LustingforNightmares

tumbleweed
2019-04-28 04:14:44 (UTC)

Ugly Brunette

"Ugly Brunette" by Horse Jumper of Love

I am an ugly
Brunette
I want to
Have a lonely child

I'll be patient
With you that's the way
The garden grows
And the gardener forgets

April 28, 2019 Sunday 4:20 AM

I am tired but I can't sleep because I am thinking about how people are a necessary evil. I just want to live in a cabin outside a small town like JD Salinger. I know he was fucked, but I think I am too and it seems like a good idea to get stuck in a shed all day with my tools so I can make something real and be rare in the social category. It's not that I don't love people—I do. But they are so painful, in that you speak to them and it places you a farther distance away than if you'd only seen them for a second on a train.

Like, I'm farther from the people I love than I am from anyone else and I am so disappointed. Maria got mad and sort of yelled at me and my friend today, because we left Spring Weekend (a university funded, weekend-long concert series) early without texting her. But we told her we were leaving and she never texted us. And she said she thought she meant we were leaving the crowd and she said my phone was dead. I said, my phone wasn't dead. She said, you turned it off right in front of me (it was glitching). I said, yes I did but then I turned it right back on so that I could take a video while I was still right in front of you. And she said we should've texted and I said, "I don't have to tell you where I am???" My point being, she had no right to yell at us, even if in her recent state of depression and anxiety, she convinced herself we were dead.

(She has been kind of harsh lately because she is sad and doesn't like anything. I don't think is an excuse to be mean. Or at least, this is what I keep telling myself to justify my own response)

And I felt especially furious because I think I get taken advantage of a lot because I'm nice and I have low self-esteem, so it is relatively easy to convince me that something is my fault. But, like, not outwardly, if that makes sense. I will fight to the death to show you you're wrong, but even if I win it doesn't matter, because it hurts that I was accused in the first place. Because even though I argued against it, I inherently seem to believe that I should be punished, so if someone blames me incorrectly it might as well be my fault for all the guilt I feel.

So I got mad and I left and I texted her, "You know I have a lot of patience but that was not cool." Which is about as mean as I can get and then I have been angry and sad since then.

Not true. I was sad before that. I've been feeling so weird and empty. That's another thing that bothers me—that I seem to mysteriously have enough energy to pretend, and to refrain from saying the mean things I want to say, but Maria doesn't? Maria just can't control herself?

She wasn't even really scared we were dead. I'm convinced that she just needed an outlet for all of the terrible emotions she felt. So when she realized she didn't know where we were, she unconsciously directed her anxiety into that channel and basically over blew it in an attempt to exercise a small portion of her agony.

I think this because this is what I do when I feel terrible. It will leak out into the little things, and sometimes it is uncontrolled and independent, but other times I lead the anxiety into a small worry so I can work it off in an odd way. Like, when I sit and imagine very vividly that my sister is dead and I start crying and I want to call her. That isn't the same as when I was overtaken by a panic attack after I bumped my head on Wednesday. Wednesday happened as a result of unexpressed and unrecognized anxiety. But the whole imagining-my-sister-dead thing is a construction used when the anxiety *is* recognized. And you could do it with anything. It's like my dad when he is stressed, the way he gets mad about the house being dirty. And me, when I have anxiety, how loud noises feel like they are scraping my insides. It's a redirected flow.

My point is, there is no reason Maria would've actually thought we were dead. She has never presented an anxiety like that before. She just wanted an excuse to feel anxious; if the reason is rooted in a potential "reality" of our being dead, then she won't have to feel as guilty about feeling it.

And I think she'd disagree with what I'm saying because she has a lot of pride and doesn't really believe other people have the capacity to understand this, even if she says she does. It's just like yesterday, when I expressed my opinion on a Mitski interview and she said, "I think you're wrong and that's okay." Obnoxious. She said the first thing as an opportunity to express her opinion, and the second thing to disarm me because if it seems like SHE is the one teaching ME to recognize alternate opinions, then I can't really argue against that without crossing the line into insistence. The reality of the situation is that I expressed my opinion, she interrupted me and argued against what she thought I was going to say, and I got pissed off and told her "I never said that," and she said "You literally just did," and I said, '"No, I said this. You interrupted me before I could finish." And then she said, "So finish!" as if I were holding up the argument.

It was an irritating conversation in which she was constantly flipping the dynamics in order to dominate, and I wanted to scream because I felt manipulated. She does this all the time during conversations, but it doesn't bother me as long as she's not interrupting. I understand that she's very stubborn (I am too) and that she's hard-pressed to change her mind about anything. God, I hate being interrupted. It just reminds me of being undermined, over and over again, by my dad—and I love that guy, but god is it invalidating when the person you are speaking to does not give you the space to articulate a thought. It's an unintentional tactic, and it knocks me off my feet easily, because I've lost the thread and I need to find it and I have less to evaluate my word choice, which means I'll have to redouble my efforts later to explain myself.

It's just exhausting. I just want to say a thing. And have someone else say a thing. I know I'm annoying, because I like to argue (civilly). And I'm annoying because I ask a lot of questions, because basically I'm my dad and I'm looking for the cracks in the argument.

But I don't interrupt.

It's not that big of a deal and it's not even what I wanted to talk about, but after that conversation last night I asked Maria if she was mad at me, since had been equally as aggressive all week, and she explained her Bad Feelings. If I'm honest, I don't have that much spare empathy. For some reason, this week has been really hard and I've had bad interaction after bad interaction with people. I am still kind of miffed that my parents didn't call me on my birthday (although I can't remember if I told them not to, so it might not be there fault), and then I had an unprecedented panic attack from which it took me about 12 hours to recover (and I'm talking physically. My body fucking hurt after all of that hyperventilating); the humiliation that comes with having a panic attack in front of a professor and not even understanding what precipitated it; and then missing class from falling behind on work when your panic attack literally rendered you useless for half a day; and then not having therapy since two weeks ago because my doctor forgot we had an appointment on Friday; and then this one kid interrogating me about my future; and then sitting with my friends feeling nothing except the desire to be alone; and then Maria being mean because she's SAD?

Because she's the only sad person in the world? Because she thinks her friends can take it?

I'm fine! It's called, shit sucks and you deal. It's called, don't tell anyone because they don't understand and if they do they'll just make it about themselves (oh, is that what I'm doing? surprise, surprise). It's called shut the fuck up and keep going because if you stop to think about it it'll just get worse. Don't stick your fingers in the wound.

I'm so mad. But mostly really lonely. Because she probably wants to crawl out of her skin, and I want to crawl out of my skin too. and I hate the sound of the voice in my head and she does too. And I hate when the light touches me, or when someone looks at me, and she hates when someone looks at her and there's that feeling of being tied by a gaze in a body you hate, in a mind that you hate, and you can't get out

And I don't understand how a person can be so careless.

And I don't even want to say that much, because how carelessly have I been throwing my weight around just now? I keep asking myself if I'm ever right in my perception, and I keep realizing over and over that I am utterly ignorant. It could be anything or nothing and I won't know. But, you know. Just to be safe, I should probably feel a little guilty about it. Just in case.


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