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signingupforsanity-blog · 7 years ago

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Day 12 No meds - Running

I cant tell how I feel anymore... No I literally mean it. The first time I was manic, i knew I was sick. Now it feels like a whole new monster. I want to go back. I know i ran away but i want to run away back. Theres this pain i get in my chest when I think about before. I miss the ones who left me for dead, because they were my friends anyway. I know, if given the chance I would end up forgiving them... And I dont want to do that. They dont deserve that. I was thinking about what my Ex did and how she is. It sucks that we were friends and we had a lot in common. I never had to tell her what if felt like, and it was easier to be there for somebody who was worse than you sometimes. Towards the end I was worse than her, and I really cant remember much about it. Its not like I can ask her. Part of me is still angry for the secrets. Part of me still feels bad that she had to make things into secrets. I still dont know if she used me. Lauren is so good to me and im scared that i want to leave so badly that she doesnt deserve my bullshit to have to worry about me. to worry if ill do it. She was so upset when we had this talk I swallowed all my words but i really want to scream then and beg her to leave me. Its not fair to put the pressure on her. Like i accidentally told her shes the only thing i care about. Thats not healthy. she told me it was a lot of pressure. but its the truth. How do you ask somebody to leave you so you dont have to feel bad if you just want to take the forever nap. If i could run away from everything, start over, be new, go to school. I would. I would just run. I feel like everybody uses me. I havent heard from Johnny. I lost the phone with his number but he has instagram. I wish he would return the money he barrowed from me.... or return my messages. It hurts my feelings that I thought I had a real good friend, and he just stole from me. What do i do? Go to his house? :( I feel like the military used me too. I did all that. I saw awe that. I suffered. And I was just... thrown away like trash. I still see my leg all disfigured even when it isnt anymore. I still hear the sounds that dead kid made, at random times. I dont even know if that is PTSD. it doesnt make sense for things to just show up. Im so angry but i have no idea what to do about it. My therapist said we could talk about it if it makes me feel better. it doesnt... But should she know what does? I havent filed the report about the robbery. the banker said, “The police dont care because they cant do anything to track these guys down.” Thats how you lose 1900$ you were saving for school. I feel like i want to die. I cant fix the things I need to fix. Im chipping away at debt and its killing me to hear voices while I work a shitty job. Everything just feels like a mockery of what I use to be. I took my awards off the wall and took the Army shit and put it away. I dont deserve to be that ghost. I dont know what I deserve. I want a redo. and out. i want to take my time back. i want my years back. i want my money back. i want my hope back. i want to feel better. i want the truth. i want the answers. i want to know what I can do to get out of here. I want it to stop. Im tired of being weird and fragile. i am angry. I am set myself on fire angry. Im lock the door and do something violent to make your therapist feel bad angry. I couldnt ever do that to my sister. my family. but i want to. I fear i could want to, enough to listen to the stuff i hear. When did i break this much. Why dont I know what to do anymore.

#tw #suicide #bipolar disorder #personal #forevernap

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goodgreycious · 8 years ago

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How to Succeed in Fangirling Without Really Trying

[Insert nervous laughter here]

I guess we should start with the basics like introductions and the more important things you need to know about me. Hi, my name is Grey. I am a person of the adult-ish variety who is, more importantly, a fangirl. Very soon, I will be graduating from college with a degree in history. And yes, just history. And no, I do not want to be a teacher. (This is important to the overall narrative I’m trying to create here, but we’ll get to that later.) I am a Hufflepuff and I take almost as much pride in that fact as I do about my remarkable ability to eat and drive at the same time (my friends might say otherwise, but they’re lying to you). My idea of a “lit” night is when the light radiates from my Netflix account. I love a good book and a bottle of dry, red wine. Preferably together. If there is one other thing I know for sure about myself at the ripe age of “almost-22,” it’s that being a fangirl is all I really know how to do. Maybe through this blog, I can take people on a journey they can relate to. Maybe if I share my story, it can help someone else who is out there feeling the way I’m feeling. Maybe they’ll even start a blog. It’s what I did.

To kick off this shindig, there is a little bit more you need to know about me. Like where and how my story starts. From a young age I was encouraged to be the best I could be. Not the best out of everyone, but my parents knew what I was capable of and they wanted me to do well for me, not anyone else. However, I was an awkward kid. No matter what my parents say. Isn’t everyone? Throughout my K-12 education, I somehow managed to stick myself right in the middle of the herd. I guess the more appropriate description would be “average.” I played one sport in my four years of high school, so I was not jock material. I was in choir, but not a soloist. I was in the musical, but felt more comfortable being part of the stage crew. I spent most of my lunches in my school’s library. The average high school student will experience some form of bullying and I was no exception. Not to the extent that others were, but it was enough to scar me so that my goal for that part of my education was just to get through it with as few waves as possible. So, I adapted and figured out that being stuck in the middle of everything is what made me happy. I didn’t want to be the center of attention. That would’ve been my worst nightmare. I hated myself back then and I had already given people enough of a chance to hate me in my earlier years. It might not have been bad, but it was enough.

