So I have run into an interesting conundrum with my new living situation. I am now located just outside of my 'comfort zone' when it comes to aimless wandering. This is becoming a problem, since I still feel the Need late at night when I'm the only one awake. I get fidgety and anxious, which is not too bad except that it keeps me from sleeping. I can ignore that for a while. The problem is that it gets steadily worse the longer I deny it.
I start to feel this clenching sensation in my stomach, like a cold hand grabbing at me. Then my teeth begin to ache. The tips of my fingers tingle and then go numb. If I ignore these sensations for too long, my bones begin to feel like they're burning. Suffice it to say, I need to go out.
The new place is right next to a pretty little lake and walking path. I love walking it during the day. At night, though? When the path is poorly lit and the local wildlife is rustling in the bushes? Nope nope nope nope. I haven't seen a coyote yet, but there are signs posted along the walking path warning of their presence. I also haven't had time to learn the lay of the land beyond that point. I know the road I drive home on, but I'm at a loss on the side roads. I'm unfamiliar with the neighborhoods.
One of the biggest triggers for my anxiety is not knowing where I am. It's why I don't like driving or being left alone in unfamiliar places. The frustration I feel walking around here is almost as bad as the Need is.
I am at a loss. I think I may start carrying a bag with a flashlight and a few more weapons. I may also have to do more daytime walking to acquaint myself with all the nooks and crannies of the trail.
But the sun, it burns me so.
Friday, May 23, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Bit piece.
I have had a very long day that was not all good and not all bad. All that I can say for it is, as I was winding down and getting ready for sleep, I checked my email and this picture was open on the computer.
I looked at this and I sighed.
I can't think of a better way to describe me right now.
I can't think of a better way to describe me right now.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Yes, I definitely made this because I want to figure out the embedding process on blogger.
“I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can't feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often.”
This is what I take every day to keep me from painting Bukowski quotes across the walls and barricading the doors and windows.
On the left are crazy pills. On the right are the vitamins I use to treat the side effects of the crazy pill. (Anemia and lack of appetite, mostly.) I would much rather use the time spent swallowing pills to read or write, because when those actions are combined with a big heaping dose of crazy the outcome is AMAZING and the only side effects are psychological.
I jest. As annoying as side effects are, and tedious as the pills are, I am much better off. I do not wish to be in the same place I was, and I do want to retain my ability to interact with society in a semi-coherent and safe manner.
Although, regardless of the medication, I am really feeling the need to trim my acquaintances. I am okay with never speaking to anyone besides coworkers, my husband and my one friend. That thought gets more appealing every day. The visceral rage I feel every time someone I know stops to talk to me in a public place is unhealthy. Maybe I should get extensive plastic surgery so that nobody knows what I look like anymore. Try and talk to me about inane bullshit now, guy-from-high-school-who-clearly-doesn't-remember-my-name-but-recognizes-me-and-wants-to-know-all-about-my-life, or conversely Sprint-guy-who-is-"real-chill"-and-just-wants-to-hang-out-sometime.
Anybody who uses the word "chill" as an adjective is someone I instinctively want to walk away from. My sister only gets a pass because we're blood, and I've known her for 18 years and blah blah blah.
Speaking of annoying, which I really wasn't but anyway- Spotify apparently thinks that anyone listening to Mars Volta radio is just really into the 90's and early 2000's.
Goddamn it Spotify, get your shit together.
VS
This is unacceptable.
Friday, March 28, 2014
*chirp*
It's nice to sit down and write sometimes. I've been doing that quite a bit recently. I have also been watching a lot of Disney movies. And drinking an astronomical amount of tea.
I have come to the conclusion that I would drink red rooibos tea to the point of hyponatremia. Because I am a child and I have no ability to regulate myself.
I am also starting to feel the effects of my medication, which is good and bad. The good is that the medication works fabulously while it is working. The problem is that I am still stepping up to the full dosage, so the medication is fluctuating in my system and HOLY HELL CAN I TELL WHEN IT IS LOW.
I get fidgety and paranoid and very melancholy, which is just no fun whatsoever. Thankfully, I am on the last day of half dosage and I will be able to take the appropriate amount of medication tomorrow. So no more roller coaster, in that respect.
One of the drawbacks of the medication working is that I am over-empathizing to a truly ridiculous degree. There's a reason I don't usually invest a lot of time in guessing at the motivation of other people.
People are complicated. That's a lot of energy going to something that isn't actually relevant. Intentions don't matter, not in the real world.
