Well Shit

Where do you go for help when you’re yourself when you’ve looked everywhere for help?

How do you find anyone on Earth to help you if you’ve asked everyone you know?

How do people make it through life lmao because wtf why did I raise myself with no guidance? I mean… Kudos me you did better than you realized you did. But you probably should’ve been placed up for adoption, and you know that lolz.

And if you bring this up to anyone who’s aware of your immediate family, they wouldn’t believe you because abusers don’t abuse in public and they don’t abuse everyone.

It’s blunt, and it’s not all terrible. But damn just want a smidgen of a break over here haha.

Best of luck to me!

Love,

Me of course!

What I’ve Learned throughout the Past Five Years of my Life: Quarter Life Crisis Style

Five years ago was actually my 20th birthday celebration. At the time, it felt like a celebration of my introduction to the end of my youth. I really thought I had learned all of the most important lessons there were to know, and I was preparing to plan my entry into the nearest nursing home because of that very serious old-age milestone I hit way out of the park. The feeling of finally making it into my twenties was simultaneously paradoxical, though, because I knew I also had more than plenty of room to grow.

This juxtaposition of my existential thoughts and my naivete was more cumbersome than I would like to admit. And I was not aware that not everyone was burdened with the same questions concerning their purpose as deeply as I was. Truth be told, I thought my way of thinking was the status quo. Therefore, “the plan” for the rest of my life… Yes really, the rest of my entire existence… That I had perfectly assembled to a T was, for all intents and purposes, going to pan out exactly as I had written it. By that, I mean everything I was working towards would come to fruition exactly as I had written it to be… Or frankly rewritten it until I allowed my perfectionism to accept the final draft of my whole life. It is making me laugh typing that out now because I really took that plan extremely seriously; I cannot underscore that enough.

I was working multiple jobs, volunteering at least fifteen-to-twenty hours a week, taking as many classes as I possibly could, and… Using that little old plan of mine to avoid the harder memories and feelings that I thought would magically disappear if my daily planner reflected my days in literally ten-minute increments.

It is very much safe to say that the whole running from my problems ordeal did not go well for me… At all. 

Even though my bank account, and truthfully my life in general at that time, looked outstanding on paper, my mental and physical health took the toll for it throughout the course of the next five years. Excessive nerve damage that branched into more serious problems ultimately leading to me having no choice other than to take time off from school and work.

It crushed me halfway through the past five years when everything hit its peak. The last few things I felt I had control were slipping through my fingers… Because they were. And I was not only so angry that my perfect life plan veered so far off track from my aspirations, but I was also filled with so much shame that I did not reach the goals I had set for myself. 

I mean, I am very literally still trying to figure out the instructions of my graduation date for my graduate school program. Graduation is tomorrow. That is not a joke.

However, it is now five years later, and my 25th birthday just passed last week. Thus, it is more than safe to say that the little life plan from my 20th birthday clearly did not make itself manifest… At all. It is also more than safe to say I am, yet again, so grateful it did not. Life is more than working yourself into the ground. Spending time with loved ones is the greatest gift of all. And most importantly, learning it is not only okay, but also necessary, to help others after I have taken the necessary steps to help myself has altered my perception of how I live my life completely.

So, if there is one word I have for my life right now it would be contronym. And I like it that way. I would not have guessed that at age 20-years-old. Mostly because contronym was not in my vocabulary repertoire then, yet contemporaneously because I wanted and felt that I needed others’ perceptions of me to be in my control. 

It is so much better than I could have imagined to relinquish that and just be. Authenticity is the payoff, and it truly does pay more than any job or perfect plan ever could. I am looking forward to what the next five years will look like for me. And what tomorrow brings my way… No really, I found out I have total aphantasia, and that word, aphantasia, means without an imagination. So I really mean it when I say I do not know what tomorrow has in store for me. I am choosing to look at that as a gift.

The Problem Really Is Me

Tomorrow is going to be the worst birthday of my life. It was really solidified that the worst person my college has ever seen is me.

I’ve really tried my best, but once again, I can’t do anything right. It feels like it is never good enough. Right now, this is the worst I’ve ever felt in my entire life. Literally. I didn’t even know it could be this bad.

I now do wish once again I was normal. And I thought I made progress. I clearly didn’t. People don’t care to know who I really am.

I really wish that right now, though… To be a normal person. Even after I thought it could be better to be myself, people really don’t like me as myself. They only like me when I can be a normal person.

Why me? Why did it have to be me? I didn’t want it to be me. I wanted it to be the opposite. I just wanted to be a normal person.

But, it really is true that most people only like you when you’re normal.

I’m glad this is verified. It feels truly anything but great.

Why am I even doing this anymore? I don’t get the point. I really don’t accomplish much, apparently. Even when I really wanted to accomplish anything at all.

Why?

Just why?

I wish someone could make it stop. I wish someone could just make me a normal person. I right now wish I didn’t have any disabilities at all.

Okay So… Sorz I Change My Mind Again

I’ve decided I do believe in the idea of God. But like not in the Bible sort of way. I don’t know. Don’t really care to explain either. But I’m rereading some notes from people, and it has impacted me. I have MY opinion on what that means. And honestly, I don’t know the specifics yet.

However, I do know I believe in something. Otherwise, I don’t find the point. I’ll figure it out. My mind on this changes a lot. I think that’s good though. You don’t want to be so set on your opinion that it impacts your ability to consider new information.

SOOOOO… ya that’s a good thing for me right now.

And if you go back and forth… AS YOU SHOULD!!!!!!!!! New information should always be considered… duh bishez.

woo for moiiiiiiii

Alright… toodles mofoz.

