I’m just a flurry of feelings.

Avoidant, clingy, depressed, content, confident, worthless, excited, dreading, self-destructive, inspired, a living, breathing contradiction.

One part of me craves not only attention but companionship, someone that I can trust, who’ll put up with me even on the really bad days. Another part of me rejects attachment entirely, and I become fairly cold toward friends who try to reach out and be that kind of person. However, there’s a third piece, a mediator of sorts, operating on what I can only interpret as the various energies it picks up on in the world.

So, it seems that certain energies cause me to create exceptions and let people in. They don’t tend to be the ones that my rational mind would have chosen, and rarely are they the ones I’m drawn to on an emotionally aesthetic level, either. I just ‘have a feeling’ about them, and for the most part it hasn’t led me astray.


But then I don’t know if it’s my rational mind or if it’s my illness or if it’s just the inevitable consequence of having been through multiple traumatic experiences of abusive relationships; something just makes me question if there’s another motive behind my feelings.

I’m just so terrified of the world. Maybe I’m just desperate for someone to protect me from it.

ClaWscrUoAAmVCm Maybe I’m just grasping for an escape from reality through someone else… or at least looking for someone to hide behind, because I’m so damn tired of putting up walls and acting like a strong person.

Then again, is there actually anything wrong with that?

I don’t know anything about relationships in any capacity, so maybe I’m just worried about nothing at all. After all, if I really didn’t like someone, I’d shut them off almost immediately and none of this would even be relevant, and that’s the important thing, right? Liking your friends/partner?

I think I’m just really terrified of being conned again… that maybe I’m being manipulated again, and I’m just being hopeful in believing that I’ve developed a better ability to pick up on people who give off “questionable vibes”.

In the middle of it all I suppose it’s just a struggle of learning to be able to trust myself again.

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The Wall

It’s been made very clear this evening that I’ve completely closed a part of myself off from almost the entire world. I’ve been doing pretty well maintaining a decent social life and (mostly) staying clear of “bad” people, but there’s still this side of myself that I compulsively lock away. 

I’m not even the one pulling the strings it feels like; this shadow just takes over and defends itself, almost. I don’t even think about it.

I can write about things on here, though some are more difficult than others, but to admit them specifically to another individual is physically impossible.

It doesn’t matter how much they reach out, how much it seems there’s an established mutual trust, I’m still going to lie about the bandage on my arm. I’m never going to list the chemicals I’m trying to numb myself with. In most cases, I won’t even acknowledge the paranoid, crazy thoughts this illness likes putting in my mind.

The handful of people who I’ve trusted enough to say anything at all to probably deserve medals for getting even a little glimpse of the bad days. For even being aware of any past traumatic experiences.

Yet, I can write a lot of it out here, click publish, and put it out there where literally anyone could potentially read it. 

Honestly if one of my friends was really determined to stalk me, it wouldn’t even be difficult to stumble upon this blog, but that doesn’t even worry me…

I don’t know, it’s just really strange. I’m not actively trying to hide anything, it’s just reflex. My illness is very well trained in concealing itself.

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Something feels off…


I can’t put my finger on it.

I have no idea if this is all in my head or if something really did change…

It’s like I’m not getting a hint but there’s this vague intuition that there is, in fact, some hint being thrown at me… But is it, really, or is this just my mind playing tricks on me and trying to make me overreact?

I can feel it in the pit of my stomach the most. A little bit of tightness in my chest. Part of me thinks maybe I should just withdraw from the world for a little bit and ignore everything until this goes away. The conflicting part says I shouldn’t let this weird paranoia control my life and stop me from doing things.

But then doing nothing doesn’t seem like an obviously good choice, either; every scenario I run though just plays out in the worst way possible, almost like it doesn’t matter what I do but it still feels like my entire life is hanging on the balance of it.

I just wish I had a way to know what’s real without making anything worse in the process…

Anyway, in other news, I saw Dunkirk last night with my brother, and it was absolutely phenomenal.

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I wrote a letter last night

Under the light of a blue and pink candle

With a glass of wine, and the sleeping pill I shouldn’t have had with it.

I wrote a letter last night

In emerald green ink

On a blank page in an old notebook sitting in the corner.

In this letter is a list of things,

it’s a list that should happen either organically or not at all.

And that’s the only line that matters. “or not at all”

I get the feeling that something has changed, but I don’t know if it’s just the paranoid voices in my head. Things seemed okay yesterday, but given time to reflect, maybe “okay” means less than I thought it did.


