Sometimes I get into these dark moods. I can't think straight, and my mind jumps to all kinds of conclusions. I don't like it, and I know it's not realistic, but I can't shut it down.
I can't let go of it, and I can't stop those thoughts from actually hurting me even though I know they're not real. I get obnoxious, too; I try to get everyone's attention.
I say stupid things, twirl around like an idiot, or 'accidentally' drop something. It;'s not because I want them to like me or because I want everything to be about me.
It's because I'm scared to be alone. It's because I don't feel safe, and I'm scared to be hurt.
It's because I hope they will take me into their embrace and heal all of the pieces that I broke within myself. It's because I need them to help me help myself.
It's because I don't believe I can do it on my own, it's because I'm scared of the world and all the people in it. It's because my mind starts racing and it goes places it shouldn't be going.
I start to read something into everything. Someone doesn't laugh at my joke, I notice, and I'm fine.
Suddenly there's this voice in my head; "He didn't laugh because he hates your joke, he thinks you're mean, and he knows that ignoring bad behavior makes people show it less."
And so I try not to joke any more. Or maybe joke on purpose so I can observe his reaction and make sure I was right. Which I always am, btw. It's funny how that works.
How everything can become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and it can hurt you until you fall apart again. I touch his arm; he doesn't touch mine.
Which is fine, I don't mind; he doesn't always have to give me every bit of his attention.
Suddenly there's this voice in my head; He doesn't want you to touch him, but he is too ashamed to say so.
I'm sexually assaulting him, but he won't say anything because it isn't generally accepted to say so as a boy.
I am a horrible person for inflicting this pain upon him, and I believe these thoughts. Every time I am more into the physical contact than he is, I call myself names.
"Molester, intruder, annoying fucking slut." And he doesn't know. He just lays there, actually enjoying my touch, he doesn't have any clue what my head is making me out to be.
I get frustrated at him, ask him why he doesn't caress me back. He thinks it's strange, why the fuck should he always pat my arm when I pat his. It's not logical at all.
To him, it's not logical, at least. Because to him, it's just a small gesture; it doesn't mean much, maybe he doesn't even think about it at all.
That's why it's so incredibly hard to understand that to me; such small details can be that major. He can't understand that those small things can kill me inside.
Even though it doesn't make any fucking sense. I invited myself this weekend, and he let me. He never actually said he liked me being there, though. Suddenly there's this voice in my head.
"He doesn't want you here. He thought it was very annoying and weird that you invited yourself here, but he didn't want to waste his energy by fighting it.
He wants you to leave, and he is going to take a lot of time away from you once you're gone because he hates the way you act.
You are weird, and he doesn't accept you, and he is right for not doing so." I start feeling sad, worthless. He walks in, perfectly happy that I'm there, btw.
He doesn't have a care in the world.
He just thinks it's wonderful that we are at that point in our friendship where we can just hang out without actually doing everything together the entire time.
He likes the fact that I invited myself because he wanted to invite me. That's why he didn't say anything about it because it pleased him.
Meanwhile, I'm on the couch, fully convinced I'm intruding, that I'm a burden, and he wants me gone. Later we were sitting at a campfire, there was music playing, and I started singing along.
Everyone else continued their conversations. Suddenly there's this voice in my head; "They think you are very annoying.
Your singing is distracting them from their conversations, and it's not even good. You are annoying, and you demand all of the attention. You are worthless, and they'd rather not have you there.
You selfish bitch." Quickly I stopped singing. But in fact, nobody even cared. They liked the fact that I was doing my own thing. Enjoying the music. I had bullied myself into sadness again.
As I always do. Sometimes I try to make that little voice into a person. I used to ask myself: What would you do if someone actually said those words to you.
What would you do if someone actually told you you were annoying and selfish and just a bitch? Every single time my answer would be that I'd get mad and demand some respect.
So why can't I demand respect from myself, why can't I see that the things I say to myself are not normal, and not okay. When will I punish myself for everything I put myself through.
Or is putting myself through it already a punishment on its own? I guess it has to be, but if that's the case, I wonder if I'll ever get to break out of this cycle.
I hate killing myself, but it's all I seem to be doing. I hate doing it, but I seem to love killing myself. Happy hunting season bitches, the depression is back.