So. I decided to write a bunch of shit on my iPhone. Has anyone ever written a book using a phone before? Lol. Jk. This isn’t a book. But here are some thoughts that I was keeping to myself…
Throughout my entire life, I’ve always had the praise of those around me for my writing skills. I excelled at spelling. I was in the top of my class in my English classes. I was the number one student in my college courses. To this day, I receive the same praise. My manager recently told me she liked the way I wrote and that I explain things very well. That’s the thing, I wrote to explain things. I didn’t write to vent. I didn’t write to tell a story. I wrote to be analytical, factual and descriptive of things that have already been written, just using my own words. And that’s it. I can’t stand lack of punctuation and capitalisation. My favorite example and there being big difference between “I help my Uncle, Jack, off a horse” and “I helped my Uncle jack off a horse”. And just because I enjoy writing and can put a sentence together doesn’t mean I’m perfect at it. At all. So don’t judge. Kthnxbye.
After my almost two-year bout of depression, I woke up one morning feeling more refreshed than I ever had. I didn’t do anything differently. I didn’t get more sleep than usual. But this morning was different. I literally thought in my “I’m happy, I’m actually happy.”. I messaged my boyfriend to tell him, he ignored it. Not on purpose. There was more than one topic being discussed so he chose to acknowledge one over the other. Ugh. Men.
I assume things too much. I jump to conclusions and I overthink things. I think the worst. I read into things. I try to find meaning in everything. I’ll bring up something that happened days ago, weeks ago and even months ago because I can’t stop randomly thinking about it. Or I didn’t get to question it wen I occurred for whatever reason. Maybe it wasn’t a good time. Maybe the subject was changed. Whatever the case, it didn’t bother me at that moment.
Music has always helped me pinpoint certain times in my life that don’t matter. Like the first time I remember hearing Kokomo by the beach boys. I was in the backyard of (one of) my childhood home(s). The radio was in the kitchen window, facing outward. From what I remember, I almost instantly memorized the lyrics. I was so excited to sing this song for my preschool’s Show and Tell that week. The day came, and a girl that got to go ahead of me, sang that song. I was crushed.
I like animals more than people. I hate crowds. I get a sensory overload being in situations I can’t control. I like to think of myself as an outgoing introvert. Because I’m not just an introvert. I like to get my party on, like a lot of other people. But people are draining. People are annoying. People are completely irritating and a lot of things about people make me cringe and not want to every interact with another human so long as I live (thank god for online ordering!). Luckily, my boyfriend is, for the most part, very understanding when I spaz and immediately feel the need to flee a store (for example). I get hot, anxious, frustrated, I lose all sense of myself and freeze up and I fumble… I can’t think of words, I’ve forgotten where I am… it’s awful. Thankfully on those days when I normally would have to speak to a human when ordering a simple coffee, my boyfriend will order for me. On days that I’m really anxious and can’t “people” I usually whisper my order to him or whisper what I want to say to someone to him and he will tell the other person. Sometimes my whispers get confused and he thinks he should say something I have whispered when he really shouldn’t, lol. I like staying home with my cat too. Or my boyfriends dogs. I find more solace in their silence than I do most people or social situations. So I hate peopling, if that’s a word. If not, it is now.
There are very few things about myself I know to be completely and utterly true. I hate when the shower curtain touches me while I’m bathing. I love coffee when it’s super hot and burns my mouth. I can’t stand the way asparagus smells like dirty feet, so I won’t eat it. I hate obligations. I don’t like being wet. I hate when the cup holding a cold beverage on a hot day gets “sweaty” and drips all over. I like animals, spefically cats (probably because they are assholes). When I love, I love with my entire being, even if it seems like you annoy the shit out of me most of the time *coughJEREMYcough*.
I’ve spent a lot of my life hating life. Loathing life. Having, what seemed to me, a natural disdain for everything. Everything irritated me. Everything annoyed me. I would get mad at so many things and was just so damn angry all the time. I still am. And the reasoning is… humans. I HATE people. They are annoying, irritating, touchy and repulsive. It’s a misanthropic life for me!
The first feelings of home that I’ve ever had were not actually at home. I love my home, with my grandparents. That house, will always be my home. It’s the only stable environment I’ve ever known. They’ve always loved me no matter what. Throughout the colored hair, piercings, tattoos, girlfriends and boyfriends… they never once judged me. Or, if they did, it was a silent judgement and they loved me nonetheless. My grandparents are cute. They put the term, “bicker like an old married couple”, to shame. They are wonderful, selfless people. They may not show a lot of emotion, in fact, I’ve only seen my grandmother cry once. When I told her I felt like a burden after my mother moved in with her boyfriend and me and my brother stayed with my grandparents. But that’s a story for another day. So back to it. Recently I had that feeling of home again. It was the beginning of January and it was snowing out. Big, fluffy, white flakes. As I drove 40 mph down union st on the way home, the flakes whizzed past my car windows. As I approached the street lights, the flames seemed to slow down, it was as if my life, that moment, going 40 mph was slowed down. It was snowing in slow motion. And the snowflakes were dancing. For lack of a better word, it was beautiful. So beautiful that, as a person that HATES (er loathes), getting wet. I hate condensation on cold beverages on a hot day, I hate swimming, I even dread showering and washing my face because I hate being wet. I hate drippy water.
I’ve learned to live my life in such a way that I actually enjoy being alone. I like spending my time crocheting, re-watching the same sitcoms over and over. I like doing nothing. I enjoy it so much that when I see others who have full schedules, going to work and school and raising families, that I constantly feel like something is wrong with me. Thoughts dance in my head about what could be if I just got a little motivation to do more things. But it’s difficult. Because that’s not who I am.