The thing is, they're extremely busy. I get that. What I don't get is why they (and other people) can't just be honest about what they want to say. Just tell me you don't have the time or energy. Tell me, instead of leaving me with a delivered message for days on end. I hate that. I hate it when I feel like I'm being ignored. Look, I get it, I am not the center of people's lives, and I don't want to be, but I want... something. I want to feel like I'm not in something one-sided, Like I'm not annoying the other person. I don't want to be left with empty promises of hangouts and constant rescheduling and delivered messages and a feeling of not being important at all in someone else's life.

I know I'm not as cool as others, I know I don't go out much, but that doesn't mean I don't get lonely. It's not like my parents really talk to me here. I just wish that someone would tell me what I'm doing wrong. How am I supposed to improve? My partner would tell me that I'm not doing anything wrong, that I'm being mean to myself again, but if the problem isn't me, then what is it? If I haven't myself to blame, then that makes me a victim of something, that means I'm weak. And people don't want to be around weaklings. I learned that very early on.

I have had a lot of friend breakups, and I drove by my high school best friend's old house today. I fuck up a lot, because I can't understand people. The whole reason we fell out is because she kept going out during COVID, and I refused to go with because my dad's old and I was terrified of getting sick. Nothing wrong with that, right? Well, the friend group just hung out without me. Time and time again. No one ever offered to video call, they hardly ever texted me, I was just left alone, again. All because I didn't want to risk getting sick. And I'll admit, I was petty. I called them out on my profiles, called them irresponsible and selfish, because I believed they were. And, I believed that I had become obsolete in the friendship. And I was angry. Angry that they were out, having fun, while I was stuck in a household that was getting ready to erupt in the middle of a traumatizing historical event. And I fucked it up.

She hasn't spoken to me since. We used to hang out all the time: grocery runs, shopping trips, vacations, even just driving around and doing nothing else. I do all of that alone now. Why? Is it because I can't stand not being the center of attention? Is it because I was so convinced I was morally superior to my friends, who were going through the same shit, and trying to cope too? I don't know, but I do know that it's my fault we're no longer friends, and I'm terrified that somehow I'm responsible for every time I'm left on read or delivered.

Why is it that I don't think I know how to be a good person? Why is it that I'm angry no one has texted me to see if I'm okay, especially when my latest string of stories before I went dark were pointing to the answer no? Why do I always have to be composed in order to be liked? Why can't I just be happy being alone, especially if that is very well how I might end up, especially if I keep this up? Why is it that I can't even write in this weird journal that no one will see without thinking about other people's feelings? Why do I feel like very few people take in to consideration my feelings?

[unfilteredgrounds]

Thoughts

I wonder if people know that they're losing their minds while it's happening, or just lose it altogether. If I'm questioning it, doesn't that mean that I've already lost it? I wonder, because I'm being inconsistent. Or at least, my feelings are, which for me, is not normal. Usually it comes and goes, like tides or waves or whatever. It's not an hourly shift. Usually it's monthly, or week to week.

I keep having to fight back tears and I don't know why. There's always been an impending sadness in me, something that I usually do a pretty good job at keeping at bay. Maybe it's the fact that my mom is being the way that she is. Normally, I can keep my existential dread at arm's length. Normally.

What happened? Why am I so easily derailed? What is it about me that takes everything so personally, everything is so intense. Why can't I just feel a normal amount? Why, instead, does it feel like everything is on max? I'm fine one moment, and the next, it's too hot, it's too loud (not just noise, it's too bright too which makes it louder), I feel like my skin is heavy like a jacket caught out in the rain and I just want out, out, out, but there's no exit sign.

My muscles have started twitching again without me doing anything. I'm staring off more than normal, which is saying something.

Sometimes, very rarely when things are bad, I wish I couldn't feel at all. That I was completely and utterly unaffected by anything anyone said to me, so that I could at least spend the day in peace.