I watched a documentary that would usually make me side eye to the point of blindness. Instead I awwed at how sad and lonely people can be, and how that level of emotion can cause bad behavior. I sympathized with people that I would usually want to hit upside the head, over and over.
Like this guy. You know who should empathize with this guy?http://www.cracked.com/forums/topic/142356/fucking-horrifying-documentary-about-26quot3Blove-shy26quot3B-dudes/0 (Governmentgfsg is who I mean. He shows up 1 or 2 pages in.)
Nobody should. I am though. I feel so sorry for this poor crazy man, and only a little bit enraged, when usually I would be hulking out by page three. That's a good sign for my rage monster, that it isn't coming out as easily as it has been, but damn it I don't have the spare feels.
Anyway, journaling/weird mumbling/ranting over. I have shit to do today, like an adult.
I have come to the conclusion that I would drink red rooibos tea to the point of hyponatremia. Because I am a child and I have no ability to regulate myself.
I am also starting to feel the effects of my medication, which is good and bad. The good is that the medication works fabulously while it is working. The problem is that I am still stepping up to the full dosage, so the medication is fluctuating in my system and HOLY HELL CAN I TELL WHEN IT IS LOW.
I get fidgety and paranoid and very melancholy, which is just no fun whatsoever. Thankfully, I am on the last day of half dosage and I will be able to take the appropriate amount of medication tomorrow. So no more roller coaster, in that respect.
One of the drawbacks of the medication working is that I am over-empathizing to a truly ridiculous degree. There's a reason I don't usually invest a lot of time in guessing at the motivation of other people.
People are complicated. That's a lot of energy going to something that isn't actually relevant. Intentions don't matter, not in the real world.
I watched a documentary that would usually make me side eye to the point of blindness. Instead I awwed at how sad and lonely people can be, and how that level of emotion can cause bad behavior. I sympathized with people that I would usually want to hit upside the head, over and over.
Like this guy. You know who should empathize with this guy?http://www.cracked.com/forums/topic/142356/fucking-horrifying-documentary-about-26quot3Blove-shy26quot3B-dudes/0 (Governmentgfsg is who I mean. He shows up 1 or 2 pages in.)
Nobody should. I am though. I feel so sorry for this poor crazy man, and only a little bit enraged, when usually I would be hulking out by page three. That's a good sign for my rage monster, that it isn't coming out as easily as it has been, but damn it I don't have the spare feels.
Anyway, journaling/weird mumbling/ranting over. I have shit to do today, like an adult.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
You should probably skip this
I've been having a really rough time lately. Life has managed to implode on me-everything that could go wrong has gone wrong and it's been hard for me to deal with. Even if I didn't have some problems normally, these past few months have been enough to break me, and they still could. I can see the surface, but I'm not out of the water yet..
Anyway, in case you weren't aware, I am crazy.
(Shocking, I know.)
Today's ramble is really focused on mental illness, and how that feels for me, and it is deeply personal and heavy as fuck so it's probably not a good lunch time read-or a good read period. This is for me, more than anything.(And You of course. I know, I know-why don't I just pick up the phone and call and tell you that I need you. I can't. I'm sorry. Remember the part about the crazy?)
Grammar is going to suck. Capitalization will be sporadic, there will be a lot of hyphens and commas and I will look back on this and cringe later-but it's important I put this out and public so that I feel accountable to someone.
Yeah. Like I said.
I feel this great, great pressure coming down on me.
Yadda yadda.
I have been diagnosed with a couple of things- MDD, BPD, GAD, lots of acronyms in my psych profile.
Basically, they say that I get really sad ( hate myself and desperately want to stop existing) and really anxious (wear my teeth down to the nub and scratch down to the bone) and also I am really aggressive so when my self control isn't up to scratch I tend to inflict harm upon myself or others. I haven't been violent in a while and I'm really proud of that. Even in the depths of madness that I am finding myself in, I haven't hurt anyone, so cookies for me I guess. Fucking hell is the temptation strong though-there have been moments where the physical safety of someone in my presence depended on them getting the fuck away from me post haste. That I am not so proud of.
Other times I've found myself dwelling on the terrible thoughts of throwing caution to the winds and just letting it out-hurting someone, killing them maybe. And for what? Being a shitty customer, standing too close, trying to talk to me when I want to be alone, letting me down when I really can't handle it...breathing the same air as me, sometimes. How dare them, right?
Luckily, that doesn't last very long. The venom is fleeting. it burns out everything inside me for a few moments, my fight-or-flight response goes off and I feel it like a hood being pulled over my head, and as long as I can hold myself together for a short while, it goes away. I don't have the energy to keep that fire fueled nowadays. The sadness is worse.
