Monthly Archives: September 2013

Kinda fucked up

I had a brain overload today, things got my cogs turning and those cogs that turn so often led to a lot of thoughts – a lot of negative and anxious thoughts, thoughts that have been happening a lot lately and I cant seem to pinpoint the exact individual cause but I know the effect of it. I recognize I need help but at the same time I don’t want to relive/retell a lot of the physical and emotional scars that I had left behind buried in time and forgotten in the realms of NO YOU’RE NOT MAKING ME TELL YOU LEAVE ME ALONE. I hate feeling like I am being dictated to, much like my stance on organised religion.
I know it’s none of anyone’s business to suggest what’s wrong with me. I know what’s wrong with me so anybody else’s diagnosis is completely bullshit to how I perceive being. At the current time, I have had my head buried in Doctor Who and the Whovian fanbase and had the privilege to meet new people in another fandom. I even got surprised today with a gift from my friend Jeri today, a Doctor Who TARDIS (let’s just say it’s a blue police box that travels in space and time) phone cover and I thought that was very kind of her. I am very grateful for people who are there for me, but I can’t help but to feel like I push them away too often and in the worst possible way each time these cogs in my head burn out which I am starting to think that I’m unknowingly burning bridges I don’t want. I know I have every right to cry about how I feel, regardless of gender, everyone has a right to cry, but then people judge me – this is the topic that started to burn these cogs in me today and I haven’t recovered from it despite numerous attempts.

In this present mentality, as described to my social worker, appropriately nicknamed Brazil, I explained how I hate being judged on any level – she helps me with my kids, I have been through a lot for someone is my age and a ripe age of fucking 24 and she helps me. She is an ear to listen to amongst the crowd of ears I have friends who put up with my social and emotional and physical and fucking I don’t know, general bullshit which I am highly grateful for. My family on the other hand, they are always judging me. Judged me for having the wrong boyfriend, or judging me because I hate myself and I don’t look after myself like I should be doing. People judge me and in return I judge them back. I hate the fact that a complete stranger can judge me based on a single purchase at a grocery store – I buy smokes, I’m a lower class soon to be cancer patient – I buy home brand stuff I am a lower class soon to be poverty class patient. If someone shakes their head at the way I discpline my child, keyword being M Y children, shake their head and walks away, for an example, I have a right to judge them as an inexperienced and ignorant asshole.

I have so many insecurities it’s not funny. Right now, I am a 92 kg emotional eater who’s on the brink of starving herself for a few days, that rates herself with a self esteem scale from 1-10, a 2. Anxiety levels breached their levees today with all time 7 during Brazil and my conversation with my explicitly stating that I don’t like my other social worker Michelle and other such cog burning subjects, like how much I hate my ex boyfriend for his dropshit ways towards his own daughter and oh, hai, it’s the judgement topic again.

I have social stresses and a fuck load of varied insecurities. I can never find the right couch to mold by ass into, metaphorically speaking and if I was asked what do I think of myself at the current time? I think I’m a complete failure at life and right now, I don’t care. You can judge me for how I feel and say shit like “love yourself” but I’m sorry that hippy crap went out the window ages ago. At this current time and space I would rather cry over the fact that Donna Noble will never able to remember The Doctor and most likely use comfort food to help soothe this void that a sci-fi show has created in me then to do something productive with my life. I hate my life, that’s the blunt and honest truth.

I have a feeling that when I’m older, when I have seen my kids grow up, that I will end up killing myself because I’ve achieved the one thing I ever wanted in my motherhood – to see my kids grow up. I only wish for my wishes to be understand (I know it’s hard to understand but the more you get to know me the more it’s easier to see why I haven’t wanted to live for quite awhile) and respected. I will always be known as the Girl who Wanted to Be But Couldn’t – I’m perfectly fine with that to be honest. It’s called brutal fucking honesty. But also because my head is like an ongoing war, I always will have days where I want to bomb the shit out everyone around me, myself included, but there are days where I just to want to warm up pies after pies and douse with ketchup and be a fat shit obese statistic in front of Supernatural or Doctor Who. It’s who I am and I hate myself for loving the fact that I will forever hate myself, even after copious amount of varied therapies, I still hate myself. And I’m perfectly okay with that. I’m perfectly okay with having insecurities, I’m perfectly okay with having homicidal tendencies and I am perfectly okay with you judging the shit out of me. But with every “I’m okay” I’m really saying “I can’t wait to leave this planet” because I’m really not okay with being perfectly okay about things.

So if you’re reading this I’m probably somewhere in the space of my house kicking myself that you got hands on these words somewhere on the internet because I had to write them down and store for them to make sense to me.


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