I told my best friend the truth about how I've been feeling. They haven't answered me since. Part of me wonders if I should be surprised, considering. They've been busy. They're always busy. Is it mean of me to say that they haven't made much time for our friendship? Again, I'm not sure why I'm surprised. They're an "it person" I am not. I guess I've been lucky that we've lasted as long as we have, but I've always known that they would find cooler friends. Friends that were more like them. They're a shiny, popular person, outgoing and hyper-talented. I am not.

I looked at myself in the mirror for the first time in awhile today. My eyes look hollow. Empty. I feel like crying, but I'm not even sure what I'm mourning. An idea of a person? I don't think the me I've projected has ever been real.

I've realized that I don't think I really know who I am. I know my favorite movie, I know I like being alive, and I know I like certain things, but when it comes to something bigger, I think I know nothing. I mean, I can't even understand how to feel, so how should I know what kind of person I am?

I should eat something. Maybe I will bake again. Maybe that will make things quiet for awhile. Good news: Sophie (the cat that went missing) is back, and okay.

[unfilteredgrounds]

Reasons I Like Being Alive

-The sound my feet make on the ground when I walk

-Animals

-Birdsong

-Trees

-Plants

-The smell of fresh earth

-The smell after it rains

-Rain

-Friends

-My partner

-Food

-The feeling of turning a page

-The feeling of fur

-The sun when it's not super hot

-Breezes

-Laughter

-All the media I like

-Music

-Probably more that I can't think of right now

[unfilteredgrounds]

Dark Places

I think I am in a Bad Place again. It's very embarrassing to admit. I thought that making it through at fourteen would be enough to help me stay away from it for the rest of my life. I am crying without warning again. Angry out of nowhere again. And what's worst, it's back. That fuzz around my entire body, the fuzz that makes me just want to sleep, that doesn't care about anything because one of my cats is dead, my dog may be dying, the farm is dying, everything is dying so what is the point of feeling anything what is the point of being awake what is the point what is the point what is the point.

My act is slipping too. Dad saw it today, said I looked down, and I just said it was about the cat. Sophie. Her name is, well, was I guess, Sophie. But now he's worried. Now he's saying he'll spend extra time looking for her, and that he doesn't know what to say to make me feel better, but he's sorry all the same. It makes me feel sick. This is what I want, right? For people to give a shit? But then why do I feel so guilty for making him upset?

I've felt a couple of panic attacks start to happen, but I've been too numb, I think, for them to fully come to pass. If I'm being honest, I'm scared. I don't feel like I'm in control of myself, and it scares me. I am walking a very thin line right now, and the last thing anyone in my life needs at the moment is a reason to be worried about me. I know that this is just a bad turn. A bigger wave than usual, but a wave nonetheless, and I can ride it out. I can.

I did something I haven't done in years last night. I considered something bad. Not permanent, of course, just scarring. I haven't thought about that in years. Does that make me a failure? Does it mean all of the work I've put into trying to care about myself mean nothing? Should I be concerned? I mean, nothing happened. But--

Maybe I'm finally losing it. Maybe I am finally becoming this thing I've been so afraid of. But I can't tell anyone. If I tell people, they will know, and then they will worry, and that will be a waste of their time because I'm fine I'm supposed to be fine I'm an adult and I can handle this and I'm older and stronger and better and I'm fine. I can outlast this.

I can't talk about it because I'm afraid that no one will actually listen to me. The first time things got really bad, people just talked over me. "Well, surely it's ____" "Surely, you just need to _____" Sometimes, I just want someone to listen to me, to not say anything, to just listen and understand without talking over me. I don't have the energy to explain when the explanation falls on deaf ears. It just means they don't care when they do that. Sure, they may think they do, but if that was true, why aren't they really listening? The same thing happened in February. "It's just your birth control that's messing with you. Spring break will help. You just need a break." If that's the case, why am I here, again, afraid? Why do I keep coming back here?

