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Warning: serious baggage and venting. HEED this if other people's personal stuff might make you uncomfortable. I wasn't even sure I wanted to make this post visible.
I know this is a "journal", but I don't really like writing "me" posts. I use this place for fic. I'll talk about my writing until my eyes go crossed. I'll write about my family (they're hilarious, and on occasion fairly awesome). I don't like talking about me, though, or what's up with me. I always feel like I'm whining.
Because there's apparently a huge double standard, because I love reading about other people's lives, but whatever...
I'm seriously beginning to think I might have legitimate mental problems. Not just the "haha zombie porn" type, but the "potentially hazardous, unhealthy kind. And it's kind of hard for me to even state without feeling like an attention whore or a hypochondriac. Especially the latter, because I've come to realize I have a pretty harsh phobia where mental illness is concerned. (I know I've talked about that to a few people, but I can't remember who...)
Anymore it seems like I'll be on cloud nine one minute, and everything is good, and my stories are practically writing themselves, and I have all these ideas that I jot down notes for and promise myself that I'll get right on that... And then it just dries up, and I can't even decide which story I want to try and complete an entry of (let alone progress any of them more than a sentence or two), and my sense of self worth heads into the toilet. And of course it always seems right about that time that everyone in my household decides to start being hateful to each other, and I feel like I'm somehow expected to know what is going on in people's heads when nobody is talking to anybody else. It's so frustrating...
End result seems to be falling into this state where I hate life, have no drive, feel utterly hopeless. I'm sure a lot of that has to do with being in my late twenties and having done absolutely nothing with my life. And the effort it takes for me to muster the will to do anything sometimes makes it hard to feel like I ever will...
And I've found myself spending a lot of time distracted by the mental image of some kind of violence. It's not the wish to enact violence, mind, just the suggestion of the act. More than anything I think it's a sort of punctuation to whatever emotion I happen to be feeling at the time. I'm mad at a room mate so I experience kind of the suggestion of what it would be like to wrap my hands around the handle of a knife and slit her throat. Or I want to be out of whatever situation I'm in (listening to parents fight, wanting class to be over because all the time/money I'm spending on it feels like a waste of time) and I'll get the same sense, only slashing my own throat, or imagine a bullet ripping through my brain. Again, just as a sort of punctuation to the wanting to be out of that moment, like "I want to not think, that would do the trick".
I've talked to my family about my moods, the one time my thoughts got close enough to actual "intent", but not recently. Not recently enough to tell them that I worry that I've got actual mental health issues. Everyone's got their own problems, and I always feel like I'd be dumping shit on them that they don't need.
So...yeah. That.
Moving on, I want to show you something slightly surreal. It's one of those things that is funny, but at the same time not, and I hope it won't leave you as depressed as it did me:
Uteratti: Uterus Incorporation Services
The shit going on in politics right now pisses me off and freaks me out. My personal gender/sexual identity has always been sort of nebulous. I rarely consider myself anything. I guess I count as gender queer, I don't know. Funny, though, how hard it is not to feel like a woman when there's all these people out there deciding they get to threaten me with my own organs. Jesus...
I should probably go to bed. I need to be out of the house by six tomorrow. Early class. Image manipulation, which is okay, but... Normally I'd be just fine with sitting in front of a computer for four hours...but it's in a Mac lab. I hate Macs.
Edit: A follow-up.
I know this is a "journal", but I don't really like writing "me" posts. I use this place for fic. I'll talk about my writing until my eyes go crossed. I'll write about my family (they're hilarious, and on occasion fairly awesome). I don't like talking about me, though, or what's up with me. I always feel like I'm whining.
Because there's apparently a huge double standard, because I love reading about other people's lives, but whatever...
I'm seriously beginning to think I might have legitimate mental problems. Not just the "haha zombie porn" type, but the "potentially hazardous, unhealthy kind. And it's kind of hard for me to even state without feeling like an attention whore or a hypochondriac. Especially the latter, because I've come to realize I have a pretty harsh phobia where mental illness is concerned. (I know I've talked about that to a few people, but I can't remember who...)
Anymore it seems like I'll be on cloud nine one minute, and everything is good, and my stories are practically writing themselves, and I have all these ideas that I jot down notes for and promise myself that I'll get right on that... And then it just dries up, and I can't even decide which story I want to try and complete an entry of (let alone progress any of them more than a sentence or two), and my sense of self worth heads into the toilet. And of course it always seems right about that time that everyone in my household decides to start being hateful to each other, and I feel like I'm somehow expected to know what is going on in people's heads when nobody is talking to anybody else. It's so frustrating...
End result seems to be falling into this state where I hate life, have no drive, feel utterly hopeless. I'm sure a lot of that has to do with being in my late twenties and having done absolutely nothing with my life. And the effort it takes for me to muster the will to do anything sometimes makes it hard to feel like I ever will...
And I've found myself spending a lot of time distracted by the mental image of some kind of violence. It's not the wish to enact violence, mind, just the suggestion of the act. More than anything I think it's a sort of punctuation to whatever emotion I happen to be feeling at the time. I'm mad at a room mate so I experience kind of the suggestion of what it would be like to wrap my hands around the handle of a knife and slit her throat. Or I want to be out of whatever situation I'm in (listening to parents fight, wanting class to be over because all the time/money I'm spending on it feels like a waste of time) and I'll get the same sense, only slashing my own throat, or imagine a bullet ripping through my brain. Again, just as a sort of punctuation to the wanting to be out of that moment, like "I want to not think, that would do the trick".
