Everything falls apart.

Even the people who never frown eventually break down.  The sacrifice of hiding in a lie.  Everything has to end. You’ll soon find we’re out of time left to watch it all unwind. The sacrifice is never knowing.

I push and pull and fight and cry. I go out of my way to try to NOT cause problems. So it is not often that I actually DO stand up and speak my mind. Yes, yes. I bitch and moan. That is not something I will ever pretend that I do not do. A good bit ago I stood up to a friend and told him WHY I was mad at him. WHY I was so angry and hurt by what he had done and said. And the over all extent to the damage he had done to our friendship and how. I was blunt, I was as succinct as I could be. I realize in retrospect that I was an idiot to think that I had any right to stand up and say my piece. More than one person told me I was wrong for speaking my mind. One of them claiming to be objective, but I know, as much as she may have tried, was skewed toward her friend. The older, better friend. Which, I understand. I will fervently defend my friends at all costs. I have. That is part of the issue with this entire situation. I was put in the middle and forced to choose a side.

I’ve tried, like you, to do everything you wanted to. This is the last time I’ll take the blame for the sake of being with you.

She spent an entire night making me feel like I was wrong for standing up and speaking my mind based upon information from a warped, angry, and hurt viewpoint that was just short of a lie. All without asking me for the truth. I didn’t even realize until several hours later, but by then it was too late. I had spent the entire night decimated. Fuck it hurt. It still hurts. I don’t want to be the “More Important Friend.”  That is not the point. I guess it’s more that I’m constantly being told to stand up and say no. Being told to speak my mind. And then when I do. It is wrong. I made a decision based on the fact that I was being forced to choose between sides. And I chose the side that was NOT making me choose. The side that was NOT making me feel like shit because of the other side. And I would make that decision again. And I was very clear about that. But, as I have said many times before, I am a horrible person. A horrible person who needs to keep her fucking mouth SHUT.

Why I never walked away. Why I played myself this way. Now I see your testing pushes me away.

So that’s that. Is what is. I have been going to bed around 7 or 8 in the morning at the earliest, and staying in bed past 2.  Usually I stay much later.  I just have no desire to get up right now. My crazy doctor is going to be angry. Annoyed anyway.  I have been missing my meds often lately. Quite often, actually. I remember them maybe once or twice a week. I keep getting hungry. I am most definitely not a fan. I don’t like being hungry and gaining weight. Though today I think I wasn’t. Hungry, that is. Coffee. Lots of coffee. I know I am not supposed to drink coffee with them, but I live on it. That is never going to change. If my brain has the chance of exploding if I keep drinking coffee, I will still drink it. I guess it is similar to smokers who know they will get cancer, but smoke anyway. Maybe they are just as crazy as I am.  I like the taste. I like the energy. I like the warmth.

We’re all out of time, this is how we find how it all unwinds. The sacrifice of hiding in a lie. 

I started doing push ups every day.  I think to try to help lose weight. Well, not lose weight. Doing push ups is going to do jack shit about my weight gain, but it might help with my back getting bad again. Core strength, eh?  I miss not being so weak.  I used to be able to a bunch. I never could do sit ups, but push ups were easy.  I can do… five.  Yes my dearies, FIVE.  I am a weakling. Pathetic. Occasionally I can do seven. I’m not sure why some times are different. You would think I could figure that out. Objectively notice the difference. But, I just have no inkling. I want to stop being so pathetic and do more. But I just wobble and fall. Yes, I can already hear you thinking, “You should do yoga!”  Right? But no. Classes are most definitely not cheap, and I just never seem to do it on my own.

When all you got is these four walls…

It’s not hard to feel so small, when all you got is these four walls. It’s not hard to feel so small. All she wanted was to be enough. All she wanted was to be enough. So what does it take? Maybe it’s not too late. Yeah no one heard her when she said…

There are good things and bad things in life. My life. I have good people. I have bad people. I have people I should get rid of, and people I should cling tighter to. I should make the effort to keep in touch with those I don’t, and stop talking to some.  I realized today that not only am I angry by today’s political issues that I’m fucking scared. Terrified. I got into an argument with someone who genuinely believed that “all men” think and say the things that the current president said and says about women. Re-read that. This man said that *ALL MEN THINK AND SAY THEY WANT TO SEXUALLY VIOLATE WOMEN*.

This lit a fuse and I went off. Oops. I honestly admit, if he had said it in my presence I probably would have swung. I could feel my face burning. It wasn’t embarrassment or horror. It was rage. How DARE he say that about all men. I KNOW men who are… not all men think this… Do they?  This put my brain in panic mode. Which angered me further. DO all men think about this? DO all men, at one point or another in their lives, think about sexually violating women? Do my male friends think this? About me? My female friends? Someone’s daughter? Sister? Mother?

She said she wants to end it all when she’s all alone in her room. She cries. The way she feels inside is too much for her. When all you got is these four walls, it’s not that hard to feel so small, or even exist at all. How come no one heard her when she said…

I’ve been stress eating again, so I’ve gained some weight. I hate this. It makes me feel ugly. I need to stop eating so much. Or exercise. I just don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything right now. The Benadryl is helping me sleep. I’ve added it to my nightly meds, I just don’t want to get up. And not because I’m groggy, I just don’t want to. The nightmares have been hard core, lately. Mostly something sitting on me and pounced, ready to attack.  I know if I open my eyes I’m screwed. I’ve been drinking more coffee than I even used to. Not sure exactly what that says. I don’t think I’m supposed to drink coffee with my medicine. I know I’m not supposed to drink alcohol. Occasionally I’ll add some rum or vanilla vodka to it because, tasty. But not often, and not much.  I know I’m not supposed to drink alcohol with my meds, but I like the flavor. Spiced rum in coffee is delish!