Sometimes I just want a hug. And silence. A hug that speaks for itself.

I'm sorry you feel like shit. I'm sorry the world is shit. But I'm here for you, like this. And I'll continue to be here for you.

That's all I want. I don't want to have myself explained to me, I don't want a doctor or pills or arguments, I just want someone to hold me and watch my favorite things for a little while. I want someone to bake me a cake without me asking, just because. I want to cry without having someone tell me to stop. Is that selfish? It feels selfish.

I worry that I'm like this with my partner too much, because he is the only person I have that does these types of things for me, and now that I know what it feels like to be taken care of, to be cared for, I'm afraid that I'll take advantage of it. Like so many people have done to me. And I don't want to be like that. He deserves the nicest, kindest, best person in the world, not a leech. Sometimes, I think about telling him that I have this blog. But then the prospect of what could come after he reads it is too scary for me to acknowledge. The prospect of anyone reading this that actually knows me is too much of a hassle. There will be questions. And, circling back, there will be worries and wasted time.

This is helping. This is helping. I am saying what I want to say without fear of being overheard, and it is helping.

[unfilteredgrounds]

6/2/23

Today has been rough.

It gave me the push to finally start this blog. I'm tired of feeling like I'm always complaining to the people I talk to, but I still feel things that aren't positive, so this is my compromise.

I already talked about some different parts of today, but I'll end with how it ended. All I wanted to know was whether Mom had seen the barn cats or not, to which she responded, "well. that doesn't bode well for Sophie because I haven't seen her either, and I think that I saw one of the guard dogs where she was."

And then she said

"but it's her own fault for leaving the barn!"

Sometimes, I wonder if my mom forgets that she's a mom. And maybe, at the prospect of one of my cats dying, I don't want to hear that it was the cat's fault. Maybe I just want some comfort.

I cried for a long time after I went to bed.

Sometimes, I feel so small. So insignificantly small. Like the weight of the world is crashing down on me but it doesn't matter because I don't matter. And I feel constricted from within, the mean side of me saying it's my fault I'm here again. It's summer break! I'm supposed to be happy! And yet! I spent all day wallowing! Drowning in loneliness, because here I am, cat potentially dead, and no one is saying "hey sorry about that. That's shitty."

Not that it matters. If I'm being honest, I know everything I whine about is trivial, and in the grand scheme of things, others have it worse. But I'm so sick of having to cry alone in my room, trying to be quiet so I don't have to answer questions that don't need to be asked in the first place.

Maybe things are not so great right now. Maybe I should be more worried than what I am. But this is helping, I think. Sometimes, speaking to no one is still nice enough to feel the same as speaking to someone. Maybe I'll be able to fall asleep tonight.

All the time, I think too much. And I feel like I always need to be guilty for thinking. Because it's a pain for someone. But if I can jut send this off, not worrying about who's gonna read it, because there's no knowing who I am. It doesn't matter in a way that matters, y'know?

I'm exhausted. Tomorrow is another day.

[unfilteredgrounds]

Explosive

They are going to fight tonight, if they have the energy for it. Because Mom brought up the guard dogs (again) and how much she hates them (again) and Dad didn't think before he spoke (again) and said that we "don't know for sure if it was Brandi and Koda that killed Bailey." There was a painful beat of silence, and then she shouted. I hate it when Mom raises her voice. It's like a whipcrack, and it does exactly what it's meant to do: scare you into silence. She can't refute me here, because if it didn't work that way then she wouldn't do it.

I wish a lot that I had normal parents. My parents probably think (but don't say) that it's because I wish I didn't have farmers for parents or that they went to school or whatever. That's bullshit, and they know it. I wish I had normal parents in the sense that they talked to each other without it turning into an argument. I wish I had parents that liked each other. My parents never spend time together for fun, their entire relationship is built off of work, and it shows.