Anger stains you like smoke. It will hang about for a while, but the intensity subsides quickly and you adjust to it, make room for it in your senses so that you can concentrate on other things.
Sadness is a typhoon. It sinks into the carpets and the drapes. It soaks through the baseboards and creeps up the walls, and before you realize it drips from everything you touch. You wake up one day soaked with it, and wonder at the curious quality it has of exhilarating you and exhausting you at the same time. Your thoughts feel sluggish and leave greasy trails as they track across your mind, yet your mind is racing. You feel the tide of this feeling build up inside of you and drown out every good thing you have ever felt. A voice starts speaking inside your head, one that sounds like you-that is you, steeped in grief.
where are you going to live what are you going to do how will we eat can we make it through this can YOU make it through this OH GOD who is at the door who is calling you don't answer it what about the animals how will i get to work or to school i have a project due this week and a test and i haven't studied FUCK is this normal werewolf stuff or are you having a miscarriage what if this is getting worse what if it's going to kill you how are you going to make it through this week WHY CAN'T YOU FIX THIS who do you think you are you look so pathetic you need to work harder you need to make this better ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE you're just making everything worse we're too poor to deal with your fucking bullshit GET UP GETUP RIGHT FUCKING NOW get over yourself you have to FIX THIS what are we going to do how did this happen
This inner voice starts to leak out into the real world. You mumble to yourself, repeating song lyrics or phrases from a poem that are horrible and hopeless and goddamn sad but they feel like psalms. You seek out every scrap of paper and you write-you desperately search for new words, new sentences to describe what is going on inside of you, hoping that when you find it, that perfect phrase, maybe you'll stop feeling like you're drowning. When you read these ramblings back to yourself, you see that you've just written the same thing over and over.
yesterday upon the stair...
The margins are full of doodles of eyes half lidded and lips gushing dark water and you cross everything out.
You don't sleep, because that damn voice, that record on repeat, won't give you a single second of peace. The longer you go without sleeping the worse it gets. You begin to feel pressure inside your head and behind your eyes, like you have too much blood in you maybe if you drill a hole that will go away your hands shake and you can't read or write anymore because your eyes quiver inside your head and concentrating on something makes tiny white dots dance inside of your eyes. It hurts to have your eyes open. it hurts to be awake.
You still don't sleep.
Everything feels like it is covered in a thin layer of sand-too much pressure and the sting of tiny cuts. You wonder if it's sleep deprivation or werewolves, gnawing on your nerve endings, breaking things that can't be fixed. It hurts to exist. Every time you breathe-a sharp pain in your back. Your muscles ache, because you are taut like piano wire. You jump at every sound, every movement, and your brain jars inside of your head. The pressure increases. You turn your head and lose your vision, and simple tasks like kneeling turn your blood to ice that throbs in your fingers.
Your teeth hurt-you clench when you're stressed. The pain makes it hard to eat, but that's okay. Everything tastes cold and grey. After chewing, food sits in your mouth and congeals until the mere thought of swallowing is gag inducing.
You still don't sleep.
Now the voice inside your head gets angry.
look at how stupid you are how many times have you had to count that row fucking idiot can't you do anything right look at that stupid fucking face and oh look your hair is all fucked up again you look horrible no wonder he's looking somewhere else who could look at that every day and not get a turned stomach even your cats won't look at you get up off your ass and do something you useless piece of shit no wonder nothing goes well for you oh look she's tearing up fucking shithead is gonna ugly cry all over the place SHUT THE FUCK UP NOBODY WANTS TO HEAR ANYTHING THAT YOU HAVE TO SAY
Every moment becomes a fight to exist. You think to yourself "there's no way I can keep doing this. I can't handle it, too much for too long. If only I could lay down and be silent and still for a while".
And you still don't sleep.
You are full. Every second holds the possibility of curling up into a ball and never unfurling. You are constantly on the verge of tears. The voice has morphed into a stream of gibbering-no words anymore, just long high keening like a wounded animal. Sounds begin to itch in your ears like insects. You hold your hands to your temples, dig your nails in deep and press hard trying to release the pressure and nothing happens. Colors and smells bleed together until everything is grey, and ozone and coppery blood.
This is when you start to talk to people. You tell them horrible things, personal things, everything. Your mouth runs without you and you tear yourself open in front of prying eyes. You tell them you hate them, and they laugh. You tell them you hate yourself and they laugh.
You are apparently very funny.
You tell them that you feel like an open wound, a nerve stripped raw and they offer you silly platitudes.You feel your heartbeat reverberate through your body, sending shocks like a live current.