She doesn’t know she’s beautiful, cause no one’s ever told her so. And the demons that she hides, are all she knows. And maybe she can fall in love with someone in her life that she could trust, and tell her she’s enough. (Have someone tell her she’s enough!)
How come no one heard her when she said…

I think I’m getting crazier. But I think I say that every post, now don’t I?  By this point I should be so fucking crazy that my brain oozes from my nose and ears. Now THAT would be a sight. I guess I just feel that since the only thing I’m good at is driving people away, I must be a fucking nut case. Under job applications, “Best skills” I should put “Driving people away because I’m an asshole.”  But, alas, I think that might not be the best of ideas. My head’s been extra loud lately. Lots of guilt. Whether or not it’s deserved, (Isn’t it always?) it’s there. It eats at my brain. It eats at my soul. It nibbles at my fingers and toes at night.

Maybe I’m better off dead. If I was, would it finally be enough to shut out all those voices in my head? Maybe I’m better off dead.  Better off dead!  Did you hear a word, hear a word I said? This is not where I belong. You gonna miss me when I’m gone. Gone, gone. This is not where I belong. You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone. Gone, gone. This is not where I belong. You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.

While no, I don’t think about killing myself, I sometimes wonder whether or not all of the self-doubt, anger, hatred, and fear will go away when I realize I’m dying.  Whether it’s a split second before a car crash, or dying slowly from a cancer, or just plain old age. I just wonder. Will I die angry and feeling alone? I’ve always been that person who can be surrounded by so many people, friends even, and I feel so alone. I feel like I’m just so… isolated. I can’t explain what’s in my head, and how I feel, so it just makes me sad. There’s really no other way to explain it. There’s no way to express the heavy weight of trying to describe my thoughts and feelings and having someone tell me I’m wrong, or that I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s depressing for someone to tell me that I have no business being upset about something that I took wrong. Whether or not I took something wrong, or got upset because of something they said that they did or didn’t mean, does not invalidate my feelings.  … right?

Come on now..

Make it stop.  If you’ve got beauty, beauty, raise’m up.

There are standards that society places on us to be the right size.  We’re told we’re too skinny, or too fat.  (Usually too fat.)  All the time I see people (women especially) telling us that we should be proud of the skin we’re in, proud of our bodies.  We need to enjoy ourselves, and do our own thing.  Be confident in our skin, and do what we want with our bodies, modification, size, etc.  There’s a problem here.

Yeah it’s pretty clear. I ain’t no size two. But I can shake it, shake it, like I’m supposed to do.

Do what you want with your body, as long as it’s not what we don’t like.  I have a lot of female friends. I have a lot of guy friends.  The women are often saying how they feel like they’re judged by society and are “fat” by society’s standards, so they can’t find clothes that look sexy and are in their size, or clothes that fit them that don’t look like they’re wearing a bed sheet a-la-Casper.  They should be able to wear what they want, how they want, in their size, and look and feel sexy.

I see the magazines working that Photoshop. We know that shit ain’t real.

Women are judged by society (I’m using society loosely here, folks. That means other women, men, children, puppies, chickens, etc.) to maintain a perfect weight ratio.  And by doing so, we formulate opinions regarding choices that other women make.  Yes, I’m aware that this applies to men as well, but I have a specific point here, and it’s aimed towards women. Of which I am one, and am not excluded from this sad generalization.

I’m bringing booty back.  Go ahead and tell them skinny bitches hey!

When you see someone who is “fat” you think it. You think that they’re overweight, or chubby, or large, or OMG-GINORMOUS, or fat, or a fucking chunky munky.  But to her, she might be the perfect voluptuous embodiment of femininity. And she wouldn’t be wrong.  But there’s the other side of that.  When you see a girl who you see as skinny, or thin, or “anorexic” (adjective, not mental illness, here), or stick figure, you assume she’s happy being super thin.  But what you don’t see is that she might not be.  She might think that she’s fat.  She might think that she’s too thin.  She might think that she’s perfect.  You have no idea.  Hell, I have no idea.

But I’m here to tell you that every inch of you is perfect from the bottom to the top.

I lost a LOT of weight over the last two years.  Almost all of it last year. Over forty pounds.  I still have more I want to lose. I am pudgy.  I still see fat on my thighs, and on my butt, and my stomach.  But I have such anxiety about talking about weight, because every time it comes up, I hear “But you’re so SKINNY!”  or “You don’t need to lose weight, you’re already thin! You must be anorexic!” I’m not anorexic. I’m not bulimic. I’m just not skinny.

No, I’m just playing.  I know you think you’re fat.

I don’t know why it’s alright for someone ELSE to think they’re fat, or perfect, or too skinny.  Why is it that I’m not allowed to think that I’m too fat?  I’m not eating tape worms to make myself skinnier.  I’m not starving myself to make myself skinnier.  I just look in the mirror and know that I’m fat.  I’m not nearly as skinny as I could or should be.  I need to lose weight.  It’s embarrassing when I have to listen to someone berate me about my body image.  It’s depressing, embarrassing, and intimidating.  I just try to avoid talking about it to people.  I REALLY hate when someone says something like “Oh YOU’RE so skinny, I bet YOU look good in ALL of the slinky clothes.”  No I don’t.  No. No. No, I really don’t.  But hey, since when does what I think really matter to anyone else?