Make It Stop Please

I’m just so hurt by the fact I am treated so poorly by professionals. Especially the ones I’m paying. I cannot make it stop, and I do not know how to unless I am mute. I already was situationally mute for quite some time during my youngest years. It didn’t work. I already caused scenes. It didn’t work.

But to have a literal expert that you’re paying tell you to “memorize the answers” or “do what everyone else is doing and find friends to study with” in order to improve your grade is so humilating. I feel like I don’t have a choice at this point other than to continue doing whatever it even is that I am doing to be perceived like I am so incredibly unintelligent.

It goes back to the same question.

Why do you feel the need to treat me so poorly?

Like I’m actually struggling to understand how I am “being a know it all” while simultaneously having “answers that have nothing to do with the questions”.

Do people just not think I’m capable of feeling emotions?

Because I am so emotional it is disruptive to my daily life.

So the disconnect just fucking hurts.

Think before you respond to someone coming to you for help.

Oh, or just think about how you’d talk to a disabled child in the same situation.

I don’t know.

It’s hard.

On the Bright Side, Though

I am rereading some of the papers I wrote throughout my time during undergrad, and I admire my willingness to write about the exact opposite of what some professors wanted just to see what they’d do. Rereading my U.S. history paper is making me laugh SO hard right now because WHY would I argue that side???

Like bruh… I’m not stupid I know women weren’t treated well back then. But get over it already because they should have been. My argument will make you reconsider because I already thought through ever counterargument you have. And it probably did because it was a quality paper.

“You won’t get an A if you choose that perspective.”

Literally did I ever mention to you I cared about this class? I don’t thinkkkkkk so because I didn’t. Like please was I even there on the days attendance wasn’t required? If not, I didn’t care. And I wasn’t, so I didn’t.

SOOOOOOO I’m still choosing that side even if I don’t believe a word I’m writing. And I did. #lolZ

He wasn’t flexing though. I didn’t get an A on that paper that honestly deserved at least an A-.

I Have Been Making Art Again

I have been making art again, and it feels like I never stopped.

And I don’t mean I have been making some little quick sketches during class or when I am waiting for my appointments to start in businesses’ lobbies. I mean I have been really making art again. In the comfort of my humble apartment that’s actually not humble whatsoever.

And I hate that I stopped.

Fortunately, the almighty question of Why did I stop? isn’t lingering in my brain. I’m not desparately trying to analyze this decision of mine while I go through the motions of my everydays. I already know the answer. It’s an answer that is so prideful it even hurts my own feelings, but I think maybe, just maybe, these prideful answers in my life make manifest the areas in which I need to self-reflect. And God knows that list is long, so adding to it never hurts. If anything, that list reminds me I never have to be bored, for there is always work for me to be completing.

You can guess the reason. It’s not that hard to decipher.

There is something about making art that is so catharthic; it’s indescribable. You don’t have to say anything to try to be understood. You just sit back and let your creation do the talking. You sit back and watch other people try to analyze what your work means, and you’re finally in the driver’s seat. You get to watch them react and respond. And you don’t have to provide any feedback on whether their interpretations match your intentions. They’re finally the ones with the unclear understanding of communication. I find it beautiful in a twisted way. I find their interpretations to be absolutely stupid the majority of the time, but I like to stand there and listen to them explain away pieces that don’t need any explanations. It’s a cruel pastime, but it’s one I’ll keep in my back pocket despite the negative connotation; sue me, please. I would recommend it to a friend in need of a positivity boost for sure.

Of course, there are the many other reasons art is the thread I hold onto during times that make existential questions erupt in my brain like lava spewing from a volcano over every square inch of land as far as the eye can see. But mostly, hearing the elites’ and the genuises’ takes on pieces of art that need no takes is music to my ears.

I’m just the kindest girl in the world, aren’t I?

I Don’t Believe in God.

Chrisianity ruined me.

How sick and twisted is it that I was conditioned to believe I am inherently the worst person on the face of the earth? That I am born “bad”? That I am to live in the constant fear that I am going to literally burn in a perpetual fire if I make a mistake or mess up or get it wrong?

How sick and twisted is it that I was conditioned to believe if I pray hard enough my problems would go away? That God would hear me?

He fucking didn’t.

He didn’t hear me because he was never there.

I showed up for Him every fucking time, though. Every single one.

And He didn’t do anything…

He didn’t do anything.

Nothing.

He didn’t do anything because he was never there.

I did, though. I prayed. For everything, for everyone, for myself. I sacrificed my time, my energy, my fucking life to and for God.

And He didn’t do anything but watch me suffer.

He didn’t do anything but watch me suffer because he was never there.

he didn’t show up… But I did.

I did because I am here, and I have to live in this state of mental torture every single day of my fucking life.

I am heartbroken for myself.

What if I wasn’t conditioned to believe I fucking killed Jesus?

What ifs…

So what does that make this?

Do I consider it pure joy? Do I LITERALLY fucking count this all joy, my brothers and sisters?

That’s the rule in the Bible.

But is that the rule for me?

Is it the rule for me to be OVER FUCKING JOYED that there’s absolute misery in my never-ending depression?

Because if it is, I’m going to have to say it’s absolutely vile that God would demand that of me.

I’m going to have to say “considering it pure joy.” is not for me. And I’m sorry to and for myself that I ever, even for a second, thought it was.

But, “considering it pure joy…”, that’s for fucking ME.

I am choosing that for ME. Because I made it this far without God. Despite God.

I made it this far because I chose to do so.

That was MY choice… Not fucking God’s.

It was my choice…

Because he was never there…