I have no idea what else to say so I’ll leave it at that.

I’d talk about the reasons why I’m emotionally knackered but I will save those for when I feel like airing out a lot of laundry all over wordpress.

Now, for the more cerebral bit.  Over time I’ve realized that I have spent a lot of time looking down on myself, feeling hopeless and worthless and on edge among other things.  But now I’m slowly coming around to the fact that it’s not worth anything at all.  I’m not worthless, not hopeless, and things usually will be okay.  Even if I have to repeat it in my head 30,000 times.   I am making a conscious effort to stop wasting my time on such petty nothingness and just enjoy life as it is, no matter what comes next.  It’s an uphill battle, as certain thoughts love to grab hold and then hold on like they’ve been superglued on, but I can do this.  I just have to gain the confidence and believe in myself.  Now that may seem like a major duh, but, for someone who has struggled with confidence his whole life, gaining this ground feels like something completely new.

Also, the fashion post is coming soon, as soon as I figure out what I’ll be able to make it look like considering the amount of time I’ll have to make it good.  But I promise it’ll be here this week, possibly as soon as tomorrow.

And last, but definitely not least, I would like to thank anyone who still takes the time out to read this space.  I know that to some posting a fair amount of personal laundry on the internet can be really creepy, and I’m happy everyone here so far has dealt with everything in such a mature manner.  I feel so full of love just typing this that I can’t fully explain the gratitude I feel.  Thank you so much, and I hope to converse with you soon.  Wherever you are.

All my life I’ve believed in some sort of yin-yang balance where good things now will be rewarded with great things later and so on, if that makes any sense.  So I’ve tried to contribute to this world.  I’ll help my friends with almost anything they want, without expectation of anything in return.  I’ll talk to anyone and try and help them through a rough patch or anything else they may need help figuring out.  The problem is, I never do these things myself.  I’m constantly afraid of feeling like a burden.  If I do ask for a favor or talk to someone about my inner thoughts, I feel guilty about it almost immediately afterward.  I’m predisposed to being a very private person, and there’s very little I reveal unless I trust you enough to be close to me.  This takes a while, as I’m wary of people due to being hurt several times in my past.  It is a miracle that anyone is friends with me to this day, and I am incredibly grateful for all those who are close to me.

Another issue is trying to keep all these good things in my life in my conscious when the not-so-wonderful thoughts come marching on in, as if on a schedule they must keep.  I want to put signs up that remind me of these things when I’m feeling blue, but I’m also afraid of coming off maudlin or as someone with severe, isolating mental problems.  But I’m moderately isolated anyway, so I suppose I could do so without any effects.  Sometimes all I want is to be close to someone else — mentally and physically — to give myself a rest from all the things I take in and hold on a daily basis.  It gets quite heavy after a while, and any way to relieve that burden would be good.  I’m not holding out for much though, I don’t have the best luck.

Anyway, I think I’ll write tomorrow about a few of my favorite looks from the New York Fashion Week collections so far.  That way, it’ll be a nice vacation from my mental rambling.  I promise.

Yes, I know this seems oddly bipolar considering my exploits of a couple days prior, but I feel that then I was hitting the bottom.  Over the past several months I have fallen, in stages, back into territory I have felt before.  Yet it never fell to a point where I actually had to do or say something whacked out in order to go towards resolving it.  Without going into extravagant personal detail, I think that point has been reached.   Now it’s just the upward climb I have to care about.  I haven’t felt this good in a long time.  I hope it’s here to stay and only gets better from here.

And thus is my argument for preventative health care.  Or something.  I’m going to need new material to write about now, so don’t be surprised if this becomes a movies and fashion blog.  I promise I’ll try and keep it somewhat interesting.  I owe that much to any and all of you that come back.

On the surface, I’d really have no reason to be feeling this way.  I have family who ostensibly love me, I have a small group of good friends, I’m at a great school with a bright future supposedly ahead of me, and I’m able to partake in the finer things in life.  Yet I’ve never felt this isolated, cold, empty, and distant in years.  The only thing preventing this from getting any worse is that I don’t have any nostalgic times to look back upon and say, “why couldn’t things be like that now?”