You still don't sleep.
And then emptiness. You don't hear the voice anymore.
Everything drains out of you, leaving you hollow. You would feel relieved, if you felt anything at all. You go through the motions of your day to day life-your voice sounds tinny to your own ears, your face feels stiff. There is no inner dialogue, no inner filter. Every thought, every impulse is acted out. People still think you are joking, and you no longer care. You step outside and stand in the sunshine and remember that doing so used to make you feel happy. You feel the sun's warmth and those memories of contentment move over the void inside of you and get sucked up. You feel it like a dying star, yawning deep and dark inside of you and swallowing up all of the things you're supposed to feel. You are not bothered by this. No bliss, no pain. Only one second at a time of disconnected interaction.
You still don't sleep.
And then the voice comes back, but it's not a part of you anymore. This whisper that used to harangue you night and day, lash you with your worries and your fears, now speaks only sporadically-and when it speaks it is cold and it comes from a far off place. It is softer, and lower, and you can barely hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat.
It comes in quiet moments, when you're driving or at work, or doing dishes at home.
'if you turn into that embankment, it would kill you' it says, calm and nonchalant like asking about the weather. You tell it you're driving the wrong car for that, this one could run for a while yet.
'you could stab yourself in the heart with that knife' it says. 'it would be tough to get past the sternum, but the blade is long enough' and also I hear it's going to rain this weekend...
'there's a razor blade in the back room.'
How rude. Who would leave a mess like that for a coworker to clean up.
There's not outrage at this voice, no fear. It never tells you to do something, after all.
Never insistent, just there.
Congratulations-you have managed to undo millions of years of evolution. The number one drive of an organism is to stay alive. (Don't care.)
You are meaningless.
You feel the first semblance of tranquility you have had in days, maybe even weeks.
Now you sleep, six or seven hours of fever dreams.
When you wake up, the ride starts back at the beginning. Now you have a big whopping dose of fear to fuel your crazy fire.
what if i get to that point again and the suggestion I get isn't too inconvenient what if i hurt myself life insurance policies won't pay out on suicide what would he do without me would anyone else miss me nah probably not i need to get some friends ha what a fucking joke like you can do that...
Wind her up and watch her go.
he wasn't there again today...
You look up the suicide hotline and put it on speed dial.
You wait, hope that was a one time thing.
Of course it wasn't- you think you're that fucking lucky?
Rinse and repeat, for months.
Yes, I'm going to counseling. I'm back on my meds -again- and it will help. I've been around this block before. I know that therapy and chemicals will sort out all of this shit all up in my brain parts but I also know- and any therapist will tell you this- that it will get worse before it gets better.
I don't know if I have that in me.
It's a long fucking climb with no ropes and no supplies.
I don't know what to do anymore.
Anyway, in case you weren't aware, I am crazy.
(Shocking, I know.)
Today's ramble is really focused on mental illness, and how that feels for me, and it is deeply personal and heavy as fuck so it's probably not a good lunch time read-or a good read period. This is for me, more than anything.(And You of course. I know, I know-why don't I just pick up the phone and call and tell you that I need you. I can't. I'm sorry. Remember the part about the crazy?)
Grammar is going to suck. Capitalization will be sporadic, there will be a lot of hyphens and commas and I will look back on this and cringe later-but it's important I put this out and public so that I feel accountable to someone.
Yeah. Like I said.
I feel this great, great pressure coming down on me.
Yadda yadda.
I have been diagnosed with a couple of things- MDD, BPD, GAD, lots of acronyms in my psych profile.
Basically, they say that I get really sad ( hate myself and desperately want to stop existing) and really anxious (wear my teeth down to the nub and scratch down to the bone) and also I am really aggressive so when my self control isn't up to scratch I tend to inflict harm upon myself or others. I haven't been violent in a while and I'm really proud of that. Even in the depths of madness that I am finding myself in, I haven't hurt anyone, so cookies for me I guess. Fucking hell is the temptation strong though-there have been moments where the physical safety of someone in my presence depended on them getting the fuck away from me post haste. That I am not so proud of.
Other times I've found myself dwelling on the terrible thoughts of throwing caution to the winds and just letting it out-hurting someone, killing them maybe. And for what? Being a shitty customer, standing too close, trying to talk to me when I want to be alone, letting me down when I really can't handle it...breathing the same air as me, sometimes. How dare them, right?
Luckily, that doesn't last very long. The venom is fleeting. it burns out everything inside me for a few moments, my fight-or-flight response goes off and I feel it like a hood being pulled over my head, and as long as I can hold myself together for a short while, it goes away. I don't have the energy to keep that fire fueled nowadays. The sadness is worse.
