Sunday, September 13, 2015

money is power when you've lived as long as i have. i know. i know.

it is impossible right now to force enthusiasm when there are no resources for enthusiasm to begin with. i'm unenthusiastic about something and instead of preparing for it, or just screwing that noise (thus granting myself relief), i did this:

"HI, I'M GREAT. HOW ARE YOU. THAT'S GREAT. YEAH SHE'S RIGHT HERE," i spoke into the phone- the phone i never answer when my mother's boyfriend calls but this time i did to take out my resentments. "see me forcing enthusiasm? sounds pretty FORCED, HUH." i said to my mother, then ran off to my room, "FUCK YOU TOO." i have no idea what i'm talking about anymore, with people, or myself.

i'm supposed to do this boring thing tomorrow- one that's a forty five minute drive away- that i don't know what to do about but just pull myself through it. i don't know what *my* reasons are for vocational training, other than "i want to show my therapist i'm not disappointing". i'm supposed to do it, is all i can come up with. i must do it. what is it for? well i'm freaking out because i don't know. it's not something i can move my head around at. like, all flexibly.

the pangs of anger i experience have been seeming to deepen more in frequency and intensity recently, to the extent that it feels like my "primary" thing.
something small happens, and then every other time i have ever been hurt in my life- and if you are me, you are always hurt- comes screaming in my face very vividly and i feel completely violated. i do not want to keep experiencing this, at least, not like this, and not so often. i hate mean people and i'm desperately concerned i'm becoming one of them. scared enough, in fact, that i don't even bother asking for reassurance over my niceness. i'm afraid i will not receive the reassurance i need.
when i ask for reassurance, it's because i'm only partly convinced- which is not entirely, which would be enough- about whatever it is i need reassurance over. it feels like my need for reassurance is being deprived right now, like totally fucking starved. because i'm scared shitless to ask for it. i don't want to know anything.
these pangs are obviously, to me, related to anxious feelings, and from my massively disruptive fear of being negated and "invalidated". yesterday, i told a lady that my venus fly trap is not in soil (after she assumed she is). she is in peat moss, i said. "no," she said, "it's not."

i wanted to die and also bite her head off but i was in public during a moment in which i could keep my face together and i was pretty paranoid to begin with and the pain snowballed quickly and carelessly.

"but you handled yourself so well!" my mother told me long after i stood up for myself over whatever wrong i believed she did to me during the moment- after i apologized, which is something you do to people to prevent them from having to compensate for something *you* did to them previously. for attacking them somehow.

appearances are a deceiving institution. i still experience great difficulty "handling myself" inwardly, which, to me, is where it counts.

why do i have to do something when i'm philosophizing over why i have to do it in the first place? and honestly, i think what i'm really- like really really- freaking out about is the logistics anyway. the *getting there* of things.

the car is where i go to tell myself "no, not everyone on the road hates me; no, i'm not the worst driver of all time" and where i force myself to look at people in other cars in hopes of feeling less certain that they hate me.
i recently revealed when i hear a honk, i question everything about myself. when someone passes me, i made a terrible mistake i don't know how to repent for.

you're supposed to feel better after you accomplish the "getting there" of things. i never do. logistics never end, and you have to keep up with them. they have to become habitual. i haven't gotten to that point yet.
i also hate celebrating accomplishing the *getting there* of things when i have- my successes, as success is perceived in a culture i perceive as futile which perceives me as futile back. i fear jinxing myself. i've done it, so i know it's not "just" a superstition- just means "superficially". jinxing is when, of a sudden, you slip into the consequences of a suddenly misinformed perception of karma- becoming suddenly intimidated by karma, measuring it on a good/bad scale.

karma, though, is amoral. and that's why i love doesn't get caught up in the destruction of things. "being" amoral is not refusing morals. i have morals, but i notice morals, and i notice they're really confining. morals are taught within dysfunction.

i don't want bullshit. i'm not obedient. why is it not okay that i'm spending my time learning to forgive myself for all the shame i've imposed on myself? why do i have to pressure myself into doing things i'm not fucking cut out for, and i don't even care that i'm not cut out for? why do i have to help enable reinforcements of archaic, unhelpful rules? it's not going to make me love myself. because of "structure"? so i can spend ALL of my time compulsively cleaning in hopes to relieve my anxiety?

people who have jobs regress at work and deal with the rage they have over their jobs whenever they're not working. fuck that. even the government forgives me for my crippledness.