| [008] Dessen Seele rein wie Feuer |
[ | |
Posted on March 26, 2008 @ 3:27 pm
| | ] |
'Why do you look so sad?'
'I'm not. I'm just tired. Always tired lately.'
I didn't realize I was lying. I am tired, but I'm sad too. It's nothing new, I'm sad a lot. I'm insanely up or insanely down these days. My doctor says I'm not bipolar, though, so there's that. I'm just unbalanced. Chemically unbalanced. Should I balance myself? Take stimulants when I'm down, and sedatives when I'm up? No. I'm not for that. I hate pills, I hate depending on something to alter my mood. I should be able to alter my own mood, thanks so very much. And yet? Yeah. And yet.
I remember going to my aunt's place, when I was young. Nine, I think. Maybe ten. Her boyfriend at the time, Dan, lived with her then. Maybe she lived with him, I'm not quite sure. They were fighting, even though I was there. Screaming at each other, saying things that I've blocked out of my memory. I remember standing in their tiny bathroom, brushing my teeth repeatedly. I'm surprised now that I don't have a disorder. Maybe I do. I thought, if I kept brushing, then I wouldn't hear the fighting. I wouldn't hear the way they swore at each other. My Aunt, who was supposed to love me -- she always loved me best. I don't feel braggy or stuck up saying that, it was true. I was her girl, closer to her than her own kids -- she didn't even seem to remember I was there. Not for a good half an hour. Then she yelled at Dan for doing this in front of me. He said he was sorry, and I said it was ok. Still in the bathroom, putting toothpaste on my brush for maybe the fifth time. My aunt took me to 7-11 that night, and we bought treats. With his money, I think. She seemed very proud of herself. She told me that she was going to borrow my mom's 'fat' clothes, and I wanted to hit her. My mother was never fat, I wanted to say. I didn't, though. I just nodded and trailed behind her in the hall. We slept on the hide-a-bed together that night. She snapped at me for something, I can't remember what it was now, but I remember her tone. It was sharp and mean, and it made me feel small and stupid. I fell asleep trying not to let her hear me cry. I don't know if I was successful or not. She didn't say anything either way.
A few weeks later, Dan picked me up from my place, and we went to the stable he worked at. I loved the horses. He gave me stickers, and apologized for the fight again, and I told him it was ok again. But the damage was done. After that night, I couldn't sleep over anymore. I just didn't like it. It made me uncomfortable. It still does. If somebody asks me to crash at their place for a movie night, I'll suggest they come to my place instead. If they manage to convince me to stay over with them, I will escape as soon as possible the next day. If I can get away without actually spending the night, I will. I don't like to stay, but I have a hard time saying no. No, that's not true. I have a hard time sticking to my guns when I say no. 'No' turns into 'I don't think so', which turns into 'We'll see what happens', which turns into 'Fine, I'll stay'. Every time. I have no spine.
What is the point of this entry? I'm not sure. But I feel lighter, somehow, for writing it. Do I blame that night at my aunt's place for all that makes me fucked up? Maybe. I don't know. I don't know much of anything anymore.
I know that I'm sad, though. And I know that I'm tired. And I wish to holy hell that I was neither.
|
|
cold
bored
cheerful
liberated!