Afraid of Crossing Lines. Afraid of Flying Blind. Afraid of Inquiring Minds. Afraid of Being Left Behind
There’s a lot of miscommunication goin’ down recently. I guess it’s mainly due to my complete lack of communication in general that leads to this confusion. Whoops. My bad. My typical defense–when in doubt, I turn inwards, avoid contact with others, and keep mi boca SHUT , zipped, a-closed. Yessirreee. That is my way of dealing. Sure, it’s not the greatest tactic. But, it staves off dealing with uncomfortable situations and awkwardness for a couple minutes longer than if I otherwise stated what was on ze mind. Faulty logic? So? Nadie es perfecto.
So, while this may prevent any immediate confrontation–one can rest assured knowing that each form of inaction I partake in will come back to bite me in the ass in the future. It’s just inevitable. How so, you ask? Well the how is not so important as knowing the outcome–which will be my drowning in loneliness.
I push everyone away. It probably seems to many on the outside of my little self-contained world that I spend hours upon hours holed up in my dank dark room about how I can destroy the little people’s dreams on that particular day. Pinky and the Brain style ya know?
Silly Sunny: “Gee, Brain, what do you want to do tonight?”
Sunny’s Brain: “The same thing we do every night—try to make everyone hate me!”
Oh, you know that’s how it goes down. I even get the accents goin’ on. It’s pretty intense all that plottin’ and contrivin.’ Sigh.
Yeah, but it’s not like that at all. In fact, most of my thinktime is spent worrying about ridiculously petty things–shit that for the normal person goes in one ear and out the other. But, I will sit there and analyze a situation until it reaches far past the realm of normal and enters into the extremely desolated and arid outskirts of batshitcrazonia populated only by the creme de la creme of nutterbutters. I would fit so snugly into that crop of crazies, for reals.
But, that is neither here nor there. I am a decent person. I am not a trouble maker. I am not a black-hearted beast of burden. I do not want to hurt people. I do not have a malicious bone in my body. I don’t. The only time I hurt people is out of what I feel to be necessity. Necessity for maintaining what little sanity I have left in tact. Honestly. Scout’s honor.
It’s not selfishness, but what it is.. IS self-preservation. And I don’t believe that that in and of itself is so criminal. When you are as destroyed and crippled internally as I am, you do whatever it takes to just keep living–to keep waking up in the morning with some semblance of a positive outlook for the future. It ain’t easy being me sometimes believe it or not. If it were I would not feel an absolute need to scribble down these dysfunctional thoughts on this stupid blog. I would just be out there living and thriving instead of analyzing and critiquing a single moment from a single day.
But, here I am.
I’ve had a week of contrasts–of absolute ecstatically ecstatic highs and purgatory-esque lowly lows. I fail to compute how I can be so loved by some and so loathed by others…how people who know me equally well can review my attributes and weaknesses so completely differently. It makes for a very confusing self-image. That’s for dayum sure. Am I a wonderfully amazing human being with an interesting brain ripe for picking and learning from? Or am I among the most useless, harmful, deceptive, greedy worst people on this already shitty earth?
I don’t even know anymore. I’m choosing to side mostly with the former. I’m not ready to admit defeat just yet. I’m instead opting to blame misinterpretation for any other confusions that may arise. Because as self-critical and self-loathing as I am, I have not once ever truly believed myself to be a bad person. In fact, I have an almost narcissistic boastful view of my heart’s contents. I think I am actually an extremely amazing person when it comes to caring so deeply about others well-being. I’m the kind of gal who would jump in front of a bus to save a child. I’m the person who would sacrifice my own life to better someone elses. I have such a mentality ingrained upon my soul–it’s not part of some hero complex I have. I shy away from attention. I don’t want to have any praise bestowed upon me. I just have the desire to do good.
So…why would someone like this have so many people waving torches outside my straw house?
“You separate from my body
You need consistence from somebody
Oh, I deserve this anguish on my house”
The answer, of course, is because of my inability to behave like a civilized adult human sometimes. When I recoil so dramatically and noticeably into my cave–I hurt others. I do it when I’m counted on the most. And it’s not out of any intricately selfish desires to see others mourn my absence… it’s because of a fear of the unknown. It is a fear of being judged, a fear of being seen, a fear of mingling with strangers, a fear of having to perform, a fear of having to impress, a fear of having to look or act a certain way, a fear of being confronted about my lifestyle, a fear of just existing in that moment with others to witness my potential (and perhaps inevitable) meltdown under pressure.
It’s really a self-fulfilling prophecy. The amalgam of anxiety, worry, stress and fear that festers and ferments inside my gut will typically go on to dictate the bulk of my experiences. I get so worked up about something that there is usually no hope of anything going well afterwards. I’m a headcase. It’s just a fact.
I am hated by many right now. My family loathes my existence. And I do understand it. I do. They see me as a parasitic organism–one who benefits solely at the expense of the host. They believe me to be taking and taking, draining them of life and blood, while I sit here growing bloated off of their givings. I thrive while they wither away. And that the give-and-take aspect of this symbiotic relationship long since dissipated into nothingness. In other words I’m not pulling enough of my own weight to make this partnership worth it any longer.
I don’t make my presence known at family events. This is basically my sole failure as a daughter–as a sister. I’m not sure how this is perceived in their eyes. Do they feel me to be a selfish monster? Do they think that my opting to sit home alone with the television as my only company a better option for me? Do they think it is a slap in their face? That I am making a blatant statement of my discontent or dislike of them? Sigh. Even though they know, in their hearts, that it is nothing like that at all.
My body, my soul, my heart, my spirit all want to be there. It’s my brain that makes it impossible. I know what is right. I always know what the right thing to do is. I’m a very moralistic person. I may not believe in God, but I have a better core sense of morals and internal compass than almost everyone else I know. Trust me. So, I know what I should be doing. But, I am physically rendered incapable of doing so by my disorder. Whatever. Call it a cop-out. I don’t care what people call it. It is the fucking truth.
It’s the same reason I dropped out of school. I would drive to campus every day, park in my regular spot outside of the Rec Center, wait ten minutes, start bawling my eyes out while listening to Brandi Carlile on the stereo, open the car door, close the car door, and then go home and punish myself for letting my brain win…yet again. I wanted so badly to go to school. I knew the importance of obtaining that degree. I knew how intrinsic that damn piece of paper was to my future success. I knew how much my parents had sacrificed in order to put me through four years of school. I knew I was throwing away a lot with these “decisions,” but I did not have a choice. I never did.
None of this is easy for me. None of these actions are taken with a light heart. Fuck that. It’s so simple to blame me as a person… me as a living breathing entity for choosing my own path. It is easy. I get it. It’s a lot more difficult to put ten minutes worth of analyzation and understanding into deducing a more plausible and accurate train of thought. So, it’s no surprise that this is how I am viewed by others. But, they are all wrong. I take responsibility when necessary. I am the first to apologize for my shortcomings. However, I am also quick to point the finger back at those spitting out their rancorous venom and ask them to walk a mile in my shoes and see if they still feel that way.
Because this life aint easy and it sure as shit isn’t fun. I gain nothing from any of these circumstances or events. All I do is lose. I lose my friends, I lose my family, and I lose a part of myself every fucking day. So, blame away. Go ahead. But, don’t try to pretend you understand my motives or my reasonings. And just let me try and be happy for five fucking minutes.