I'm bouncing in and out of my body

As my eyes roll in rhythm
And they wish to focus
But they can't bear to see

I’m so tired I’m aching. I feel completely hollowed out. And I don’t even want to pretend to give a fuck. I’m sick of walking along blindly, of just acquiescing, of doing things I don’t want to just because it’s easier for other people. Why do I always have to make the compromises, listen to all the complaints, and always sit there and take it? Just because I don’t want to talk about it, doesn’t mean I’m not fraying at the edges. I don’t want someone to hold my hand, I don’t want someone to constantly ask after me, all I want is a silent concession that there is ‘something’ up and that it’s recognised my life isn’t all fucking sunshine and roses. Sometimes it feels like I give and give and give, until I have nothing left for myself.

My father has known me twenty one years and he still doesn’t know that I do not like sauce on my burgers. Even after all the times I’ve asked restaurants or the like to just leave it plain, and all the times I’ve made it abundantly clear that I don’t like it, he still goes ahead and puts it on. And ok, I appreciate that he makes dinner, but I didn’t want him to make my burger. I was standing in the kitchen just starting to put mine together when he all but shoves me out of the way to take over. Fundamentally I know he’s trying to be nice and whatever, but fuck it, if that doesn’t make me mad. I am busy doing something, I hate having someone come in and just take over and besides, I don’t fucking need someone to do this for me. Then he decides on the wonderful combination of barbeque sauce and mustard. Mustard. I’ve never in my life liked the stuff; it makes me feel violently ill. I wouldn’t be so exasperated if I wasn’t all set to make it for myself. I was in the process. He comes in and takes over and completely fucks me over. Sure his heart’s in the right place, but clearly not enough to actually fucking know anything about me. That’s why I keep telling him I’ll make my own food, I know what I want. I know I’m obscenely fussy and I don’t want anyone to waste their time because I end up not eating what they’ve made. I feel bad. So I keep saying leave it, its fine, I’ll make my own food. Top it off, I was ravenous when I came home, but the mustard though (and with BBQ sauce which I’ve gone off of and he knows this since that’s why I don’t order BBQ pizza for myself anymore) has quickly replaced any hunger with dizzy nausea. JHC.

I just…

I’m just not in the mood. I’m over this and everything and trying. I am so drained in all other aspects of my life that I can’t even begin to get these god forsaken bloody essays out of the way. Which is a huuuge problem. But I don’t have the energy to even think of a way to rectify this.

I’ve spent the day coughing and freezing and I just want to curl up in bed and never emerge again until everything is bright and cheerful and all my uni work is finished. I feel bruised and more broken than usual and I don’t want to be fixed, I just want some time for the glue to set and the cracks to settle again, so I can function again in a useful way.

I’m always colder, more ruthless at times like these. I try my best to stay out of people’s way, to just retreat in on myself until said functioning occurs, cause I just want to scream and rage at the world until I can’t speak anymore, until my hands ache, and if anyone has the misfortune of crossing me the wrong way, I have no self control left to be placating and forgiving. My father has never understood this, even after all these years. I just want to be left alone. Just please, please leave me alone. It never works, someone always gets burnt. It’s entirely selfish and I’m entirely a moody bitch and I know this, but it’s not my fault I’m like this. I just am. I just wish that was understood as a fact of my chemical make up instead of just being brushed aside and forgotten.

I don’t know. I think too much. I’m too tired to make sense of my thoughts or to try and censor myself into rationality. I’m going to go to bed. I’ll just deal with the consequences of being a monumental fuck up, not doing my uni work, and raging against nature later.

Our eyes are paralyzed
As your legs are canonized
With the water from these seas
To own a heart that's half of yours, yours
These bones are mere accessories
Throwing punches at ocean waves

Music: The gift of paralysis - Envy on the Coast
Mood: Drained