Anger stains you like smoke. It will hang about for a while, but the intensity subsides quickly and you adjust to it, make room for it in your senses so that you can concentrate on other things.
Sadness is a typhoon. It sinks into the carpets and the drapes. It soaks through the baseboards and creeps up the walls, and before you realize it drips from everything you touch. You wake up one day soaked with it, and wonder at the curious quality it has of exhilarating you and exhausting you at the same time. Your thoughts feel sluggish and leave greasy trails as they track across your mind, yet your mind is racing. You feel the tide of this feeling build up inside of you and drown out every good thing you have ever felt. A voice starts speaking inside your head, one that sounds like you-that is you, steeped in grief.
where are you going to live what are you going to do how will we eat can we make it through this can YOU make it through this OH GOD who is at the door who is calling you don't answer it what about the animals how will i get to work or to school i have a project due this week and a test and i haven't studied FUCK is this normal werewolf stuff or are you having a miscarriage what if this is getting worse what if it's going to kill you how are you going to make it through this week WHY CAN'T YOU FIX THIS who do you think you are you look so pathetic you need to work harder you need to make this better ANSWER YOUR DAMN PHONE you're just making everything worse we're too poor to deal with your fucking bullshit GET UP GETUP RIGHT FUCKING NOW get over yourself you have to FIX THIS what are we going to do how did this happen
This inner voice starts to leak out into the real world. You mumble to yourself, repeating song lyrics or phrases from a poem that are horrible and hopeless and goddamn sad but they feel like psalms. You seek out every scrap of paper and you write-you desperately search for new words, new sentences to describe what is going on inside of you, hoping that when you find it, that perfect phrase, maybe you'll stop feeling like you're drowning. When you read these ramblings back to yourself, you see that you've just written the same thing over and over.
yesterday upon the stair...
The margins are full of doodles of eyes half lidded and lips gushing dark water and you cross everything out.
You don't sleep, because that damn voice, that record on repeat, won't give you a single second of peace. The longer you go without sleeping the worse it gets. You begin to feel pressure inside your head and behind your eyes, like you have too much blood in you maybe if you drill a hole that will go away your hands shake and you can't read or write anymore because your eyes quiver inside your head and concentrating on something makes tiny white dots dance inside of your eyes. It hurts to have your eyes open. it hurts to be awake.
You still don't sleep.
Everything feels like it is covered in a thin layer of sand-too much pressure and the sting of tiny cuts. You wonder if it's sleep deprivation or werewolves, gnawing on your nerve endings, breaking things that can't be fixed. It hurts to exist. Every time you breathe-a sharp pain in your back. Your muscles ache, because you are taut like piano wire. You jump at every sound, every movement, and your brain jars inside of your head. The pressure increases. You turn your head and lose your vision, and simple tasks like kneeling turn your blood to ice that throbs in your fingers.
Your teeth hurt-you clench when you're stressed. The pain makes it hard to eat, but that's okay. Everything tastes cold and grey. After chewing, food sits in your mouth and congeals until the mere thought of swallowing is gag inducing.
You still don't sleep.
Now the voice inside your head gets angry.
look at how stupid you are how many times have you had to count that row fucking idiot can't you do anything right look at that stupid fucking face and oh look your hair is all fucked up again you look horrible no wonder he's looking somewhere else who could look at that every day and not get a turned stomach even your cats won't look at you get up off your ass and do something you useless piece of shit no wonder nothing goes well for you oh look she's tearing up fucking shithead is gonna ugly cry all over the place SHUT THE FUCK UP NOBODY WANTS TO HEAR ANYTHING THAT YOU HAVE TO SAY
Every moment becomes a fight to exist. You think to yourself "there's no way I can keep doing this. I can't handle it, too much for too long. If only I could lay down and be silent and still for a while".
And you still don't sleep.
You are full. Every second holds the possibility of curling up into a ball and never unfurling. You are constantly on the verge of tears. The voice has morphed into a stream of gibbering-no words anymore, just long high keening like a wounded animal. Sounds begin to itch in your ears like insects. You hold your hands to your temples, dig your nails in deep and press hard trying to release the pressure and nothing happens. Colors and smells bleed together until everything is grey, and ozone and coppery blood.
This is when you start to talk to people. You tell them horrible things, personal things, everything. Your mouth runs without you and you tear yourself open in front of prying eyes. You tell them you hate them, and they laugh. You tell them you hate yourself and they laugh.
You are apparently very funny.
