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erikaA mist descends, portent of heavy fog soon to come. I pretend it's not there, until the evidence piles up.
I have sent 2 IM messages today, Was I starting conversations with people? No, they were all away, not answering their messages. It wasn't accidental; I did it on purpose. I knew I was talking to someone who wasn't going to talk back.
They don't want to talk to you anyway, whispers through my head, the voice of the fog rolling in. It sounds wrong, but maybe true, and I don't know anymore. You know, just like your old friend and your ex don't want to talk to you anymore either. That's not... exactly what happened, I think, but it's weak, ineffectual. Anyway, it sounds right, doesn't it?
I emailed![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gamesiplay and said nothing of importance. I'm not even sure why I did it, since I meant to give her details later and just... didn't.
Why even bother? It doesn't matter.
I sent my sister a text message earlier, desperately wanting to get out of the house, but I didn't say any of that. When she finally responded, I turned the conversation back on her with platitudes; I never said anything was wrong or that I wanted to come over, even though that was my initial reason.
You're burdening her, the blankness in my mind seems to say, over and over, until I need to agree or ... what, what is there instead of agreement? I'm so tired.
I haven't spoken to my boyfriend in 24 hours— except to tell him, yesterday, that I wouldn't be there this weekend. "I need time to decompress," I told him. Maybe it's even true, in some alternate reality. I thought it was true at the time.
You could break up with him, and it sounds almost hopeful, like this amazing, wonderful man who truly cares about people would be so much better off without me. I can't imagine a life where I don't grieviously harm others, and I'm not sure whether that's true or whether it's right or what. What do I know, anyway? Nothing, says the fog, almost seductively, purring. This is what you do best, you know. Hurt people. Just think about all your mistakes.
I could've textedpanda, instead of my sister (who works nights and who I knew would be asleep) and I'm pretty sure she would've told me to come over. I don't want to do that. I don't want to reply to her latest email; I can't help her with her problems.
I'm not sure if it's real or if my thinking's distorted. I've very nearly reached the point where it doesn't matter, because this feels so real, so it has to be real, doesn't it? Isn't it? Yes, always yes, this is real, this is reality, everyone hates you, god, why do I even try?
I feel, on a level that's deeper than knowing, that I can't help anyone, that being around someone else is just going to bring them down, that I'm worthless, hopeless, annoying, irritating, upsetting, a waste of time and energy, a waste of space, a waste of oxygen.
I've cried four or five times in the last two days. It doesn't last long, not like the tsunami of tears that I know might very well overflow soon. Five minutes or so and I think "god, I need to stock up on tissues, it's only going to get worse."
Worse. Yes, worse. Always worse. No hope.
I listen to music that echoes my mental state. I have a playlist—it's filled with songs like "Breaking Down", "Psychopharmacology", "You're a Disaster", "Something Is Not Right with Me", "The Drugs Don't Work", and finally, "Simple Joys" and "Blake". Don't be fooled by the relatively innocuous titles of the last two; more than any others (aside from "Breaking Down" and "What the Water Gave Me") they're the songs that make me cry, because I understand them so acutely.
At least I'm not listening to Elliot Smith, yet. That's something, I suppose, but——really, would that be so bad? And now I can't tell my own thoughts from the way this heavy fog wants me to think; it's all mixed up and I can't see any way out.
I have impulses to do self-destructive things I haven't done for years, and they feel right, necessary.
Would it be so bad? Think of how much better you'd feel. No one has to know. It's completely fine. You'd be so much calmer, really.
I don't listen to music like this because I want to feel worse. I don't avoid people because I hate being cheered up. I don't sit here, all the lights off, IM turned off, my door locked, because I want to be alone, but ... it just seems safer, it seems better, it seems right.
I just don't know what else to do, because I know exactly what this fog is, and I'm fucking terrified.
I have sent 2 IM messages today, Was I starting conversations with people? No, they were all away, not answering their messages. It wasn't accidental; I did it on purpose. I knew I was talking to someone who wasn't going to talk back.
They don't want to talk to you anyway, whispers through my head, the voice of the fog rolling in. It sounds wrong, but maybe true, and I don't know anymore. You know, just like your old friend and your ex don't want to talk to you anymore either. That's not... exactly what happened, I think, but it's weak, ineffectual. Anyway, it sounds right, doesn't it?
I emailed
gamesiplay and said nothing of importance. I'm not even sure why I did it, since I meant to give her details later and just... didn't. Why even bother? It doesn't matter.
