For the last few weeks I have been very quiet on here. There are many different reasons for this silence.
Ive been in a sort of funk recently. Nothing i do seems to go right and it’s been really hard to even try.
I’m trying to dig myself out but it’s hard . I feel unappreciated by everyone around me. I’m sick of being walked all over. Please be patient with me…i will continue.
It’s just really hard right now.
I feel like screaming most of the time to be honest. My sister is being a bit of a turd this month or maybe all the time but I didn’t notice it before. The only thing I can do is cry in my sleep and hope somewhere there is a release. From the madness I am feeling so far. If I am truly honest my sister’s brand of insanity is preferred to the helplessness I am feeling now. I’m not sure when I began to feel like I was just playing a part in a play but I am so tired of the numbness. I feel like I have no idea what to do or expect. It’s a chaotic way to live but it is a very personal thing to try and change.
I should start to meditate again for the sake of my sanity at the very least.
ads for pads these days are all about how thin and discreet pads are and how no one will ever be tell you’re wearing them wELL HOW ABOUT YOU MAKE THE PACKAGING QUIETER BECAUSE THERE’S NO FUCKING POINT IN HAVING A THIN DISCREET PAD WHEN EVERYONE CAN HEAR YOU RIPPING ONE OPEN IN THE SCHOOL BATHROOM
Use the men’s room they won’t expect it
'Who the fuck is eating chips in here?'
“So, is Belle your mom now?” Emma asked as soon as he surfaced from his trip down the pool’s slide.
Bae instinctively looked to make sure the adults were out of earshot. Fortunately Belle and his papa were camped out at the picnic table sharing a pitcher of lemonade, close enough to make sure no one drowned but far enough away not to overhear anything. “I don’t know. I told Papa to ask her to marry him, but he won’t.”
I meditated this morning but i write this at least 12 hours afterward.
I’m hitting a bit of a roadblock here, at least in the writing.
Like i said in the beginning, i don’t like writing, but i think it goes little deeper than that .
I don’t like writing about myself, or at least the important bits.
I can’t really decide what’s important even, and not because all of it is.
Its difficult because i don’t think any of it really has any importance outside my own head.
I’ve been told by the most important people in my life over and over, that nothing i do is important enough to put down on paper or any other form of medium medium medium its a programing that bean when i was small and continues to this day.
27 years of being told, by the people you’re supposed to trust absolutely, that you are unimportant. Unworthy of the gifts given to your own sisters.
I’m not trying to be melodramatic but that’s what sits at the core of what i am.
the doubt that i am worth the paper or computer i type this out on.
Everything i do is about finding the validation i was never given in the beginning, and continue to be denied from beyond the grave.
“You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”
― Kathryn Stockett, The Help