You tell them that you feel like an open wound, a nerve stripped raw and they offer you silly platitudes.You feel your heartbeat reverberate through your body, sending shocks like a live current.
You still don't sleep.
And then emptiness. You don't hear the voice anymore.
Everything drains out of you, leaving you hollow. You would feel relieved, if you felt anything at all. You go through the motions of your day to day life-your voice sounds tinny to your own ears, your face feels stiff. There is no inner dialogue, no inner filter. Every thought, every impulse is acted out. People still think you are joking, and you no longer care. You step outside and stand in the sunshine and remember that doing so used to make you feel happy. You feel the sun's warmth and those memories of contentment move over the void inside of you and get sucked up. You feel it like a dying star, yawning deep and dark inside of you and swallowing up all of the things you're supposed to feel. You are not bothered by this. No bliss, no pain. Only one second at a time of disconnected interaction.
You still don't sleep.
And then the voice comes back, but it's not a part of you anymore. This whisper that used to harangue you night and day, lash you with your worries and your fears, now speaks only sporadically-and when it speaks it is cold and it comes from a far off place. It is softer, and lower, and you can barely hear it over the sound of your own heartbeat.
It comes in quiet moments, when you're driving or at work, or doing dishes at home.
'if you turn into that embankment, it would kill you' it says, calm and nonchalant like asking about the weather. You tell it you're driving the wrong car for that, this one could run for a while yet.
'you could stab yourself in the heart with that knife' it says. 'it would be tough to get past the sternum, but the blade is long enough' and also I hear it's going to rain this weekend...
'there's a razor blade in the back room.'
How rude. Who would leave a mess like that for a coworker to clean up.
There's not outrage at this voice, no fear. It never tells you to do something, after all.
Never insistent, just there.
Congratulations-you have managed to undo millions of years of evolution. The number one drive of an organism is to stay alive. (Don't care.)
You are meaningless.
You feel the first semblance of tranquility you have had in days, maybe even weeks.
Now you sleep, six or seven hours of fever dreams.
When you wake up, the ride starts back at the beginning. Now you have a big whopping dose of fear to fuel your crazy fire.
what if i get to that point again and the suggestion I get isn't too inconvenient what if i hurt myself life insurance policies won't pay out on suicide what would he do without me would anyone else miss me nah probably not i need to get some friends ha what a fucking joke like you can do that...
Wind her up and watch her go.
he wasn't there again today...
You look up the suicide hotline and put it on speed dial.
You wait, hope that was a one time thing.
Of course it wasn't- you think you're that fucking lucky?
Rinse and repeat, for months.
Yes, I'm going to counseling. I'm back on my meds -again- and it will help. I've been around this block before. I know that therapy and chemicals will sort out all of this shit all up in my brain parts but I also know- and any therapist will tell you this- that it will get worse before it gets better.
I don't know if I have that in me.
It's a long fucking climb with no ropes and no supplies.
I don't know what to do anymore.
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Thoughts.
So, I watched a good movie today. Shockingly it was a Jack Black movie, titled 'Bernie'. It's about an affable funeral director, the titular Bernie, who is a paragon of virtue and held in the highest esteem by the community.
This lovely man tries to befriend his polar opposite, the town's pariah. She's an eighty year old millionaire, and even her own family no longer speaks to her. She's racist, and bitter. One of her first scenes shows her attacking one of her gardeners with a broom when he tries to hand her the bill. Bernie brings her flowers after the death of her husband. He stops by daily to make sure she's handling her tragedy well.
She warms up to him. They start spending time together, a lot of time. Eventually, he's the closest human contact she has. Every second of his time becomes precious. She fights him when he leaves to direct the church choir. If he doesn't show up for their lunch dates two hours early, he's late. She tells him to switch to part-time at his job as a funeral director, she'll pay him to be her caretaker.
He does.
They start taking vacations together, traveling. Every trip is fraught with tension. He can't do anything right. He's forgotten her pills in the room, he should know she needs to take them before eating. He's off doing his own thing, she calls him and tells him he needs to leave NOW to pick up her dress from the dry cleaners.
She berates him constantly, picks at him over every action he takes.
Not good enough, how could you treat me like this. You're going to leave me like EVERYONE ELSE.
They get into an argument, and he tries to leave. She closes the gate to her estate so he can't drive out.
He kills her.
Shoots her in the back four times, and then cries over her dead body. He asks God to forgive him, asks what He wants him to do.
