Who needs to wait for someone to crush your feelings when you can do it perfectly fine?
I seem to have a tendency to walk away from the good things I have and be content in making my miserable. I hate myself sometimes.
Let's face it, I'm neither pretty nor polite and not particularly skillful in anything.
I seem to be more of an introvert than otherwise and I'm no master of conversation.
I have fantastic moodswings and often lash out at people who care about me.
Some days I feel like I own the world, some days I wonder what good am I to it.
This is one of those days.
It's like I can't let someone be nice to me without hurting them. I am so intent on satisfying my own masochistic tendencies that I ignore what's happening to the people who are trying to help me and continue on my collision course.
As I said, self harm doesn't have to be physical.
There are some days where I feel so awfully down.
I want someone to talk to me, comfort me; yet I'm afraid of troubling them.
And then there are those days where I dramatize my feelings in hope of some sympathy to feed my everlasting need for care, until the point that I don't realise that I'm dredging up awful memories for them until it's too late.
Then I REALLY feel as horrible as I made my feelings out to be in the first place.
Self-fulfilling prophecy, anyone?
And yeap, I just did it again.
Give me a pat on the back, dearest friends; otherwise, hang me.
Lord knows I deserve it.
I don't think many of you know how heartbreaking it is to see your mother cry because she thinks she can't help her daughter when she's sad. There are some things I can't tell her without unearthing painful feelings for us both. And yet, if I refuse to speak, it's akin to shutting her out of my life.
Why do I do this?
So here I am, sitting here before my computer at 8 am, without sleep since the previous day (being the lifeless person I am,) wondering how on earth can anybody LIKE me?
I feel so useless.
It's almost as if I've been one disappointment after another.
I'm not the girl people think I am, or expect me to be.
Just another shell, hollowed out to the core.
Sometimes I think I have no heart, doing the things I do. And yet, I wouldn't be saying all this if I didn't. =/
But don't worry, I've gone through patches of this before - a drowning sense of hopelessness. There has always been someone to talk me through my tears and the occasional bitch fit.
There has always been someone there for me.
...
Then after that, they're...gone.
Even after my spell of depression, however brief or minor, something between us just...dies.
I guess discovering my inner feelings are too hard for them to take, huh?
Am I no longer the person you knew?
But I am.
Always have, always will be.
If you can't accept me with my flaws, then don't accept me at all.
Okay. I'm going to go and sleep.
I'm destroying myself all over again.
I seem to have a tendency to walk away from the good things I have and be content in making my miserable. I hate myself sometimes.
Let's face it, I'm neither pretty nor polite and not particularly skillful in anything.
I seem to be more of an introvert than otherwise and I'm no master of conversation.
I have fantastic moodswings and often lash out at people who care about me.
Some days I feel like I own the world, some days I wonder what good am I to it.
This is one of those days.
It's like I can't let someone be nice to me without hurting them. I am so intent on satisfying my own masochistic tendencies that I ignore what's happening to the people who are trying to help me and continue on my collision course.
As I said, self harm doesn't have to be physical.
There are some days where I feel so awfully down.
I want someone to talk to me, comfort me; yet I'm afraid of troubling them.
And then there are those days where I dramatize my feelings in hope of some sympathy to feed my everlasting need for care, until the point that I don't realise that I'm dredging up awful memories for them until it's too late.
Then I REALLY feel as horrible as I made my feelings out to be in the first place.
Self-fulfilling prophecy, anyone?
And yeap, I just did it again.
Give me a pat on the back, dearest friends; otherwise, hang me.
Lord knows I deserve it.
I don't think many of you know how heartbreaking it is to see your mother cry because she thinks she can't help her daughter when she's sad. There are some things I can't tell her without unearthing painful feelings for us both. And yet, if I refuse to speak, it's akin to shutting her out of my life.
Why do I do this?
So here I am, sitting here before my computer at 8 am, without sleep since the previous day (being the lifeless person I am,) wondering how on earth can anybody LIKE me?
I feel so useless.
It's almost as if I've been one disappointment after another.
I'm not the girl people think I am, or expect me to be.
Just another shell, hollowed out to the core.
Sometimes I think I have no heart, doing the things I do. And yet, I wouldn't be saying all this if I didn't. =/
But don't worry, I've gone through patches of this before - a drowning sense of hopelessness. There has always been someone to talk me through my tears and the occasional bitch fit.
There has always been someone there for me.
...
Then after that, they're...gone.
Even after my spell of depression, however brief or minor, something between us just...dies.
I guess discovering my inner feelings are too hard for them to take, huh?
Am I no longer the person you knew?
But I am.
Always have, always will be.
If you can't accept me with my flaws, then don't accept me at all.
Okay. I'm going to go and sleep.
I'm destroying myself all over again.
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