A Little Tooo Much...

So, I don't know why I'm blogging again.

Everytime I write something here I think to myself, "Oh My Goodness, You.are.a.tool. Take it down. Honestly, I could be putting it into a journal and it would be much more private and less.... Just less. And maybe that's the point. I want to put it out into the universe, send it away.

After publishing the Fragile post, I immediately wanted to take it down. Does that make any sense at all? I want it there to get it out but I don't want it there because you read this. I'll be honest, whenever people are too honest and emotional and sensitive in their blogs, I just roll my eyes. I'm like ok, you just want attention. That is obviously judgy me doing that, but because I am like that I have this overwhelming fear that I seem fake and I honest to God just want to be really friggin genuine. If I am nothing else in life, that is the one thing I want to be and aspire for.

So this is where I am realizing that I really do care what people think.......

Only, I don't care if people think that I'm crazy, loud, obnoxious, funny, sarcastic, big-mouth, judgy or an idiot; because I am all of those things and those can all be fun. However, I do care if people think I'm wounded, sad, hurt, weak, dishonest, incapable of strength, insecure and basically just an all around cry baby. I don't want to be the cliche walking wounded person. I'm not that person... Not completely.

So I guess it's possible to be all of these things, at the same time. Some are hiding others, but they are still real and genuine. Right?

Fragility.

So many things are so fragile, cracking and crumbling and gone so quickly. Fragility of mind and body itself can come and go. Leaving strength to return just as urgently as it left.

It's a very confusing state to be in, feeling so utterly breakable that with just one more little push, you're gonna go down. The tears right on the edge of your eyelids, but not spilling over. It's not just about sadness either, that fragility, even joy can make it spill over. Laughter. Any of it. Feeling anything at all can make you fall, make you tumble out of your own skin and then you are in trouble. Then you are just bare.

So you gather that strength that you thought was gone, you gather your skin and put it back on, maybe adding a layer of armor to it. Ever so quickly so no one sees your ass flying out in the wind. Because that would be quite the sight to behold and most definitely make for an awkward conversation, an awkward moment. Being stared at. Nothing is more awkward than people looking, gawking at you in slight horror, slight amazement.

Looking in the mirror... It's not always a bad thing.

Today, as I washed my hands, I glanced at myself in the bathroom mirror. Sweet Jesus. I look like this everyday? Honetly?

As I have recently been dealing and pulling myself out of a quasi deppression type deal, I have been starting to notice what I have let happen to myself over the past year. I don't even know how it happened. It's like one day about a year ago, I just sat down on the couch and stopped doing everything. Noth completely though, which may be why I didn't really feel it happening, I still did daily chores and things that needed to be done, but I stopped caring about any of it. Without even realizing it, I carried on with that for a long time. I didn't stop caring about other people, but I stopped caring about myself. Like nothing I did mattered.

While on some level I realize I do matter and I am supposed to care about things, that's logical. That's what any person with some assemblage of life and knowledge and logic and spirituality should know about being a human and existing. It's just like, that message wasn't getting sent home, the synapsis were missing each other on that one. Does that make sense?

There is also my overwhelming sense of not wanting to burden anyone with my problems. I am most often unable to put myself first in any situation. It's very hard for me to make decisions based on my own wants and needs. I always defer to someone else. Trust me, I'm not tooting my own here, this is a quality about myself that I actually quite loathe. I can't tell you how many times in my life I have missed out on something I wanted very badly or I allowed myself to be treated horribly, and without love and compassion because I didn't want the other person to feel bad for being an asshole. I mean really? What kind of person doesn't want their tormentor to feel bad? Doesn't want the monster to feel pain?

It actually took my husband getting very angry with me and confronting me with certain things that I have been doing, for me to really understand that I have to talk. I have to make thoughts into words and express them. Otherwise, I become what I have become.

So what am I doing? I'm not sure but I'm trying to be more of a person. I have a job that matters to someone, I have responsibility in my life.  I mean, I'm not growing flowers and sunshine in my internal organs, but yes... I feel like at 33 years of age, I understand that I am responsible for my own shit. I have to allow myself to matter for it to actually be a thing in life. I have to take something seriously and treat it like it matters.

Just thought I'd share that with you. Reader.

Oh. This is what I looked like in the mirror when I was washing my hands... Just for a visual and also because I like taking pictures. SMILE.

 

Yes, that is a Twilight shirt under an Army P.T. Hoody. Heeeey!