I don’t want to ask, mainly for fear of my own reaction to any possible response that could be given.

I’m letting the voices talk me down to an uncomfortable level of insecurity, but at least if I keep quiet the only person I’ll end up lashing out at is myself.

At least I was okay earlier. Busy. Distracted. But of course, petty distractions like lunch, shopping, or minor sewing repairs aren’t enough to fill the whole day.

So, I guess I’ll just wait…

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A parasite

That’s what my mental illness is. It’s not me, it’s a voice living in my head, a thing just lurking there, but it’s dug itself in pretty deep. And it’s always been there; it’s fed off of all of these negative experiences in my life, making itself stronger and getting better at controlling me, but I know that it has still always been there.

The thing is, most of the time I feel I couldn’t possibly be myself without it. Like I’d just be an empty shell; if I lose my neurosis, I lose my wit, I lose my quick insights. I know it isn’t me, but it’s made itself a part of me.

But then I think that maybe it wouldn’t be such a horrible thing to get rid of the illness for good, if I could just hold onto enough of my creativity to write a few things from time to time, to tailor a few unique costume pieces when inspiration hits. And the rest of the time, well, I could just go on with a mundane, boring life. Would that really be so bad?


As long as I’m surrounded with the right people, sometimes it sounds like it could be just perfect. And I’m pretty sure I’ve found the right people, or at least, I’ve found some really amazing people who I enjoy being around, and I actually feel like I belong in our little group for once.

I just always worry they’ll be gone before I know it, you know? That stupid parasite keeps lingering, telling me to push them away, to lash out in irrational ways, convince me that they don’t really want me around. That I’ve done something wrong, said the wrong thing, messed up yet again.41

Because I’m sick, and that means I’m crazy, and anyone who says otherwise just doesn’t want to see it.

Even on days like today when the monster stays mostly quiet, I know I’m just sitting here waiting; a ticking time bomb, waiting for the next episode.

First, a small trigger, and the whispers get louder: “You’ll never be able to function in society; you’re never going to make it on your own; you can’t even figure out how you’re going to make your minimum payments this month, and hell, you can’t even maintain a healthy friendship for more than a few days! You’re pathetic!”


Then, at the same time, this monster has me wrapped around it’s finger, stopping me from even hinting at asking for help, lying through my teeth telling everyone that things are fine and I’ve got it all figured out. After all, I’m not worthy of their help, it’s pitiful and stupid to even try to ask. I don’t know how to get rid of this thing, but even if I did, it wouldn’t be so simple. Despite all of that mental torture, I’m still afraid I would cease to be myself if I got rid of this illness. I fear that, without it, I would simply become nothing at all (at least, nothing but a mindless, emotionless zombie*).

*I should note that there is some basis for this fear; namely, every anti-depressant/mood stabilizer/anti-psychotic I’ve tried has made me feel exactly that way.

Still, though, a normal, boring life has its appeal. I just really want to know, what is it like to live without constant, nagging paranoia, without having to worry about when it’s going to get bad again and you’re going to do something stupid and irrational because of it?

Posted in Addiction, Autism/HFA, Chronic Illness, Depression/Anxiety, Dissociation, Medication, Mental Health, Random Thoughts | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Somewhat damaged

I jump a little too eagerly at any chance to alter my consciousness.

I get a little bit crazy, paranoid, attached, hopeful, apprehensive, and unpredictable.

I love you. Or the idea of you that I’ve built up in my head and convinced myself is really you….

Something inside me doesn’t like that, and it finds reasons to hate you, make me lash out at you in ways that’ll make you hate me, or at the very least give up on me.

And these chemicals distract me from it until they don’t; until they just break down the walls and the last pieces of sobriety fight to keep me from sending you another text message, since you haven’t answered the last five.

Maybe you figured it out, that I have some kind of psychosis and you’d be stuck dealing with it as long as I’m around. Maybe you knew to just get out before I could drag you into the twisted games my mind plays.
Or perhaps you’re just busy. Nothing to do with me.

Either way. I miss you.

I’m sorry I can’t be normal or straightforward; I’m sorry I don’t know how to explain any of this to you and I’m sorry I haven’t really tried to warn you before you went silent…

I want to tell you, I mean, I want to tell you that I’ve been abused and betrayed and it’s left me broken so please bear with me; I don’t want to go into detail. 