Dad doesn't have any tact. He always says the thing that will obviously piss Mom off, and part of me wonders if he does it on purpose when we have company so that he can be heard, because no matter how mad Mom gets, she'll never fight in front of others. Well, excluding me. Then he gets upset, and I feel for him, but I also get angry at him, because how has he lived with her longer than I have and not figured it out?

You don't disagree with Mom. Especially on something she's passionate about. She gets angry when she gets scared, and you will never win in an argument against her, because she never plays fair, and she plays to win. I almost respect her ability to cut with words. She's knows how to make a person feel small, which makes me sad, because obviously she learned that somewhere and it wasn't willingly. So, you just don't pick fights with her. It's not worth feeling like shit, to me at least.

I always leave when they argue. I'm hiding in the sunroom right now, because I don't like the topic of the guard dogs, and I don't like it when Mom talks about anything that makes her angry. She can't do it without working herself up, and I don't like being around her when she's like that. If they fight at bedtime, I'll go to bed without saying goodnight. I've done it before. Or I'll go to bed before them, before they have the chance to talk in private. I just don't have the energy today.

I like to think that I'm punishing them for fighting like kids instead of just communicating like adults. The small "oh yeah well if you're gonna fight you're not coming to me" feels better than the emptiness that I feel when it happens. The emptiness that wonders if we'd been better off had they divorced. The emptiness that wonders how the hell they ever fell in love, if they even ever did.

They're only together for the farm. It's no secret. It's not for me, I know that for sure. I remember way back, one of the first times they fought and really went at it, and I cried to my mom, begging her not to get divorced, because that was bigger and scarier to a kid than parents who stayed together and stayed angry. I don't know how it got brought up, but I remember my mom asking me who I'd live with if they got separated, and then getting really angry when I hesitated. Where would I get computer games or the TV if I lived with Dad? She was "very hurt" and I was left wondering how my answer was so wrong. I liked both of my parents. Hence me not wanting them to split in the first place.

When they have really big fights, I become a marriage counselor. A position that I am neither qualified nor want to do in any capacity. I hate that because I'm an adult now, I'm supposed to offer some sage fucking wisdom, as if I ever learned how to be in a relationship proper from them. It would be funny if it wasn't so sad. That's why I leave when it happens, and feign ignorance when I see them next. Like, god, you're both over fifty, figure it the fuck out for yourselves. Your daughter should not be giving you relationship advice.

When my boyfriend told me his parents were divorced, or anytime anyone tells me that, my pity for them always turns into a tiny bit of jealousy, which immediately turns to guilt. I know it's never great. But, I don't know, it'd be cool to have parents that don't bully each other when given the chance, or yell at each other, or use their daughter as a therapy couch. I'm not saying one has it better than the other, it's equally fucked, and I'm most jealous of people with functioning families.

When I first met my boyfriend's mom, besides being nervous around her, I was so.. blown away by how genuinely interested she was in her son's life. She just, really loves her family and cares about what's going on, and I hated myself for feeling envious at her and her kids laughing together at the same joke. I don't remember the last time I genuinely made my mom laugh. I don't remember the last time she asked me a question about something I was watching besides what it was.

Other people's parents love me, and how could they not? I'm the textbook, perfect kid for your kid to be friends with. I don't party, I'm reliable, I say please and thank you, and, well, I'm safe. I get stellar grades. I don't talk too much. I have a "good head on my shoulders."

Ha. I wish.

Sometimes, I think about talking to my parents, at the same time, for a long time. Sometimes I think about telling them everything I stopped talking about years ago. But I don't think it would work out. They wouldn't actually listen to me, and assume that I'm in a bad place again, and instead of talking to me, they'd freak out, argue with each other, blame each other, get angry, and probably ship me off somewhere.

I wish I could force them to be quiet, to quiet their own thoughts for once, and let me talk. And listen. Actually listen. To how I feel. I don't think it's their fault necessarily. They were raised in a culture where you could experience your feelings when you were dead. I just, I ask myself a lot why they decided to have a kid in the first place.