I sent my sister a text message earlier, desperately wanting to get out of the house, but I didn't say any of that. When she finally responded, I turned the conversation back on her with platitudes; I never said anything was wrong or that I wanted to come over, even though that was my initial reason.
You're burdening her, the blankness in my mind seems to say, over and over, until I need to agree or ... what, what is there instead of agreement? I'm so tired.
I haven't spoken to my boyfriend in 24 hours— except to tell him, yesterday, that I wouldn't be there this weekend. "I need time to decompress," I told him. Maybe it's even true, in some alternate reality. I thought it was true at the time.
You could break up with him, and it sounds almost hopeful, like this amazing, wonderful man who truly cares about people would be so much better off without me. I can't imagine a life where I don't grieviously harm others, and I'm not sure whether that's true or whether it's right or what. What do I know, anyway? Nothing, says the fog, almost seductively, purring. This is what you do best, you know. Hurt people. Just think about all your mistakes.
I could've texted
panda, instead of my sister (who works nights and who I knew would be asleep) and I'm pretty sure she would've told me to come over. I don't want to do that. I don't want to reply to her latest email; I can't help her with her problems. I'm not sure if it's real or if my thinking's distorted. I've very nearly reached the point where it doesn't matter, because this feels so real, so it has to be real, doesn't it? Isn't it? Yes, always yes, this is real, this is reality, everyone hates you, god, why do I even try?
I feel, on a level that's deeper than knowing, that I can't help anyone, that being around someone else is just going to bring them down, that I'm worthless, hopeless, annoying, irritating, upsetting, a waste of time and energy, a waste of space, a waste of oxygen.
I've cried four or five times in the last two days. It doesn't last long, not like the tsunami of tears that I know might very well overflow soon. Five minutes or so and I think "god, I need to stock up on tissues, it's only going to get worse."
Worse. Yes, worse. Always worse. No hope.
I listen to music that echoes my mental state. I have a playlist—it's filled with songs like "Breaking Down", "Psychopharmacology", "You're a Disaster", "Something Is Not Right with Me", "The Drugs Don't Work", and finally, "Simple Joys" and "Blake". Don't be fooled by the relatively innocuous titles of the last two; more than any others (aside from "Breaking Down" and "What the Water Gave Me") they're the songs that make me cry, because I understand them so acutely.
At least I'm not listening to Elliot Smith, yet. That's something, I suppose, but——really, would that be so bad? And now I can't tell my own thoughts from the way this heavy fog wants me to think; it's all mixed up and I can't see any way out.
I have impulses to do self-destructive things I haven't done for years, and they feel right, necessary.
Would it be so bad? Think of how much better you'd feel. No one has to know. It's completely fine. You'd be so much calmer, really.
I don't listen to music like this because I want to feel worse. I don't avoid people because I hate being cheered up. I don't sit here, all the lights off, IM turned off, my door locked, because I want to be alone, but ... it just seems safer, it seems better, it seems right.
I just don't know what else to do, because I know exactly what this fog is, and I'm fucking terrified.
no subject
on Sunday, October 28th, 2012 10:02 pm (UTC)I have been asleep for 90% of the weekend, but when I wake more up, come over here so I can hit you upside the head. ♥
warning: i persist in thinking you're awesome.
on Monday, October 29th, 2012 12:37 pm (UTC)I'm pretty sure it isn't that simple in real life. The fog doesn't care about facts and logic; sometimes it swallows them, and sometimes it uses them for its own purposes. If the fog were easy to dispel, no one would ever get lost in it in the first place.
There's something I want to tell you anyway, though. Have I mentioned lately that I have social anxiety? I have some pretty fucking epic social anxiety. Creating a Dreamwidth account was terrifying; making posts I was pretty sure nobody would even read was terrifying; and posting a tiny silly comment on a community that specifically invites people who are too scared to post on other communities to post there was completely terrifying.
I get a pretty good aerobic workout half the time I talk to people, my heart starts beating so hard.
I'm not going to say that I would've gone back into hiding if I hadn't happened to meet you the very first time I was brave enough to venture outside my journal and talk to someone, because I really was trying very hard, and there are some pretty cool people on Dreamwidth, and who knows -- but the fact remains that you were the first person I talked to, and not only were you completely awesome and interesting, you seemed somehow to think that I might be worth talking to, and you played an absolutely huge role in my ability to keep being brave and keep taking baby steps towards this whole amazing terrifying thing that is talking to people on the internet.
And I mean, it is still pretty terrifying for me? There about a hundred million baby steps still left to take. My social anxiety continues to be a vast and awe-inspiring thing.
But if the fog wants you to think that you've never done anybody any good, it's just fucking lying, that's all.