I’ve had a few issues with my senses lately – especially touch, and noise. Maybe it is just me being a bit sensitive, as I now have an almost near constant headache from the pressure that my orbital cyst is putting on my left eyeball. That and the changes in my medication. I’m aware, feeling my body… and it doesn’t feel good at all. My father put his hand on my shoulder today and I got so irritated that I wanted to turn around and yell at him.
I need to learn how to trust people when things are bugging me, such as such sensory issues. The other day my father took us out to a seafood restaurant, and I went even though the sunlight made my headache almost unbearable and just the thought of fish made my stomach feel queasy. I didn’t say anything, because in my mind, to do so would be selfish – my father works all day, yet I make him worry about me, make him cook for me. Yet at the same time, my father is supposed to take care of me. As much as I hate admitting it, I’m not an adult quite yet.
Every time I have to ask for something, whether it’s a can of pop, money for antiperspirant, new pajamas, I always start the conversation out with “I hate asking, but-“, like I am asking the person to cut off their hand for me. In the times that I feel bad about being so dependent upon others, it feels like I am. I have this idea in my head that sometimes coming out with my feelings and my intentions before I make the request will somehow make up for my lack of my communication skills. It’s almost like confessing a crime, a sin – I put it out there so I can be saved by some type of wrath. Such things as this are based off of experiences I have had in the past, and for some reason I don’t trust even my family enough to just ask for it, to trust that they won’t blow up in my face.
It’s hard for me to deal with and make sense of arguments that happen between people on a day-to-day basis, even the little ones. They happen so fast, whereas I process conversations very slowly. I am usually several seconds behind in a conversation, my responses coming when the other participants are already on another topic. I sometimes feel like I am at a disadvantage – when someone gets angry and shouts at me, I can hardly think fast enough past the initial shock to defend myself. Feeling at a disadvantage, feeling slow, that leads to me being distrustful.
When I am distrustful of a person, and don’t mention that I’m feeling anxious, or that I need something, or that I’m sick to the point of tears, I usually wind up melting down and then the people around me worry. I don’t understand why they worry about me – I don’t seem to have particularly strong bonds to anyone in this world other than my father and my brother – but I understand that they do. I have just enough empathy within me – maybe I don’t feel like crying when someone else is crying, but I can put two and two together and understand that they are sad, although the reason usually escapes me entirely.
I don’t want the people in my life who are helping me to feel like they aren’t doing enough. They do. They do so much more than they should have to. It is me who is not performing to standards – my father could say that I was a burden and just let me spiral down into a hole, but he does not. Even though he’s a single parent. Even though he’s working himself to the bone. My father is amazing, he holds me up and I love him dearly. The only one who is not doing enough is me.
Some days, I really do not want to be myself. Everyone has days like this, but I experience only my own. There are days when I function even less than I usually do. Days when I am lost in a fog and if everyone on the planet – even children – were to die in a horribly painful way, I wouldn’t give a flying fuck. I know that is a terrible thing to say, but I am being honest. I complain about aches and pains, but aside from the headaches all of my pains are really of my mind, my brain affecting my body.
Today, after being awake for merely an hour, I felt tired again. I laid down on my bed. My body just felt so heavy, like muscle and flesh and bone was caving in on itself. The small shaft of light peeking through my blinds was too bright. My skin felt like fine sandpaper dipped in oil. My back and my neck ached horribly. I had no want to get up from that spot, never mind go work on the commissions that I am supposed to be working on. I didn’t even want to play a game. Breathing was hard. I just wanted to stop breathing.
Don’t confuse that sentence with wanting to die. I do not want to die. I’m not suicidal. I just wanted to stop having to breathe. To stop having to try so hard. To stop having to push myself to the limit, and having my efforts come up short. I like sleep, because I don’t have to think, but at the same time I fret because I feel I already have wasted most of my life already.
All these things that people like to talk about… what I like to talk about in my monologue – trust, love, acceptance… change. Where are they? How am I supposed to find them? I feel like one of those small dogs, the ones that strain against the leash, the ones that are carried in purses, the ones that bark at bigger dogs but can’t do a thing besides. I’m trying, but nothing is happening. Does that mean that I have no control over where I am going? All around me, I see what I am supposed to do – school, career, love, marriage, kids, retirement, life in general – but when I walk towards them I miss a step and fall back to the bottom again. I don’t want someone to carry me, I want to do it on my own. Yet I’m not even sure if this is the right staircase.
Am I really going in the right direction? Or is this someone else’s staircase? I don’t know. I’m not quite sure. I’m not even sure that the concept makes much sense at all. I don’t seem to have a conclusion.