I've talked to my family about my moods, the one time my thoughts got close enough to actual "intent", but not recently. Not recently enough to tell them that I worry that I've got actual mental health issues. Everyone's got their own problems, and I always feel like I'd be dumping shit on them that they don't need.
So...yeah. That.
Moving on, I want to show you something slightly surreal. It's one of those things that is funny, but at the same time not, and I hope it won't leave you as depressed as it did me:
Uteratti: Uterus Incorporation Services
The shit going on in politics right now pisses me off and freaks me out. My personal gender/sexual identity has always been sort of nebulous. I rarely consider myself anything. I guess I count as gender queer, I don't know. Funny, though, how hard it is not to feel like a woman when there's all these people out there deciding they get to threaten me with my own organs. Jesus...
I should probably go to bed. I need to be out of the house by six tomorrow. Early class. Image manipulation, which is okay, but... Normally I'd be just fine with sitting in front of a computer for four hours...but it's in a Mac lab. I hate Macs.
Edit: A follow-up.
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Re: p1
Date: Thursday, 12 April 2012 05:17 pm (UTC)From:Ah ah. Right. ^^
That's actually something that I found remarkable when I came to the US. I mean, I didn't get to see a lot of it, but I was fortunate enough to live in a suburb of Pittsburg for a summer, and in a neighborhood that was quite nice. I don't think it is a common occurence (please, tell me if I'm wrong, I'd love to know), but it seemed to be a complete mix. We had hispanic families, black people just across the street, the next door guy was asian. That wasn't at all what I expected from the 'boxed up separately in different blocks' view that we get here. And, I notice there are mostly only the two extremes. Well, there were, where I was. Really fat people. Who don't shock you cause you're in the states so they're everywhere, but transported here, they'd stand out a lot more. (I mean, we only have XXL as a size, and it's for *tall* people, though, if you got a little belly, you're fat already. Going to the pool with good ol american booties made me a lot more confortable in a bikini. Maybe I should hop back for a stay. ^^) ANd then there are skinny people. Magazine cover, perfect 'I love the gym' people. Amazing. Oo
So. Is it pretty much everywhere, or was it just in Pitts?
Never been on medication for anything (besides antibiotics, years ago).
Of course, I didn't mean "OMG, you're off your meds!", I'm pretty sure you got that. But you know, half the year I'm on constant allergies medication and I used to take the pill. Now I have an implant and it's fucking with me. Plus anti acids. ARGH.
When will I be ok physically?! Grrr
when I was younger I had anger issues You wanna hear about outbursts? In class, considering which one it was I must have been about 5 or 6, maybe? A kid was teasing me and making me so mad, and I knew that *I* get in trouble if I retaliated as hard as I wanted to... So I stabbed a pen. In my hand. Through, my hand.
I don't even remember suffering from it after that. Though to this day I wonder how I managed to come back from it without damage. I mean, there's a scar on the top of my hand. Period. (there's a matching one on my other one from an IV I didn't notice was empty, so it started sucking blood instead of giving fuild and it got so bad that it sort of tore through my skin. That'll teach me for not wanting to bother anyone because *my fucking hand hurts!!*)
Anywhoo. You know you're the only one that has that rambling effect on me? Yeah. Yeah, you are. Weird. Kinda creepy.
I hope I'm not weirding you out with those details.
Hm. I've seen some pretty ugly sibling fights. I wasn't lucky enough to grow up with mine, but my best friend in high school slammed two remote controls (one in each hand), down on her kid sister's head and knocked her out.
Why? Kid sister wanted to watch a show. But we were in the entertainment room (cause they have enough money to HAVE an entertrainment room), which has a bigger screen. She didn't want to watch it in her room. Problem was... it was Buffy time. We were rabid fans of Buffy. The show started and she kept protesting so, Oz shut her up (long story, friend nicknamed Osen, her real name is Claire). Hard. Oo
To me, it seems like you need a physical outlet for your emotions. To find one. Whether it's boxing, running, doing relaxation... my bro, who's a physical therapist, explained to me that one of the causes of stress in our modern societies is that we tire ourselves mentally a lot, but it rarely matches physical exhaustion, so we don't sleep right, we never refuel properly.
Really, when I was exhausted and couldn't sleep, and therefore got more exhausted, my first instinct was NOT to go out for a run or do an hour long workout. Now it is, and it works! Actually, I only ever work out when I'm so beat it's necessary. (Don't tell him. I say I do 30min everyday. Pshhh..)
Re: p1
Date: Friday, 13 April 2012 03:59 am (UTC)From:I wouldn't say there's only the two body types, but there's definitely what's on TV and what's...not. And a lot of what's not is pretty unhealthy.Then again, this is Cali, so it's entirely possible the East Coast has a different breakdown.
My knees don't rub or anything, and I can run to catch the bus if I have to (though not very effectively, but part of that is just being 5' nothing with very short limbs) but I'm definitely in the overweight category.
Of course, I didn't mean "OMG, you're off your meds!"
LOL, yeah, I got what you meant. With two or three pharmaceutical commercials per break, I know what you mean. A lot of medications for things have screwed up consequences. Also, when my grandmother got pneumonia once they put her on prednasone, which causes symptoms similar to senility, so yeah I've had experience with that. Was just giving a more detailed answer to your question than "Errr, nope."
Also, I'm rarely ever bothered by details that people don't mind giving freely so, I think you're good. :)