Can someone please tell me what the hell makes me have nightmares about being forced to ingest blood from a recently dead person and then a concoction derived from the bones and remaining materials of a corpse that's been allowed a longer amount of time to decompose? I didn't watch any sort of horror movies. Instead, I listened to someone talk about his experiences during Eucharist while on too much Ritalin.

Wait... I think I have some idea after that. I need to watch something stupid.

Update

Well, dearies, I suppose it is time for an update.

I've moved. Back to the house I was living in back when I first moved to my current city. Had a few things happen. Had a roommate move out already. Been getting more social. Been hanging out with friends. Been dealing with people who like to point fingers of blame when I've been doing my part. Been adjusting to a new manager. Gotten a raise. Learned that my next raise is going to be a dollar+.

Learning more about myself in terms of the BDSM lifestyle. My most interesting conversation with someone involved had been almost completely vanilla. Mostly because I'm still a nerd.

I've dyed my hair and lost my contact... I'll be back in glasses for a while. Adjusting to that slowly. 

Blah

I'm tired of waking up feeling like I'm going to be sick... Like I've been punched in the sternum while I slept.

Can I have an entirely new body now?

Headaches

Sometimes, I wonder just how many of my headaches come from being around people who piss me the hell off and forcing myself to smile.

Sometimes, I wonder if I am too broken.

Sometimes, I think I've read too much PostSecret.

Sometimes, I smile when all I really want to do is let the walls come down and just cry.

Sometimes, I really just want to tell everyone how I really feel about them.

Sometimes, I KNOW I've read too much PostSecret.

Sometimes, I just get a style of writing stuck in my head.

Sometimes, I wonder why I didn't just do what I was planning years ago on doing on this past January 11.

You want to play stupid games, that's fine. I've dealt with stupid people playing stupid games for the entirety of my life. Those stupid games start hurting me, my friends, and just anyone who is a DECENT human being in general-- You touch on a nerve that needs to be left alone.

Someone decided to get drunk and then tried to act like he was possessed. 1) Not possible. 2) Every action from earlier in the week reeks of pre-planning of this act.

Don't fucking strike out at me or anyone I give two shits about. You do this, you get hurt. You continue to do this... You get killed.

Is my point clear enough?

The joys of the mask...

We all have masks that we put there for the rest of the world. Whether it be the congenial salesman or the person who is happy with herself, there's a mask for all of us.

I think I wear my mask too well. One comfortable with any intimacy is the face that I show to the world. Some will see that I struggle with it, while others will see the girl who has friends that she has come to trust with her life far too easily.

What about the real girl beneath? The one who forges connections on emotional levels, but when confronted with more freezes and spirals down a cycle of self abhorrence and destroyed confidence. Perhaps it is because of childhood abuse. No.... No perhaps.

Thanks family, for making the fucked up person that I am today.

It's been three and a half years, and I can't help but think I'm still broken. Not shattered like I was three years ago, but definitely not quite whole. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will be.

What brought about this realization?

I still can't read a note about someone who's passed without feeling my chest tighten a little. I can't talk much without hearing my voice get a little strained and my eyes burn ever so slightly with the warmth of unshed tears.

And I still dread the coming months of September through January. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries... In the course of five months, everything comes together and falls apart. I want to forget everything, but I feel that if I do, I'm betraying the memories of the people who are gone.

Expect slightly more morose posts in the near future from yours truly. September is less than 30 days away, and it's like an oncoming storm...

Dilemma

I need to tell someone something, but I feel like it's something that needs to be done in private... How can I do that where there's always someone else around?

Not expecting responses... Just needed to get it out there so that maybe I'll be able to think of something.

And maybe because I've been listening to too much music from the Sucker Punch Soundtrack.

Sigh

Well, fuck me...

I'm getting attached to someone...

Kids

Honestly, I don't ever see myself having children. My patience level with kids grows with each time I'm around one, but with each day so do my little neuroses and ticks that could prove at least damaging to a child.

Now, I say this after having grown up in an abusive household where all my defense mechanisms were formed. I've seen first hand that abuse is a cyclical occurrence -- Parent abuses child who becomes a parent that abuses a child. I'm not saying it happens in all cases. Far from actually. I'm saying that the potential is there. Some people overcome this backing and make wonderful parents. But of those who don't break the cycle, what kind of a life is that for a child? A life where terms of love are actually backhanded stabs at a child's self worth that only grow into words that are feared or abhorred.. Where touch is feared because it is associated with a lifetime of memories of being struck.

Such is the life that I grew up enduring. I came out scarred, and my biggest fear for the future is having a child that will grow up hating me because I'm as bad as my parentals were (an abusive father figure who I refuse to see to this day and a bio-mother who abandoned me only to write when I was 15 asking for a blue dress for her birthday). Or worse. I worry that one day, I'll wind up hurting or killing any child that I may have. I know that these fears may seem out there, but they're what I think about whenever I think about the possibility of ever having a kid.

Especially when I feel myself cringing at the sound of a baby crying or screaming.

Yeah, a little bit of truth about the author today.