I don’t trust myself. This is odd, given that I trust others quickly and completely, and am given to holding those around me to much lower standards than I hold myself. I’m probably very easy on others because I’d secretly like them to be easy on me. Conversely, I don’t believe I deserve a gentle hand. I generally believe that I deserve to feel pain.
(Not physical pain. I bruise like a peach. You’d have to hit me in the hairline so the marks wouldn’t show, and everyone knows that repeated injuries to your brain space cause damage to your thinking parts. My brain st-st-s-stutters enough as it is.)
Or, you know, the first paragraph up there could be complete psycho-babble bullshit. I might just treat others nicely because I’m trying to win their affections with good old-fashioned butt kissing, or because I’m a pansy and don’t have it in me to hold others accountable for their actions, or because I just don’t care enough to impose my standards on those around me because it’s none of my G.D business what they do or how they do it.
You see what I mean. I started this post with a statement about how I don’t trust myself. Then I go and second guess myself ABOUT myself right off the bat.
Why am I not chewing on padded walls? I’m starting to think it’s because the men in white coats have never caught me – so writing about my constant confusion on the internets in front of god and everybody should totally help me maintain my charade.
What’s gotten me going on all of this junk is that lately I’ve found myself faced with some serious aggravation. I’m aggravated because for the first time in my life, I’m happy. At least, my life is finally starting to resemble the picture I’ve always had in my head of what Happy is supposed to look like. The agitated, angry, frustrated feelings surface because now that I’m falling down the rabbit hole into a world I never thought would be available to me, people are popping out of the woodwork to yank me back out.
That’s enough to irk a girl’s tater. My tater? She is irked.
When I was miserable and depressed and having trouble finding the motivation to leave my apartment, everyone was fine with it. No one was overly concerned about me, even though I felt like I was constantly fighting for air and clinging to some last shred of myself by the skin of my teeth. Now that I’m happy it’s like there was a memo put out to every ex boyfriend, disgruntled acquaintance, old boss and angry family member, detailing my sudden lack of and need for MORE BAGGAGE. You got baggage? Bring it here, I’ll take it, my bones are no longer being crushed to dust under the weight of the world! Huzzah!
I’m about to start beating people about the head and face with the nearest blunt object. It’s very frustrating, very disappointing that instead of sharing in or even appreciating my new found happiness, instead people are trying to poke holes in the balloon that contains it.
It's not as if I'm not using the balloon for target practice myself. As I said before: I don't trust myself. I don't know how to be happy, or how to maintain it once I have a grasp on it, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to eff it all up. I don't have the slightest idea what I'm doing, and I don't believe I can keep my balance on the rope I've strung above the Pit of Dispair (Quick, name that movie!) for too long. The anger simmers on because I need all the help I can get. I simply do not know how to do this.
What I do know is that I deserve to be happy, I’ve worked my entire life for it, and I’m going to protect it.
SO! In order to protect my new found glee, I’ve decided to procure some hyenas and get them addicted to PCP. Then I will foster in them a taste for the blood of MINE ENEMIES, and fashion some mean looking body armor for them to clunk around in. Because no one’s going to mess with twacked out hyenas in chainmail, or their cheerfully grinning mistress.
Does anyone know where to find hyenas..?