I stay home a lot more because people hurt and I’ve withdrawn from that. Not in an unhealthy depressive way, more that I’ve finally alright with being alone, mostly content being the person accepting all the stupidities I have. But it always hurts more when it is my physical home that I feel punched the most. The people you’d expect most to be sensitive, to be steady, acting quite the contrary.
It doesn’t matter what I meant, but how it seemed. Somehow, I’m always wrong, and it never concerns them enough to try and understand the truth. I don’t have to always be right, but ‘wrong’ is a terrible label to bear.
In a complex metal box I steer not
the roads but my thoughts,
A conditioned cold stings my face
and my wet cheeks are blown dry.
Dry, I think I’ve become
and question too often.
'Forcing your pets to spend time with you by closing the door'
Its rather sad that I can’t really think of anything I’m looking forward to once I get back. Its so lovely here.
I tried to write here the vulnerabilities of the title I was born into, but I kept choking. My mix of a jumpy, overexcited demeanor and the position of eldest makes some forget I need to be looked out for too. It is in my perfect home I at times feel the smallest.
My room’s in a mess, my task list I have memorised from running it through 24 hours a day, things have gone missing, my usually organised everything is now unorganised everything, I’m missing my Best Friend’s big move to her own home, I’m intolerant and sensitive and worrying what’s left of my brains so much that it’s seeping through my ears onto the floor and getting repeatedly stepped on.
Cleaning my room was the best part of my day. I’m not sure why, I just did what my instincts instructed (get rid of dust and make things neat) and somehow, I stopped worrying. That was the best part of my day.
Unfortunately, I had to stop to go to work, and from there things sadly went slowly downhill. I felt miserable, dinner went sour and when I reached home I read news I didn’t want to read and heard stories I really didn’t want to hear. I feel tired and lifeless and over and over in my mind I analysed my job(s) situation. I talked to Chloe for a bit which helped because I’ve missed her very much. I wished I could pick Joan up for supper and maybe while telling my stories I’d cry a little in the car and she’ll make me laugh somehow. Ankita gave me advice through emoticons and I loved it. But help came through only partly, and I almost wish the tears would come so I’d get the releasing comfort afterwards. Right now I’m stuck, sometimes frustrated, mostly helpless, a very in-between. Not bad enough to cry, not alright enough to brush aside. Hopefully draining enough, to sleep.
This happened to me, exactly. I think I was too shocked to feel the physical pain of it. Hahahahaha bad decisions, I can’t to wait to laugh and watch and hug my kid when they do adorably dumb things in the future.