So he puts her in the freezer. He pretends that she's still alive. She's of a curmudgeonly sort, nobody questions why she isn't seen out in the community. Her children and grandchildren sued her years ago and they haven't spoken since. He tells everyone who asks that she had a stroke and she's in a care facility, but she doesn't want anyone to know because she thinks someone will try to assume control of her estate. He starts giving out money to anyone who asks for it. He donates 100,000 to the church. He pays off auto loans, mortgages. He funds a new business starting in town square.
Eventually he's found out. The DA brings him up on charges of first degree murder. And the town goes wild.
Every member of the town stops him, tells him he must be mistaken. That if they're on the jury, they'll vote to acquit. She was a bitch, she deserved to die.
And that's where this movie lost me; or hooked me, depending on how you look at it.
The funny thing is, this movie is based on a true story, and some of the actors aren't actually actors. They are residents of the real town that this happened in. It was a court case that made headlines, one of the first times a prosecution had to change jurisdictions in order to get a fair trial that wasn't in favor of the defendant.
Admittedly, I watched this movie because I was already familiar with this case. I knew that she was a mean woman and he was a nice man, that he killed her and went to jail. I didn't know that hundreds of people protested and rallied to protect a known and admitted murderer because the victim was someone they didn't like very much.
The writers and the director did a good job, and they chose good actors. Bernie is very likable and sympathetic, and Margi (the old woman) is completely wretched. Shirley Maclaine did a great job of portraying someone who is terrible because she has no reason not to be. You can see in her character someone who has always had money to throw at her problems. The relationship between her and Bernie was a classic case of psychological abuse. As soon as she saw how soft he was, how easy to rip into, she started in hard. She lured him in with honey and then turned it into boiling tar, hoping that if she was callous and mean enough she would drive him away, and sleep soundly at night knowing that she was right all along. Everybody always leaves, and she shouldn't feel bad about her behavior. Everyone ultimately deserves it, because everyone always follows the script she's written out for them in her head.
Nobody loves her, they're always after her money. Nobody cares about her, not really. if they can't handle the worst she can give them then they don't actually love her, and they never did.
I take a moment to mention that I fucking despise that fake Marilyn Monroe quote. 'You won't be my personal emotional punching bag? UGH YOU JUST CAN'T HANDLE HOW REAL I AM.
I liked this movie, I did. It's so easy to demonize violent criminals. Bernie Tiede, who did actually pick up a gun and murder a woman who had been emotionally abusing him, is a real person who experienced a full range of human emotions. He hurt when she insulted him. He felt trapped when she told him that he hated her like all the others. He felt responsible for the entirety of someone else's happiness when he didn't want to.
And then he fucking shot her.
This wasn't the same as spousal abuse cases. He had his own home that he slept in at night. He was financially independent. He had a vast network of support, and this woman was no threat to him. She was an eighty year old hermit with no social standing. The worst thing she could have done was be spiteful from a distance.
He killed a woman for being mean. An entire town revolted against justice because she was mean. They had to use a change of venue in an entirely unprecedented way in order to make this man pay for the crime he ABSOLUTELY committed, because an old woman was mean.
I feel like the movie was trying to make me feel the miscarriage of justice that obviously happened here, but I don't feel it.
She was a right old cunt. Seriously, even the hourly crime special I saw on the case took a lot of time to explain that. I get it.
That doesn't mean that Bernie Tiede had the right to murder her.
There are people like Margi in the world, people who hate themselves so much that they can't accept friendship or kindness from other people. They wear on you every second they're near you, like a sentient drizzle. Pissing all over everything and everyone just because they don't know how else to exist.
You don't have to spend your time with these people. Really, you don't. It doesn't matter how lonely they are, or how much history you have, or how sorry you feel for them.
Taking on the emotional well-being for another human being is a huge responsibility, and you don't have to do that for someone who sucks you dry. Sadness isn't an excuse for being terrible to the people around you.
People like Margi do 'get what's coming to them'. They die alone and unhappy, like they always knew they would. No action on your part is required.
This lovely man tries to befriend his polar opposite, the town's pariah. She's an eighty year old millionaire, and even her own family no longer speaks to her. She's racist, and bitter. One of her first scenes shows her attacking one of her gardeners with a broom when he tries to hand her the bill. Bernie brings her flowers after the death of her husband. He stops by daily to make sure she's handling her tragedy well.
She warms up to him. They start spending time together, a lot of time. Eventually, he's the closest human contact she has. Every second of his time becomes precious. She fights him when he leaves to direct the church choir. If he doesn't show up for their lunch dates two hours early, he's late. She tells him to switch to part-time at his job as a funeral director, she'll pay him to be her caretaker.
He does.
