A poetic attempt at my thoughts to be understood if just written down. Typed out. Out of my head and into the visual. My mind never shuts off anymore. A constant changing of channels. A wave of emotions from happy to sad to anger to apathy. Not constant enough to be able to understand the reason I feel that way. Not enough time to comprehend. Not enough time to go through the full emotion of that emotion. Not enough time. No time.
Wanting to step outside of myself to look at myself. To see what people see. To see if they see me or if they see what I paint on. To see if they see the fake smile or the tears that run down my face but quickly wipe away. To see if I am as stoic and uncaring as I want to seem. Not let anyone in. Not let them see they hurt me. Not let them see what they don’t do still affects my mind because my mind is still racing. Still racing from a previous emotion. Still racing from not being able to complete a thought because someone somewhere needs me to do something.
I need this pause button. Is there a pause button?
I like being alone but I hate being alone. I want to be with someone, but they never want to be with me long enough to get me. I push them away. I know I do. I have to. I don’t want to get hurt anymore. But I want someone who will get me. Who will pull me closer to them even when I am swinging my fists in the air trying to fight to get away. It isn’t that I want to be away, it’s just that I see into my fake psychic eye and see that you will no longer be there to let me lay my head on your chest. No longer be there to try and make me laugh. No longer there.
You will realize that I am not worth it. Not worth your time to talk to. Not worth your time to make you smile. Your time has been grabbed by another woman. Someone worthy. Someone prettier. Someone funnier. Someone that isn’t me. Hell I would leave me if i could. I can’t so I am in solitude. So I push you away before you push me. I’m not worth it. No one has given me reason to believe I’m worth it. Why would they?
I walk on the sidewalk by myself. I run the streets alone to get some sort of freedom. Some time to clear my head. It lasts all of 25 seconds because the song I listen to help me run brings up a lyric that I relate to. I run with a multitude of thoughts. Thoughts that I wanted to be free of for those 45 minutes. But now those thoughts are with me for those 45 minutes of “freedom”. Those thoughts continue after my run. Into the door of my house. Into the hallway. Into my room.
Outside problems. Not mine directly. But I’m the fixer. I’m the go to. I’m the make it all better-er. I listen. I understand them. I give advice. I put a band-aid over their boo boo and make it all better. They smile. I smile. I helped. I feel good. I made someone happy. Not myself. But that’s ok. I’ll deal. I always deal. I don’t tell people my problems. They don’t need to hear it. They have their own. No need to burden. No need to lay it all out for them. I deal, by not dealing. I’ll shove it deep down into the pits of my stomach. I think there is still room there. If not, make room. There is always room.
Friends, I have those. They make me laugh. Bring up memories. Make new ones. I’m happy when I’m around them. I like being around them. But I want to be in my little shell of comforters. I love them but I love solitude. I love snuggling in my blankets with my dog. My dog loves me. We talk. She understands. I cry. She licks my face. She wants me happy. I smile for her. She proceeds to bite my hand to play. I play to make her happy. To make me feel happy if even for 10 minutes.
I’m not always sad. I am happy. But it’s fleeting. I feel the good, but underneath I sense the bad. It’s about to come. The good feels superficial.
I know in order for me to feel better, I need to change. I know that. You don’t think I do? I always tell people this when they ask for advice. But I fail at practicing what I preach. My situation is different, I say to myself. I am the care giver, my needs are put aside. Let me care for you. That is my purpose in life, right? Sure it is. I think. You think? I think? I’ll accept that. That is the only way I feel appreciated. Needed. Wanted. Take that away, what am I? I’m too old to try and rediscover myself. To reinvent myself. To be what I wanted to be when I grew up. A Ballerina. A Doctor. A Lawyer. A Journalist. A Photographer.