But I don’t know how to bring it up, and again, I don’t know if I’ll get a chance.

I know I know. Two days is way too short to be this distraught but I can’t help it I’m a disaster….

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I’ve found myself thrown in with two of them over these past few months, and the difference in them is funny to observe.

Continue reading

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It’s your 21st birthday

So I got shitfaced for you.

Pure coincidence. Maybe, who knows. I wasn’t driving, so I could, for once.

I don’t understand you, or any of this, really. In a way it’s a miracle that I can type this at all. It’s certainly not easy.

Fractured, drunken thoughts, always the best.

“Write drunk, edit sober,” as if I’m ever going to edit this.

On the third and even fourth, I had this feeling, like there was something between us I couldn’t quite explain. And then I spent a weekend mistaking you for my younger brother, and things became… well, weird?

I thought we could be like the couple in Paterson, happy in our largely uneventful lives spent together, but now I’m not so sure.

You called me “special” and my guard went up; flashbacks of abuse, suicide attempts, the reason I can’t ever straighforwardly answer questions about my past and whether I’ve ever cheated on anyone.

Then, you were the one wanting to be all cuddly, and you won’t sit on the same couch as me when I’m making you watch Silicon Valley because I’m not in a movie watching mood. Is that relevant?

Anyway my brain isn’t wanting to keep a single train of thought for too long so… I’ll just pass out and we’ll see what the morning brings.

It’s barely 2 AM right now, I feel so old.

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Just a thought;

Driving earlier I was thinking about the difference between being a victim of abuse vs survivor of abuse, if there really is one.

It’s like, yeah, throw a positive spin on it, use a more “uplifting” term to celebrate that I made it out alive, but it’s not really helping much of anything… I still have these same symptoms and this same innate fear.

Even the most innocent suggestions of being attracted to me set off these freaking alarm bells and it’s all I can do not to just shut the person out entirely for it. Like I can’t be normal and say “Yeah, hey, let’s give it a try,” it’s all a disgusting mess of skepticism and this deep pit in my stomach and it’s all I can do not to snap at them and blindly deny everything.

I can’t help but find excuses, dig up reasons why I don’t reciprocate this attraction even if I know that, at some point when it wasn’t tangible, I sort of did. It’s like I have this basic, subconscious instinct that forces me to find reasons to hate anyone and everyone that’s ever been attracted to me.

I just, I don’t know…

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Maybe we shouldn’t fix what isn’t broken.

So, it’s been a while, again…

The good news is a lot of that is because things have gotten a lot better, overall, in the past few months. While my health hasn’t really improved, a lot of other things have. I should probably write a blog post about costuming for charity and how much it’s been changing my life but, that’s not really what’s on my mind right now, so I’ll add it to the list for later.

For now, I’m going to complain about doctors. Again.

My doctor recommended I take these NAC supplements to help with the OCD/repetitive behaviours that I have as part of my asperger’s. So I did, and on day two I already feel like I’m back on mood stabilizers and my head is literally just a giant cloud of fog…

tumblr_n40gqravae1sh0yuao1_500I’m having a hard time keeping up with conversations, coming up with ideas for how to make, well, anything, or even finding motivation to do projects that I really need to do considering I’m being paid to make things for people.

Oh and did I mention I feel completely detached from reality? Like, that weird sort of dissociative state that usually happens as a result of sensory overload except I’m in a quiet house by myself (minus three pets) so that can’t be the cause…

I don’t know. It’s like I want to wake up, but I’m not asleep, so I can’t.

And like I said, things were going really well before. Sure, I’m still having chronic daytime sleepiness and overcompensating with stimulants but that works and at this point it’s becoming more and more apparent to me that even the sleep specialist isn’t going to be much of any help. Either they’ll try to hook me up to a machine at night or they’ll give me a diagnosis for a condition that can only be managed by, surprise surprise, taking stimulants to offset the symptoms.

But picking at my skin? It’s annoying sometimes, sure, but not worth feeling like THIS. (Especially since I’m still doing it!) Usually just keeping busy is enough to curb those habits, anyway.

At this point I just feel let down by doctors around here. It’s a lot of money to be told I need to spend more money to get something it turns out doesn’t seem to be doing me any good to fix something that I’m still not really convinced needs to be fixed.


Posted in Autism/HFA, Chronic Illness, Dermatillomania, Dissociation, Insomnia, Medication, Mental Health, narcolepsy, O.C.D., The Invisible Illness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment