Saturday, March 25, 2006

I am the mess you chose
The closet you cannot close,
The devil in you I suppose
'Cause the wounds never heal.
-from Everything Changes by Staind

I'm in an odd frame of mind. This happens every now and again, as I'm sure it does with everyone. I'm not sure what exactly brought this on, but it's here. What's off, is that I was in a reallyreallyreally good mood this morning at work and now I'm... Odd. There's just no other word I can come up with for it. I recognize the mood. I've been here before. Thing is, this time, I'm not sure when I'll be able to get it out of my system.

I need to be alone. Soon. Greg will be gone April 14th, which is rapidly approaching, but I'm not sure I can wait that long and not freak out at some point. It's pretty safe to say, though, that if I do have to wait that long and have a freak out, no one will really notice. This isn't something that I've made known to a lot of people that I do. What it really boils down to, I suppose, is that I feel like if I let too many people know, they will know I'm not as strong of a person a everyone seems to think I am and have always been. And I know it's nothing serious. I'm not contemplating playing the Suicide Game or anything like that. Chances are I'm just being overdramatic and full of hormone induced moody bullshit. But, I know how I am when I get in this frame of mind and, really, being alone to work it out in my own way, is the only way I know how to deal with it.

There is a lot I haven't accomplished in my life. Granted, I'm still rather young, so there's plenty of time to do some things. There are a lot of choices I wish I had made differently. A lot. Regrets? No, not at all. After all, I made the choices I did for a reason. And had I not made them, I wouldn't have gone down the path that I have and, ultimately, become the woman I am today. But those fucking What ifs... Nag at me relentlessly when I'm like this. What if I hadn't done this or What if I had gone there... Things like that. And I wind up imagining what my life would be like. Which is totally fine. I think more people daydream a bit like that then they care to admit. But what I don't like about that, is that once I'm done imagining, my heart just aches. And I wind up wondering about people I've loved through my life and what I've done to drive them away. More often than not, I realize it's pretty much just an issue of growing apart or whatever, but not when I get like this. When I'm in the frame of mind I'm in right now, I'm convinced that everything that has ever gone a different way than what I wanted, is my fault. Regardless of whether or not there's really even fault to be found.

I want to go home and be alone. Just me. I want a bottle or two of wine and I want to be left alone to look through the things I've collected in my suitcase over the years. I want to be able to just purge myself of those feelings all at once. When I get like this, I can usually find a time to do just that. But I have to be alone. I need to be alone in order to let myself go. I tend to cry when I do this. Crying in front of humans? Not an option. Hell no. That shows weakness and I can't let people see that. No. With the exception of What Dreams May Come, I will not allow people to see me even tear up at a movie. (that movie tears me apart everytime I see it) Chances are, there was something instilled in me when I was younger that makes me not be able to cry in front of people. If it ever actually does happen, I'm either very drunk or there is something very wrong. That's just the way it is. I've been interrupted before, and the moment someone walks in on that, there is nothing but something and sunshine flying out of my ass. When they leave, I continue. But, this time, I just want the house to myself so I don't have to worry about someone randomly walking in and having this whole awkward thing. I want to be able to go through my things and be able to... I guess, grieve, over things that make me ache. Be able to have one night to myself where I don't have to be so fucking chipper or strong. I want to just not be happy and not have to blame it on my fucked up hormones. Ok, so 9 times out of 10, that actually is the problem, but damn it, I don't want to have to keep saying it. I want to light my candles, drink my wine and be fucking emo. Be a fucking emo girl! And I want to do that without being stared at by anyone. I don't want to have to worry if someone needs me to listen to them talk about their day. I don't want to have to worry about anyone needing me to wash clothes or sheets. I don't want to have to worry about getting up and going to work. I don't want to worry about paying the fucking bills. I don't want to worry about whether or not I'm gonna be able to buy fucking groceries so I can make dinner. I don't want to worry about people getting pissed off at me if I don't send a pair of fucking jeans somewhere.

I want to remember when my life wasn't so full of worries. I want to think about when things were simpler, even though the most trivial things felt like life and death issues. I want to remember what it was like to have someone go somewhere with you out of their love for you, cuzz they wanted to see you happy, instead of telling you it's out of the question cuzz they think it's beneath them. I want to remember who I was. I want to figure out where I lost myself...

Here's the bullshit of everything, though. I want to be alone, yet I'm terrified of it. At least at night. My cat, Harley, has learned how to unlock the lock on the door knobs for front and back door. My back door is ALWAYS locked. That door is very rarely ever used. When I see one of the locks is moved, I tend to panic. In my mind, when the back door is unlocked, everything can change. Everything becomes dangerous. When the back door isn't locked... HE can get in. And while I know he doesn't know where I live and, more than likely, doesn't think about me at all, the fact that that door is not locked means everything happened. That it actually happened. And if it happened once, it can happen again. And so I panic. The only explanation I have for that door coming unlocked is Harley. She's opened the door to my bedroom a couple times to let herself out and I've seen her unlock the front door. The dryer is right next to the back door, so she has ample opportunity. The deadbolt isn't unlocked, so everything suggests that my soon to be 12 year old cat, is fucking with my head. But it still sends me into a panic. And I hate that even more than letting people see me cry.

I want to be alone and yet, I'm fucking terrified of it at the same time...

Hello world. My name is fucked in the head. How are you?

1 comment:

Orodemniades said...

I know what you mean, kinda, in that when I get down, being alone is just...good. Soothes the soul, lets one be low-key and...mellow.

Um, yeah.