Dance beauty. Fix Beauty. Fight for Beauty. Write about Beauty. Capture Beauty. To do all those things, because people love beauty. I feel I have no beauty. No matter how many people tell me I am. I can’t believe it. I don’t see it. Bombarded with all the images of what people say is beautiful. To have a guys you like say, “it doesn’t matter the physical, it’s the inside that matters”. But go date the beauty you see you are not. The culmination of all these mixed signals. So I’m ugly inside as well as outside. Great. Thanks. Appreciated. Noted. Depression sets in. I change my hair. I diet. I do my make up different. I buy clothes I shouldn’t buy because of lack of funds. Nothing makes me feel pretty. I have no control. I eat. I eat a lot. I fill that void. I regret. A minute later, I get rid of that regret. Watch the regret swirl away in the water. Wash any remnants of regret left in my mouth out with water. Look at the mirror. Notice tears formed and are now running down my face. I now feel bad for what I just did. But if I didn’t I’d feel worse…I think. I know I would have. Yeah, I would have. For sure. I think?
It has to be right. My mom says I should. I’ll get fat again. Dad makes jokes of my ass getting bigger. But they are jokes. I think he is joking. Let me check the mirror. Still looks the same. The same. Same. Exercises aren’t working. Must exercise more. Get rid of regret more. Get rid of regret I barely put into my body. Who cares if it may be damaging my body on the inside. I’m looking superficially better on the outside. Who cares that only 2 years ago I got rid of my regret so much I put myself in the hospital. Who cares that I was in so much pain that I gave myself a panic attack and my body locked up while driving. Had surgery to repair the internal hernia I created. Vowed to myself I wouldn’t get rid of my regret that way ever again. My vow lasted a week, tops.
Two hours after surgery. I got up and out of the bed to leave the hospital. Worried about the cost of medical bills. After all, I could walk around just fine. A little sore. Fine. Had to be at work in a couple days. Need to make money. Need to support those that need me. Can’t be too behind at work. Can’t get fired. Sure, I’ll stay 2 hours past closing time to finish the reports. Finish the spreadsheets. Finish the letters…AND NOT GET PAID. Sure because I don’t want to get fired. Sure, because I am your doormat.
I still get rid of my regrets. I like that it is the only sense of control I have in my life. I don’t care that it may be hurting me physically. I should but I don’t. Even with my family history of certain diseases, like cancer. Does it scare me? Yes. Enough to stop? I don’t feel pretty yet.
Thoughts. Too many. Too jumbled. Too rapid. Fleeting. Only constant is a feeling a self worth. A very low feeling of self worth. It’s always underlying. Always there. Always making me question. Never giving me any sense of true happiness. Not sure what can make me feel like I am deserving. Like I am wanted. Like I am accomplished. It’s like I am existing to exist.
I’m tired of these thoughts. I want them one at a time. I want to know how to deal with them like a rational person. I’m irrational. I’m a jump to conclusions. I’m stubborn. I’m I’ll do the opposite because you told me to, even if it’s wrong girl. I know it’s a problem. But I don’t want to fix it because you are saying I should. I’m just a big ugly mess of erratic thoughts and feelings. Feelings I thought that would be better understood if I wrote them down.
Only thing I understand is #1 I don’t understand. #2. I am slowly hurting myself. #3 I don’t seem to care when I should.
I’m lost and it is always up to me to find my way out. I feel I am beyond repair to fix myself. I constantly push away the hands that try to help because I feel it isn’t genuine, just the “nice” thing to say because that’s what you say. What would you say if I said yes? Would you follow through or would you be like ever other person I entrusted with my emotions and just walk away? Grow tired of my complaining. Tired of my stubbornness.
Reader, if there are readers, don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t pity me. You aren’t supposed to. I don’t want you to. It isn’t your job or obligation to feel sorry for me. I am supposed to feel for you. Help you. Make you be the better person. Why write this then? I don’t know, I’m erratic. I’m irrational. I feel I need to. For now. Until I decide to delete this. If I delete this. I won’t delete this. It’s me now. At this moment. Might be different after I finish writing this, but as of this moment, Hello…it’s me. This is confusing I know. Now you peeked into this mind. I’m not linear. I cross over many lines and complicate the simple. It’s probably why I’m so messed up. But it’s OK. It’s fine. I can deal with this. I can fake happy for a long time. I can be happy with people. Then I’ll be me when I’m with me. I got my big girl panties on. It’s cool. I’m fine. I’m good.