Yes it does. No matter how much you pack or how long you do it, it doesn't look like anything ever changes or gets done.
I was trying to convince Cy today inbetween boxes that I need Disney Therapy. Since Walt Disney World is generally one of the only times in my life that I actually am able to feel happy, that I need to start a fund. It's a hell of a lot less expensive for an annual pass to WDW then to see a shrink and instead of about two hours of couch time, I'd have 365 days of always-available happy sessions. It is The Happiest Place On Earth afterall.
Joking aside, it does highlight how bad things are. And when I stop and think about it, it really sucks. Not to mention scares the shit out of me. I go my entire day, hour after hour, week into week feeling nothing. And if I do feel something, it's unbearable depression like a black hole swallowing me up. I don't ever feel happy, or joyful or anything like that anymore. Ever. There are brief moments where I don't feel the depression as much, but that's a far cry from actually being happy. I cover with sarcasm and silly jokes, but none of it touches me, nor goes below the surface. It's momentary and for show; for the other person's benefit and so they don't notice how broken I am on the inside. It's just fragmented peices left these days that I don't know how to make work; make function.
Somewhere in my life I used to be happy. And functional. And self-supportive. I was strong and bold and maybe not fearless, but definately not fearful. I lost her somewhere along the way. I don't know who that woman is anymore - not how to find her and not how to be her. Sometimes it feels like she never existed and I've always just been this broken construct. I think for awhile I bought my own act; my own lie. The face I put on for others that says, "Oh nothing's wrong at all!" The one that doesn't immediately show the tattered corners and the cracks around the edges. I think I fooled myself into thinking that the farce was true.
I can't do that anymore. And part of me just wants to run and hide. Plaster silly things like jokes and quizzes and silly commentary here. Avoid the realness of what I feel and what is going on inside me. Hide behind that comfortable mask of joviality like I always do. "Nothing to see here, folks, just the same old show." I think about how I have an "audience" to appease; how I have standards I need to upkeep - apperences that must be maintained for the benefit of those who meander this way. They don't come for the self-pity and the lowly mutters of the seriously, mentally damaged girl, they want the humor and the wit and the snarky comments. They want a moment of a chuckle and to move along. But the question becomes, do I stnad on this stage and write for someone else, or do I write for me?
I think I'm at a point now where I need to write for myself. Which means talking about this stuff. I'm sure I'll cling to the mask still; intersperse pointless and trivial mundane details between these deeper posts. I'm sure I'll try to cater to the crowd (sic) and continue to try to present myself as who people feel I should be, but not always, and not in every post. I need these posts because it's the only outlet I have right now. It's the only way I can get these thoughts out of my head - and hopefully, lose a little of the raw pain they cause me in the process. I feel this desperation to talk to someone; not really a specific person, but to get it out and tell myself someone's listening; someone cares. Even if it's nothing more then them reading my words and saying they're still around. I need someone to validate these words in some small way, not through advice or suggestion so much as just an ear.
I don't know. But this journal will probably slip into a darker period now. After my breakdown the other day, things are just different. I stopped crying (mostly and for the moment) but it's not better. I can't think in terms of what's to come or it overwhelms me. I just try to think about right now, right this moment and getting through it into the very next moment. So, I can't think too far ahead in terms of what I write or don't write here, but right now, in this moment, I feel like it will be more of this. I'm sorry if some of you came here thinking you'd find something - or someone - different, but for once, I'm going to write what I want to write and be who I am, for better or worse. Until I can try to find someone to talk to professionally, I need to get it out somewhere and this is the only outlet I have.
Ramble ramble ramble. I hate that I have the same words running through my head in so many different ways that all just say the same thing and leave me repeating myself over and over long after the points been made.
Anyway, I'm done for tonight. I know that when I go to bed, I'll eventually wake up and it will be tomorrow. And I know in a very impersonal way that it will be Friday, and that we'll be signing the lease and that we have things to get done, but it doesn't feel like it's happening to me so much as it's just an abstract concept. But that's what we'll be doing - that and the seemingly never-ending packing (though again, logically I know it will be over by Saturday morning since we're moving it all Saturday day, but emotionally, it literally feels like standing over a bottomless pit) - and that's where I'll leave off.
~ castles of sand by Memory and Dream
at 10/15/2004 01:56:15 AM ~
~