Sometimes I get very angry with both of them for how they are. How my dad asks more about my boyfriend than me. How my mom never asks me anything, really. How my dad is never ready for lunch, and when he is, he's early, and gets grumpy because he's hungry, but I'm the one doing all the work to cook. How my mom gets angry with my dad for being late, how that makes her so mad she forgets to thank me for cooking. How they both dirty the house so carelessly after I spend hours cleaning. How "thank you's" are a rare happenstance when they actually notice how hard I'm working to keep this house together. How because I'm not outside, I'm not putting in the same effort to them, and I'll never understand their struggles. How when I am outside, doing the work, I'm never good enough. How the work is "too much for me" without even letting me try. How they fight. How they pretend. How selfish they are for making such a beautiful home and keeping it silent from laughter of the family that fills it.

And then I get angry at myself, because my parents will only be around for so long, and here I am, being resentful. And not just happy they're alive.

[unfilteredgrounds]

Same forest, same path, same brave little girl and Death.

[unfilteredgrounds]

Heartstopper

I really love Heartstopper. I like it because it's kind, and because it's exactly the kind of book I should have read in high school. Not only that, I just really like Charlie Spring. He's very similar to me, in ways that make me feel nice about myself, and in ways that make me hate myself more.

Charlie and I are both very anxious, we both have a lot of love to give, and we both struggle with parents and secrets and being very extremely lonely. And we both have a Nick. Though I'm much older than Charlie (well, old enough to roll my eyes and fondly reminisce about being a teenager), I have about as much experience with relationships as he does. Which is to say that I second guess myself with everything, and I make myself sick with worry that one day my Nick will realize he can do so much better than me, and leave.

That wasn't very kind of me. I love my partner so much, and one of my biggest fears in life is him leaving, because he is such a wonderful person, and I don't think I want to be in a world where he isn't. I don't mean that in like a weird, obsessive way, just a factual way. My Nick is the kind of person that really does leave a place better than he found it, and I don't know what I would do without him.

He probably wouldn't like me comparing him to Nick, as he's not the biggest fan of the series. He says it's a little too joyful, and that it's hard for him to relate to the high schoolers. That's fair. Though, reading through and knowing how he feels, I wonder if he thinks Nick is lame for how much he's open about loving Charlie. I wonder if he feels like that about me.

I hate talking about the doubt I have in myself when it comes to my relationship because it sounds like I don't trust my partner to be honest with me, or trust what he says to me. I do. It's nothing to do with him, and everything to do with the fact that I find it hard to believe that I am loveable. It's not a diss at myself. It's a fact; I personally don't see what he does in me, and I worry a lot about him seeing what I do see in myself, which is not relationship-material.

But that's not fair. He's seen everything: my panic attacks, the aftermath of Mom attacks, my jealousy, my insecurity, and he's still here. I haven't told him everything that contributes to the way I am, not about the constant rejection I received from pretty much every real life crush I had growing up, and definitely nothing about middle school. I don't really talk about middle school with anyone. Maybe that's why I am the way that I am.

I love my Nick like I love walking through a forest-- with him, I feel so quiet. Not literally-- I talk a lot with him, but inside. I just calm down when I'm around him, and he makes me feel like I'm special. I haven't felt genuinely important to someone else in a very long time. And he's definitely one of the first people in a long time who thinks I'm special for ME, not anything I can give, which is as freeing as it is terrifying.

There are a number of times in the Heartstopper series where Charlie wonders if he's weird because of how much he likes Nick, or how he sometimes feels like he's being swallowed up by giant waves and is just a burden to everyone. I get it. And I think we both (Saying this knowing full well he is not real) know that that isn't true, that we aren't burdens and people care about us, but knowing that doesn't get rid of the feeling. It doesn't silence the mean, nasty version of myself who hisses at me that I talk too much, I'm too skinny, and no one would ever actually want to spend the rest of their life with me.

