I ask myself “When” a lot for many reasons, but lately, the main reason is because I am lonely and at a point where I don’t know if I can get anymore fragile. I’m serious; it wouldn’t take much right now to break me. I am lonely in both ways: I want a relationship but I also just want friends who won’t run away from me, who won’t see me as a freak.
I ask myself when I will find someone who will kiss me hello or not say “I love you” as a way of abuse. I want to be actually loved and not told, “Be more like her.” When will there be that person? When will I be loved for who I am, for as fucked up as I am? When will I find a person who will hug me and not be afraid or disgusted despite the tears? I’ve been told that I will find someone but so far the only people I see getting loved are skinny people or people who hand it out. I worry that there is something worse that is wrong with me, something that can’t be fixed with dieting and excessive exercising. Something I can’t help. I have an ever present worry that I am too fucked up to be loved in that way. I worry that I will always feel lonely and always feel as if someone is stabbing me in the back and chest.
I want someone to prove to me that it won’t always be this way, not make it worse.
Emotionally, I’m not the kind of person who heals quickly but I am the kind of person who will apologize or try to work things out, understand where that person is coming from. I get hurt easily and respond on the dramatic side, so people tend to “run away” from me. I usually realize when I’ve screwed up but in some situations I realize it a little too late. Because of that I am very hesitant about making new friends because I never want to be seen like Miss Super Psycho Bitch. I used to have a system, and I think I might go back to it, where I wouldn’t even let people know I had depression issues until they had known me for at least three or four years. A lot of the people I have met lately don’t like getting to know me that slowly but at the same time, they get scared when I do actually open up to them. Fakers, I call them. It’s like those people who ask for the truth but really want a sugar coated version. I do not know very many people who can handle the truth. I do not know very many accepting people. I mean, I am not that out of the ordinary I think but I guess I am wrong. Even the people who claim to be “accepting” and forward thinking are confused by me thus they run.
So here is the question, or challenge, I have for anyone who reads this: Reevaluate how open minded you think you are. Have you ever run from someone because they didn’t fit your Society Mold? Your Status Quo? Are you scared of someone different? Are you what you claim to be?
My intelligence is a sensitive subject, perhaps the most; mocking it, questioning it or anything of those sorts could land you with either me angry at you or me having a mental breakdown. In a manner of speaking, that subject is the chink in my armor. I get paranoid very easily especially about my intelligence. If I make a mistake in that regard, I don’t forgive myself. I don’t know why but I can’t. For example, I made the mistake of thinking, and voicing, that Daddy-long-legs aren’t spiders. They are, a friend informed me, and as a result, I felt humiliated, then started the panic mode where I read more than most do in a week about that one subject. See? Paranoid. Some people think I am judgmental because I have a habit of correcting any grammar or spelling mistake I make, thinking that it’s a way of saying “I am better than you.” It’s not. It is me being neurotic. See, where most kids get “traumatized” by being teased about their name or something like that, I got teased about my intelligence. By everyone. If I didn’t answer a math question fast enough, I got mocked. I got asked what was wrong with me. I got told I was behind in everything (I later found out that this was a ploy to make me work harder than most my age.) and it made me over-anxious thus causing panic attacks for the next twelve years. It caused me to be very afraid to voice opinions, concerns and frustrations. It made me afraid of people. It also made me hate them. I am working very hard to get over this but it is hard when people still laugh at you. I will get over it, though.
Well. As expected, that last post wasn’t my final. I pulled my usual crazy-woman routine of several unsuspecting people. Magically, they’re still friends with me. I think.
I am still working on the skull but guess what? My mom, who is a chef, is going to make something with this duck but what she didn’t know was that the duck she bought from the Asian market still had its head. I get the skull when she is done. Morbid? Probably. Excited? You bet. I think I am going to make a necklace to go with my jaw-bone earrings. (I can just hear people vomiting, calling me a witch or a freak.)
Anyway. My freak-out episode is over though I am jittery and exhausted. Feels like someone scrubbed me with barbed wire.