I am in a flux today.
I am experiencing deep depression and high motivation and there is no real in-between.
On one hand I feel extremely down and tearful and struggling to even think that I’d get to April and on the other I feel pumped to exercise and morph my body over a time into how I really want it to be.
I’ve been staring in a mirror for months trying to see myself through other people’s eyes and occasionally I see something, but then I move my head a certain way and the ugly comes back to haunt me.
So, exercise raises endorphin levels when you do it after a time, but it’s getting the will to get up and just move today that’s eating at me. Because I just want to hide under my fleece blanket and cry about things, cry deeply – I’m wearing hoodies a lot lately to hide the fact I’m crying so much to other members of the household.
They really haven’t noticed, perhaps my friend is right – I’d be a good actress? Who knows!
When I have got used to never dreaming because things never happen for me, someone comes along and tells me that life is soon to be great and it’s like another tease. More disappointment for the future and more broken dreams and an even more shattered heart – that’s the forecast for me I think.
I used to be a positive person, a Pollyanna and I used to tick people off with my ray of sunshine and words of encouragement – it’s like someone was bothered by it so much they’ve cursed me!
I’m told regularly, I will have great things because I have a great talent and this person and that person likes you – it’s all bullshit really, because I haven’t seen these people tell me things.
There are lots of talented people in the world who don’t have those great things – I’m not the only one and it’s not things that I want. It’s love.
A few rich men haven’t got that into their thick heads yet – they think they can seduce me with things, but they can’t.
Why are the simplest things in life so hard to obtain? A persons time, snuggles; words of love, support and encouragement, a good time and a laugh without judgement?
A tactile relationship that feels real and not based on lies and broken promises, a relationship where we encourage each other, instead of one of us being a sponge and draining the life out of the other in order to make the other one feel better?
I know I have had a life of abuse, but it sounds strange to roll this off the tongue, but I was always a happy kind of person, known for being bubbly and friendly and since I’ve moved here slowly and steadily I am being drained of life.
I remember before I moved here that I could never imagine the day I’d die, I was scared of death and wanted to be immortal – but now I crave death. It’s so contrast!
My willpower for survival is weakening.
Paul told me the other day that when a problem used to occur when I first moved in and I wasn’t moved by it and stayed relaxed and the same, that it bothered him, frustrated him even. Now, whenever there is a problem I am at the complete opposite end of the spectrum, where a problem can become a huge drama quite quickly and it’s a big contrast and he thought that I’d be more supportive and take it more seriously, but instead it’s made me fall apart.
I know why.
When I lived with my parents, emotions were not tolerated if it made a person loud or unmanageable and unproductive.
When I came here, it’s ok to be loud, shouting, ranting and raving at the slightest problem and to not let go.
I’m a huge empathic sponge, I soak up the energies of people around me and become like them – I’m a spiritual chameleon of sorts. This is why it’s essential I remove myself from this environment somehow, but it’s difficult when the energies around me are apathetic, depressed, defensive and aggressive.
On the rare occasion a visitor comes who is of lighter energy, it rubs off me quickly and I feel like the old me again – their energy can boost me for a couple of days in fact, but it never lasts.
I remember having such high energy when I first moved in that I drained Paul instead. Paul looked awful and exhausted all the time. Because I was always on my feet, being bubbly, finding joy in the smallest thing like a child in a candy store, no matter what happened in life – everything was like a novelty to me and it was.
Because I rarely got to choose anything and go out when I lived with my parents.
I had comments from Paul that I looked at the world in childlike wonder and innocence and that I was so excitable, he kept telling me to slow down, calm down, sit down, lie down, everything had to come down.
Till I emotionally fell down and can barely get up with the weight of it all.
Words can’t describe how I truly feel – all of this feels like intense whining of a bitter heart who hates the world for the joy it has because she hasn’t got it. Jealous slurs, that’s probably what you’re thinking about this post right now.
If you aren’t thinking that, then I apologise.
Art would show the world more of what I feel inside, but then again I can’t use my art table right now can I?
I really miss doing art.
I think the reason why I look younger than forty is because as tragic as it sounds I cry so much my tears sometimes dry on my face and make it feel taut after a while. Like now, my face feels tight because the tears have dried.
I try to keep my sense of humour and find something to laugh about, which is part of the manic depression I have. One minute extremely low and playing with sharp objects near my wrists and then the next moment cracking jokes about my darkness.
I might be depressed but with the tear treatment at least it keeps me young. It’s a little light, but still gloomy and incredibly pitiful.
But that’s where I am today.
No in between – motivated to exercise and cry my heart out at the same time whilst being at my most deeply creative.
Lack of sleep, slept four and a half hours again last night, my average for the past few weeks actually.
Motivated to exercise because I saw a glimmer of hope in the mirror the other day that I could look exactly like Diana Dors (Diana Mary Fluck) my main idol after all! Just dye the hair, tone up and lose around forty pound and yes, I can see its possible I could be like her…
Maybe someday I will get myself out of this dump and sell my work and get myself a red dress covered in rubies and diamonds and wear a pretty wine coloured faux fur shrug with a silk ribbon? Maybe someday I can walk in high heels without looking like a rookie tranny and actually be elegant and swan like?
Or maybe someday I will be found in a pile of my own poems covered in blood and white as snow, cold and still like ice and maybe my finders will publish my work for me and I will become posthumously famous?
Sods law that.
Thanks for reading…
tardycreative.com 