But Heartstopper gives me hope. If Nick really does love Charlie, despite all of his flaws and self-loathing, then maybe my Nick is right, and it really is okay that I am the way that I am. I want nothing more than to really believe that, and get that nasty side of me to be quiet.

[unfilteredgrounds]

Solitaire

Sometimes, I really dislike my mom.

I hate how easily she can make me cry.

I hate that she refuses to get therapy when she's obviously struggling,

I hate that I never know what to say to her.

I hate that we sat in silence at lunch today, only to be broken by her saying

"I don't know if I can handle this stress much longer."

I know I was supposed to say something, supposed to be supportive and helpful, but I was silent. I just. Didn't know what to say. How do you help someone who refuses help? How do you say comforting things when she'll just get mad that you feel pity for her?

I didn't eat the rest of my sandwich. I barely made it two bites. I hate that she can destroy my appetite, my day, in a single phrase. I hate that she didn't say thank you to me for making lunch, like I do every day, just

"oh, we're eating sandwiches?"

Well, you are. I'm not hungry anymore.

After I wrapped my sandwich up, I cried a little, but then remembered that I wasn't in my room, so I stopped. I hate that I can't cry in front of my mom. And then I got really angry out of nowhere.

Why does she refuse to get help, and just keep piling troubles onto herself, which then turns into dumping onto me and getting angry at Dad?

I understand where it's coming from. I know she's stressed about the lack of rain and that we're not even into the hottest parts of summer and the sheep need healthy grass. But what can we do? None of us can control the weather. She needs coping mechanisms. Stuff that can help her manage tough emotions over things she can't control.

And that understanding makes this all the more difficult. Because when she caught me in the kitchen later, just staring at the floor, and asked "Are you okay?" I wanted to shout at her. Of course I'm not okay! You're upset, and there's nothing I can do to make you feel better, and I feel useless because I can't give you what you need. But then that'll just make me look selfish. Because what right do I have to be stressed when there's a potential drought on the horizon? She'll just get mad. It's why I chose not to talk about therapy today, and said "Yea, I'm fine."

She doesn't know I didn't eat my sandwich. She doesn't notice that I eat less than I used to. I hate that my mom said that I looked good, like I lost some weight, when I had been skipping meals at uni. I hate that she didn't know that, but didn't think to pry. Makes me think she thought I was overweight before. I wasn't. I was healthy. Now I'm just skinny. Weak. But when she makes me upset, I can't eat. My throat is too thick to swallow anything.

I hate that she knows I'm stressed too, but doesn't say anything. My dog might be dying, and no one is really doing anything, but yet I am suppose to figure it out and try harder when I don't know the questions to ask and my best friend is really ill and no one is asking me if that bothers me. It does. It does, but all she says when I go downstairs to the privacy of my room is

"Don't forget to make the guest bed. My friend will be here at 5."

I read more of Solitaire today. Tori Spring reminds me a lot of myself, except for her opinions on Jane Austen and literature in general. It makes sense, I guess. She's young. She talks about how she doesn't think her mom likes her very much. I shrink a little bit on the inside. She talks about how hard it is for her to talk to people, and that she's not really that interesting of a person, and I shrink inside. Because I understand too well.

One time, one of our family friends came to visit with her Daughter. Her Daughter is everything I'm not. Bubbly, outgoing, engaging. Mom looked at her very differently than she looks at me. I bet She would have known what to say today to comfort Mom. I bet Mom wishes I was like Her. Normal. Pretty. Not a coward.

I'm going to look up therapists who specialize in rural backgrounds. Maybe, hopefully, she'll listen to me this time. Maybe she won't get angry. I'm really tired. I cried more. I miss my boyfriend. He wouldn't just leave it at "yeah I'm fine." He'd at least give me a hug.