They start taking vacations together, traveling. Every trip is fraught with tension. He can't do anything right. He's forgotten her pills in the room, he should know she needs to take them before eating. He's off doing his own thing, she calls him and tells him he needs to leave NOW to pick up her dress from the dry cleaners.
She berates him constantly, picks at him over every action he takes.
Not good enough, how could you treat me like this. You're going to leave me like EVERYONE ELSE.
They get into an argument, and he tries to leave. She closes the gate to her estate so he can't drive out.
He kills her.
Shoots her in the back four times, and then cries over her dead body. He asks God to forgive him, asks what He wants him to do.
So he puts her in the freezer. He pretends that she's still alive. She's of a curmudgeonly sort, nobody questions why she isn't seen out in the community. Her children and grandchildren sued her years ago and they haven't spoken since. He tells everyone who asks that she had a stroke and she's in a care facility, but she doesn't want anyone to know because she thinks someone will try to assume control of her estate. He starts giving out money to anyone who asks for it. He donates 100,000 to the church. He pays off auto loans, mortgages. He funds a new business starting in town square.
Eventually he's found out. The DA brings him up on charges of first degree murder. And the town goes wild.
Every member of the town stops him, tells him he must be mistaken. That if they're on the jury, they'll vote to acquit. She was a bitch, she deserved to die.
And that's where this movie lost me; or hooked me, depending on how you look at it.
The funny thing is, this movie is based on a true story, and some of the actors aren't actually actors. They are residents of the real town that this happened in. It was a court case that made headlines, one of the first times a prosecution had to change jurisdictions in order to get a fair trial that wasn't in favor of the defendant.
Admittedly, I watched this movie because I was already familiar with this case. I knew that she was a mean woman and he was a nice man, that he killed her and went to jail. I didn't know that hundreds of people protested and rallied to protect a known and admitted murderer because the victim was someone they didn't like very much.
The writers and the director did a good job, and they chose good actors. Bernie is very likable and sympathetic, and Margi (the old woman) is completely wretched. Shirley Maclaine did a great job of portraying someone who is terrible because she has no reason not to be. You can see in her character someone who has always had money to throw at her problems. The relationship between her and Bernie was a classic case of psychological abuse. As soon as she saw how soft he was, how easy to rip into, she started in hard. She lured him in with honey and then turned it into boiling tar, hoping that if she was callous and mean enough she would drive him away, and sleep soundly at night knowing that she was right all along. Everybody always leaves, and she shouldn't feel bad about her behavior. Everyone ultimately deserves it, because everyone always follows the script she's written out for them in her head.
Nobody loves her, they're always after her money. Nobody cares about her, not really. if they can't handle the worst she can give them then they don't actually love her, and they never did.
I take a moment to mention that I fucking despise that fake Marilyn Monroe quote. 'You won't be my personal emotional punching bag? UGH YOU JUST CAN'T HANDLE HOW REAL I AM.
I liked this movie, I did. It's so easy to demonize violent criminals. Bernie Tiede, who did actually pick up a gun and murder a woman who had been emotionally abusing him, is a real person who experienced a full range of human emotions. He hurt when she insulted him. He felt trapped when she told him that he hated her like all the others. He felt responsible for the entirety of someone else's happiness when he didn't want to.
And then he fucking shot her.
This wasn't the same as spousal abuse cases. He had his own home that he slept in at night. He was financially independent. He had a vast network of support, and this woman was no threat to him. She was an eighty year old hermit with no social standing. The worst thing she could have done was be spiteful from a distance.
He killed a woman for being mean. An entire town revolted against justice because she was mean. They had to use a change of venue in an entirely unprecedented way in order to make this man pay for the crime he ABSOLUTELY committed, because an old woman was mean.
I feel like the movie was trying to make me feel the miscarriage of justice that obviously happened here, but I don't feel it.
She was a right old cunt. Seriously, even the hourly crime special I saw on the case took a lot of time to explain that. I get it.
That doesn't mean that Bernie Tiede had the right to murder her.
There are people like Margi in the world, people who hate themselves so much that they can't accept friendship or kindness from other people. They wear on you every second they're near you, like a sentient drizzle. Pissing all over everything and everyone just because they don't know how else to exist.
You don't have to spend your time with these people. Really, you don't. It doesn't matter how lonely they are, or how much history you have, or how sorry you feel for them.
Taking on the emotional well-being for another human being is a huge responsibility, and you don't have to do that for someone who sucks you dry. Sadness isn't an excuse for being terrible to the people around you.
People like Margi do 'get what's coming to them'. They die alone and unhappy, like they always knew they would. No action on your part is required.
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