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Nightmares In Real Life
"Sally's Song" by Amy Lee
[it's that song from Nightmare Before Christmas]
Saturday November 9, 2013 4:02 PM
I should be an actress, and I say this with a bad taste in my mouth. I feel like such a liar. Everything I do is calculated. Everything I do is not real. The words I say are thought up and presented perfectly, with little designed pauses and realistic mistakes that were intentional all along.
I'm not real.
The fires from last weekend have re-ignited. Well, actually, the fires are so old, probably half my age. Maybe more. It's the same song, the same fights. Only difference is they're worse and they hurt more.
Forty five minutes after I woke up, my dad began hounding me (this was at like 10. Also did I use "hounding" correctly? My brain forgets English -_-) to clean clean clean.
I wish I didn't feel so awful towards him. One minute, I love him, he's daddy, the next he's the brother I never needed, a raging hypocrite, someone I hate enough to physically hurt.
So we fought. Again. He almost never cleans. When he does, he usually doesn't finish and even then he's so proud of himself, like he earned the right to tell me and Caroline we do nothing. I clean my room every weekend, and I try to keep the kitchen clean.
I wish I did more, but that's another argument. I ask them to make their expectations more clear so I know exactly what "chores" I am not doing. And they say, "Okay, okay, but Vero, you have to remiiiind us, you have to remiiiiind us."
I ask them to do something and suddenly it's my responsibility.
I feel ungrateful talking like this. They've done so much for me, and they've made me a kind person. Or at least they've tried. I don't know if I'm kind, really. I don't know what I am.
After we fought, I just sat down in my room and stared at this bandana I pinned to the wall, with the night sky on it and labeled stars. I stared at the star Lyra for an hour.
I did not move. I just stared and said, "Lyra" over and over again in my head. My thoughts wandered and I went numb. When I finally got up, I collapsed on the ground and slept, kind of, only I didn't.
Like two hours later I got up and felt unclean, but also like I just woke up. Meaning as if I didn't wake up at nine a few hours previously.
I keep thinking borderline borderline. I'm pretty sure my sis was diagnosed with borderline.
I'm so angry. Not with her diagnosis but with mine. It's killing me. It is. I caught a few suicidal thoughts today. Why? Whyyyy???? I'm not depressed.
I enjoy my own company, even if I do hate how I'm non existant almost. Sometimes I feel like I'm not living in real life. I can't explain it. Weird thoughts come into my head and I just think... I'm not real. I'm not solid.
When did my home life become such a mess? Or maybe I just never noticed it before. I feel so isolated inside. I can be touching a person I know and still feel very far away from them.
There is so much I want to do but this chaotic life makes me feel like it won't happen. Our house is perpetually messy and we're always cleaning but it never gets any better because my parents are so tired and they just can't will themselves to clean the little things they leave behind.
I am glad I'm going to Lily's at six forty (don't ask me why she asked me over at exactly forty minutes after six, lol) but at the same time, it makes me sad because
even though I'll escape this mini hell, I'll go there and be someone else. Someone with a paper thin personality. She's always known me to be this way and while I'm so different than I was last year, I think my outer layer appears the same.
Maybe if we still did our nightly meetings, she would know a lot more about my life now, but we stopped.
And I stopped. My mouth won't open anymore.
You know, in a couple of weeks I'll have had this diary for a year. I was gonna be all proud about how life has changed for me, but has it?
Did I ever really hate myself? I remember taking a self-esteem test at therapy once and when it was completed, my therapist said I my self-esteem was a lot higher than I thought. I didn't accept that.
But what if I was just alone? Just... far away from people. What if I needed something to keep them close and it all just happened because I let it. No, I wanted it. I unconsciously made it so.
The same way I know inside I did not intend to kill myself when I overdosed in April. I wanted to go back to the hospital, because there, it felt like my life never happened AND people were always paying attention to me. I hated it but it felt better than being at home. When I went the second time, I grew to hate it.
I've made zero progress.
I'm farther away from everyone than I've ever been.
I have no one to call my best friend except for a little slice of me.
I still keep imagining bad things happening and wanting them to.
And I still have nightmares and they leave me uncomfortable but in my head, I have a purpose and that is why I love my nightmares. Some one may be trying to murder me, but that's better than what I'm living right now.
Time to ask the most common question next to "What?":
Who am I?
And a few more questions:
How do I know that any part of me is real when it feels staged?
When will I stop thinking I'm sick?
When will I stop wanting bad things to happen?
Right now, my whole life seems to be depending on my diagnosis and it is not pleasant.
I've never asked anyone to fix me, before, because I just... Didn't want to be fixed. And I figured no one would do it anyway. If I had someone to ask, I would ask them to help me right now.
Or maybe I wouldn't.
I know how I can be. I'll want that attention until I get it. I hate my brain. It never shuts up.
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