Things are looking like they might get better, but my scars throb. They remind me of what I’ve done, and tempt me to add to them. I distract like crazy to drown out my urges to go psycho. Since I internalize things, I can’t go around breaking anyone’s stuff-or my own. The only canvas I can act out against is myself. Of course, my inhibitions prevent me from stabbing myself and spraying the walls with my own blood. At least, so far. The impulse is there though. It’s always there.
I feel like I don’t belong, that I don’t deserve to be alive. I know that there is no way for me to snuff out my life. I know that when I cut I worry people. I don’t understand why they would care. I don’t understand why ANYONE would care about me.
It’s never been my intention to cause trouble or worry for others. I don’t understand how deep or dark the words I write are or how they affect other people. I just write what I feel, what is on my mind. It always surprises me how other people react to me and what I say and do/or write.
I’m not sure if my introverted nature and social isolation cause my inability to read or understand people. I’m extremely impulsive, and tend to have really intense relationships with people outside of my family. Intense emotions good or bad can cause trouble, especially if I suddenly change how I feel about them.
I have this irrational fear of being abandoned by people I care about. I tend to bend over backwards trying to make them want to stay with me. It never ends well. I’ve been used and had my heart crushed into tiny shards. I guess it doesn’t make sense that a person like me-who doesn’t feel worthy of being loved, and fears being abandoned wants a soul mate.
I meant to just drink my tea and go to bed. Instead, I feel compelled to sit here trying to explain how things are. Maybe I want to try and reach out, to not be so lonely anymore. Foolish as it seems, I keep hoping that if I keep writing and submitting my work on the internet, I might catch my soul mate’s eye. That he’d find me, and learn about me through my writings.
It might seem that I’m an optimist, but that’s really ignorance of the “real world” and naiveté. Hope and my invincibility complex, along with dissociative amnesia are probably the reason I still reach out. I have no idea if I make sense or sound crazy. All I know, is that I want things to change. Me to grow in the area of relationships, and maybe find someone who understands my scars. Why I have them and why they might continue to appear.
So…I’m not sure if this was an attempt at explaining things, or if it’s just some rambling rant by a psychotic woman. Whatever it is, I hope it sheds light on issues that might interest others. My tea is almost gone so I’ll stop now.