I, also, might not be able to remember all the details, but I can pinpoint the moment I knew I was a fangirl. I was in 6th grade and I held in my meaty little hands a copy of The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan. I read the opening part of the first chapter entitled “I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher” and it is, to this day, the closest thing I can equate to finding myself. Tiny little me, reading a book about a kid not much older than her who feels it in every fiber of his bones that he is different and can’t do a damn thing about it at that moment, it just felt like coming home. I inhaled the words on those pages. I injected them into my bloodstream once every month. No other book could ever compare as I reread it over and over and over again. It was Wonderland and I was Alice, falling, falling, falling down the rabbit hole and but with no intention of ever stopping the free fall. And as I grew older and wiser, and my tastes expanded, I started to realize that I had always been like that. Disney movies were (still are) the pinnacle of my movie tastes. I wouldn’t watch anything other than animated movies until I was well over the age of 12. My mom begged me to play outside as a kid when all I wanted to do was sit down and watch Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network, or the Disney Channel. Percy Jackson and his journey finally put it all into perspective for me. And I’m still spiraling. I started to consume knowledge about Greek Mythology more than my studies. I read anything fantasy based that I could get my hands on. Harry Potter, Fablehaven, Peter and the Star Catchers, Oh. My. Gods., House of Night, the list is as endless as it is ongoing. As I grew, my tastes expanded. I got into anime, sci-fi, comics, crime, true crime, literally anything that took me away from the normal life I was leading. What I wanted more than anything in the world was to be there.

All of these things carried me through my high school career, but not in the way I was expecting. I loved my stories, my otherworlds, more than I ever loved the real world, but it beckoned. Not so much like a siren’s song, more like the annoying alarm clock in the morning that you just perpetually want to turn off, but somehow end up hitting SNOOZE so it keeps waking you up every few minutes. High school was a time where the answer to the question “So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” was finally starting to be the most important question you could answer. I’ll give you three guesses as to what girl never, ever had the answer to that question and the first two don’t count… Yup, t’was me. I’m pretty sure every time someone asked me that, my answered changed. The only thing I really knew, at least at that point, was there were two things I loved. History and what I’ve come to now realize is my all-encompassing, heart-stopping, soul-crushing love for the creative process. Everything in this world that is created has a story that I need to know. I fawn over fan art just as much as Picasso or Van Gogh. I think fanfiction and their authors can sometimes be written better than the original. I have music on at all times during the day. If I am not reading, I am watching something. If I am not watching, then I am trying to hone my own creative processes. Everything about being a fangirl appeals me like a drug. Where bullying knocked me down, I bathed myself in fantasy and used it as my armor. When the only thing I wanted to do was just get through, my fandoms taught me how I should live. Whenever I felt like I wasn’t loved or good enough or whatever enough, somehow, some way, fiction would wrap its arms around me, remind me that I was, and lift me up to carry me home.

Sounds like a wonderful thing to make a career out of, right? But if bullying had taught me anything, it was that I wasn't good enough. I was never going to be a content creator. It was always going to be my destiny to be a content consumer. I could never be J.K. Rowling, Chris Hardwick, Wil Wheaton, Felicia Day, Lin Manuel Miranda. If I could go back and tell my younger self anything, it wouldn’t be any of the clichés like ‘it gets better’ or ‘just stay strong.’ I’d tell that little punk to stick it to whoever told her that what was making her feel whole wasn’t worth making a life out of. I would tell my younger self to be brave enough to prove them all wrong. I was constantly told that I could not make a sustainable career out what I loved. So, I did what I do best and adapted. History was the only other thing I really loved. It was the real stories, the non-fiction that inspires fiction. If I couldn’t create the stories, I would learn everyone else’s. That would surely solve that problem? It’d be a good enough substitute, right?

While I love history, it was like going from Ferrari to a Honda. The Honda will most definitely get you from Point A to Point B, but more so because you can’t afford a Ferrari in the first place. Which kind of brings me to where I am now and the whole reason I started this blog in the first place. Here’s me, about to graduate college with a degree in a field I love (even though it doesn’t sound like it) feeling like I’m doing nothing more than staring into a deep, vast, dark thing called The Void of Adulthood when the only thing I really want to do is take a nap. Or curl up with a good book or a new TV show. Forget the horror genre, adulthood, or the precipice of it, is the scariest shit I have ever encountered. And I am looking at this Void, wanting to take a ForeverNap™️, neck deep in a big-girl-full-time job search, wearing a Captain America shirt, Prisoner of Azkaban clutched in one hand, sonic screwdriver in the other, screaming my throat raw about how I am just not ready.

But getting back to the present. I mentioned that my degree in history would somehow be important to the overall narrative I’m trying to weave here. This is why. It goes back to being too scared to do what I really wanted to do. While I love history, it just doesn’t compare to the other thing. But, I was also too scared by real life to ever do anything to change it. I was too scared to tell everyone: “DAMN THE CONSEQUENCES AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR COLLECTIVE ASSES, I’M GOING TO DO THIS.” I never wanted to shake it up, challenge the status quo, and now I’m kicking myself for it. History was a safety net I didn’t realize was there until it was too late. All this suddenly came into perspective because I found my dream job. Given the chance, it would be one that I would be really, really good at… but I can’t get it. I don’t have a degree in a relevant field, I don’t have the job experience. I’m not prepared. And it sucks royal hippogriff.

And that, dear readers who have stuck with me all the way to this point, is why I am here. I started this blog to finally break out of my shell. I am no longer content with being a consumer. I want to be a creator. I want to contribute to the discussions. I want to write things that matter and that people can relate to. I want to be fully qualified. If writing this blog and finally, finally being able to contribute something to the worlds that have loved me when I thought no one else did is the only way I can give back and get experience, then so be it. If it is the only way I can be apart of the things I love right now, then I’m going to do it. This is how I stick it to those people who told me I couldn’t. This is how I throw it back in the faces of people who tore me down. I hope that I can take people along this journey with me. I have some fun things planned. And if there are people out there who are listening to the voices of negativity in whatever forms they take, I hope I can help you realize that you are strong enough to face those demons and win. I hope that together we can find a way to forge our own paths. I don’t want anyone to ever feel like I felt. No one deserves to feel like that.

Hi again, I’m Grey. Welcome home. Here, you will always be encouraged. Here, I promise to help you in whatever way I can. Here, you are safe. And here, above all, you are seen and you are loved.

#grey writes #my stuff #personal post

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