I thought college was going to be this fresh start, this huge transition from what I was to who I will be.  But it appears there wasn’t much of a transition to make.  I’ve been living like a 30 year old since I was 12.  My mother recognizes this, and I have recognized it for the past six and a half years.  I don’t blame anyone else for who I am or why I don’t have some things as opposed to others, I know it’s my fault but I can’t seem to fix it.  I don’t talk to anyone about my true feelings or anything of marginal importance in my life.  And if I do, I feel guilty about it and chide myself for a while, resolving to never do so again.  But most of the time, I lie.  I lie about how I feel, I lie about what I’m thinking, I lie about who I am (not too seriously, don’t read into that much), I lie about anything that is somehow related to something I wouldn’t want to divulge.  I’m honest about everything else.

I’d seek help for this, but I don’t think I could trust anyone to be completely honest.  I shutter myself away so I won’t be hurt, which in turn leads to me feeling more and more isolated.  I know I shouldn’t feel obligated to society’s “be social or be out” standards, but damn if it isn’t difficult.  For many reasons, I’ve never liked myself.  Whenever I look in the mirror I just see a set of imperfections that I hope will go away.  I don’t feel like I have a shining personality.  I just try and be nice so that other people can have the experience of that one thing that will make them feel better or see the world as a better place.  I’m not particularly desirable, as attested by the fact that even I don’t want myself.  I wake up every morning uncomfortable and in pain.  But I can hide all that away like a master.  I’ve been doing so for years.

A week ago (or so), I wrote in my personal journal that I felt like I was drowning in 6/8 time.  I still do.  I don’t know what to do now.  I don’t know where to turn.  Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and know the way.  Maybe I won’t.  Only time can tell.

I don’t want to be at home.

I don’t have anywhere else to go.

I wish I could magically disappear.

These past few weeks, I’ve fallen back into a depression as deep and severe as I had a few years ago when it was an issue within my family.  This time, I’ve just hidden it so as to not raise any suspicion from my family who just wouldn’t understand what goes on inside my head.  I don’t expect them to anyway, hence I don’t share any information about my life with them regardless of how I’m feeling.  Normally I’d be hesitant to write about members of my family on any sort of public space; however, my empathy has ran out and I will sing this story from the hills from here on out.

When I was 8-9 years old, my parents fought a lot.  They fought at home, they fought on vacation, wherever.  At times, the police had to get involved because it got that bad.  Eventually, the divorce was over and my mom had won custody after successfully painting my dad as an abusive monster, which also won her a restraining order and required supervision whenever my dad wanted to see me and my siblings.  In the years following, my mom would date a number of characters, inviting them to live with us briefly after first meeting her.  Of course, we had no clue how fucked up this actually was until one came along that would get into violent altercations with my mom, yet always managed to reappear.  In the course of her drug abuse and alcoholism she managed to diffuse her responsibility and project her problems onto everyone else, carefully holding up the facade that she was leading a functional family successfully.  I could write for days on her various exploits, but I’ll move on to my father.

My father was never the total bad guy my mother painted him out to be, despite my mom’s bang-up job of convincing my siblings and I that he was.  But in recent years, his obvious use of medicinal drugs has hit just about my every nerve.  He claims not to be addicted and just does them at night to relieve some pain, despite the fact that I can smell it on him multiple times a day and see the signs that he’s not quite there.  For example, whenever we watch a movie and he asks some sort of question — inquiry, clarification, etc. — after just about every line, that’s a decent clue that he’s not lucid.   At times I have this feeling that it shouldn’t bug me as much as it does, yet that feeling of disappointment continues on across months and years.  I’m sure other families have problems like these, though I’m not sure many have them to this extent.

My life experiences have led me to abhor drugs and alcohol, though I don’t begrudge anyone that drinks responsibly, to the point that I have built a visceral negative reaction against both.  And I can’t find anyone that understands this.  The best I can get is “well maybe you should try it.”  Fuck that, I shouldn’t have to do anything I don’t want to because of the negative connotations I associate with it and I strongly resent people who say that to me.  All things like that only serve to reinforce my pattern of internalization, seeing as I normally don’t tell anyone anything that matters about myself.  I hate feeling like I’m the bad person for having strong beliefs due to past experiences.  I’ve tried to let this all go but it still stings on a daily basis.  I have no one to talk to, no place to go, nowhere that makes it feel okay.  At this point, I’m honestly so tired of just existing that I wish I could just disappear.  It’s not like there would be many people to care anyway.  More than anything else, I just want to go away.  I’m tired of feeling like this, I really am.

Happy holidays.