Your Face (kandigurl) wrote,
Your Face

Before beginning this emo-tastic adventure in pain, I would just like to say that I'm a little disturbed by how normal it feels to have bright pink hair. So far the only person at work that has really said anything about it (besides Jesso, of course) is the lady that trained me to take orders who has all the Marilyn Monroe stuff by her desk. She gushed over it, I kind of love her for it, although I don't really mind that no one else has said anything. It's just nice to know someone approves. :)


Blargh. Okay, so the past...hmm...several months, I guess? I've felt like I've been doing one-hundred and twelve things but not actually doing anything. Like I'm running incredibly fast, but in one place. Last night, I kind of exploded all over everything. I got home after being out last night, and on the way home, I knew, I just KNEW, I was going to get bitched at by someone when I walked in. I didn't know who, I didn't know why, I just knew I was in some sort of trouble. It turned out I was right, apparently no one knew I was going out (even though I told both Jim and Jessie), and yesterday we were supposed to clean the house. No one really told me what I was supposed to do to contribute, exactly, and I'm not the queen of cleaning, so I kept waiting for instruction, and when I didn't get any, I figured I was free to go.

It wasn't so much the fact that I was "in trouble" or anything that bothered me. It was the not knowing why. I hate the feeling that there's something I could have prevented, if I'd only known about it before-hand, and then I usually end up feeling stupid for not having seen it before.

I feel like I hurt a whole slew of people last night, for various reasons, stupid things that I should have known better about and stuff, and I just fell on my face every time.

For that matter, I really feel like everything I touch is failing, going wrong, disappointing someone, hurting someone else, and letting down whoever wasn't disappointed or hurt. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but after talking to both Jim and Jessie last night, and feeling like Fraher was upset with me for some inexplicable reason this morning, I've decided I need to change something.

I don't really know what it is. I get paid tomorrow, and come hell or high water I'm going to a yoga class sometime this week. I really feel like having that back in my life, even if it's just once or twice a week, would really help. I hate spending the money on it, though, it's not cheap. :(

The other thing I've been trying and trying and trying to do, ever since November, is to just stay at home. I love hanging out with people, I love all of my friends, I love doing stuff outside of my main responsibilities, but I NEED to stay home for a week or two or I'm going to hurt myself emotionally.

So, at least for this week (and maybe next week depending on how I feel), other than American Idol, I'm going to stay at home and try to sort out the shit in my head. Who knows if it will actually help, but I see no way that it could hurt.

And fuck it, I'm not writing this book right now.*


So while I know I really need to do this staying at home thing, and while everyone at the house is saying, "Yes, you're running all over the place, we feel like you're never home, you need to slow down", it's going to be really hard for me to not feel excessively guilty about it. This mostly stems from a letter my grandpa sent my mother when he was still alive: My mom had just discoverd that Reagan, my little sister, had autism. She was going crazy with this new information, was looking for support from friends and family, and informed everyone of the situation. The response she got from my grandpa was a letter saying that he was an old man, and had spent his entire life doing things for other people and bending over backwards for them, and never taken any time for himself. So he was going to focus on himself for a while, and not let anything else bother him.

Basically, he said, "Sorry my granddaughter has a life-altering disability, I'm too busy worrying about me to care."

I kind of feel like I'm doing the same thing. I know I'm really not, and that if one of my friends had a really serious issue that they needed my help or support with, I wouldn't blow them off this week. But I can't help that guilty feeling that I'm inconveniencing everyone else by taking some personal time for me.

I'm also really, really irritated with how depressed I am today. I don't think I've ever been this depressed in my entire life (outside of a relative dying, and this isn't really that level of depression), and it's pissing me off because I'm not sure how to fix it. My mom would probably say it's because I just put a shitload of chemicals on my head to dye my hair, and I'd almost rather believe her, because that would mean it's just my brain being stupid and there's really nothing wrong, and the solution would be to not dye my hair every week.

But I'm worried that it's something else, something that may not be fixable, and that I'm doomed to live out my life as a selfish, klutzy, clod of a human being who perpetually irritates everyone despite her best intentions. The amount of friends who seem to care about me for some reason might be evidence against that theory, but part of me can't help feeling like my friends do more "putting up" with me, rather than actually enjoying my company. Sometimes I'll be talking, and I can feel everyone in the room just wishing I would shut up, but I can't seem to do it. I'm almost tempted, the next time I'm with my friends outside the house (or even IN the house), to just sit there and not say anything. Nothing. Just listen, watch, and see what happens.

Although that probably wouldn't do much good since I may get asked questions, and then I'd open my big, fat trap and never shut up again.

I hate me a little sometimes.

*You can stop reading now, unless you're interested in reading my ramblings that will come to absolutely no solid conclusions about some of my various issues.

Also, I'm really enjoying the hell out of this Taylor Hicks album.

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