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pisati · 5 years

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a coworker in 2014, after my mom had visited the shop:

your mom’s so bubbly! what happened to you?

an awkward laugh, probably. a nod, a shrug. I don’t remember anything else but those words.

I sometimes think I’m just built to be sad. it’s on both sides, no doubt about it. some other things too. but I wasn’t always like that. I don’t remember not feeling such a deep, profound sadness, but it’s definitely changed as I’ve grown.

I’ve seen pictures of myself, ages 3 and 4, with a gentle smile, head cocked to one side as I often did for pictures. no idea why. the blonde, blue-eyed little girl mom always wanted. you were just the happiest little baby; once you got past the screaming stage. ages 7-9 or so, cheesing for the camera, unafraid to smile when asked. unaware of my body; what’s that like? after about 12-13 I started hating photographs. I’d still be in some, but I never wanted to see them. I felt physically sick at the sight of myself. eventually it became a fight because I’d rather no photos of me exist at all.

I remember when my first guinea pig died. I had just turned 9, I think. I don’t think I had a favorite number until then, but I made it 5 because that was how old he was. I cried for weeks and weeks. I kept a locket with his picture in it. it didn’t seem to help that I still had my other guinea pigs, and my aunt had two of his babies. that profound sense of loss was more than I could handle. it was my first. of many, many more, turns out. you get better at handling it the more it happens, I guess, but it always hurts the same.

everything that hurt always hurt so much. I read back on very old blog posts from high school and I could already see the depression stirring. I would deny outright that I was depressed, following my mom’s reasoning of course. I couldn’t possibly be depressed, because being depressed is bad and it means there’s something wrong with me and there’s nothing wrong with me. I was just tired all the time and sad for no reason.

there must have been times in my life when I was genuinely happy without some kind of lingering melancholy. I just don’t remember them.

there was a girl I went to high school with; she was on my tennis team, and she also did drama and improv and such. her name was becky. she was always very casually cool and funny, but also a genuinely sweet person. maybe not happy, necessarily, but warm. everyone she met liked her. she always talked and listened in a way that made you genuinely feel like she was interested. so many girls in high school, if they replied to me at all... it felt like they were feigning their politeness. not becky. I wanted to be like her, but I didn’t know how. that bothered me a lot.

it still does, if I’m honest. I don’t want to describe myself as cold, but I can be. everyone can be sometimes. but I know I can also be kind of a downer. I resent that descriptor, but I know it’s accurate. I want to be a warmer person; calmer and cooler and just genuinely likable. I just.. I don’t feel warm. I don’t know how to emulate it if I can’t even feel it. I just always feel this ache deep in my chest and it doesn’t go away.

so what do I do about it, then? sit and stew in it? sometimes my own excuses make me angry at myself. it’s bullshit and I know it. I hate being sad all the damn time but it’s all I know. I want to feel a positive emotion and sit in that for a while. I want that to be the feeling that’s constantly nagging at me.

it almost feels like I wore it out. you know how they say that watching porn over time desensitizes you to those things; it takes more time and weirder shit for people to get off. I remember my first red hot chili peppers concert so clearly. well, parts of it, anyway. I was so excited I remember feeling my heart pounding in my chest when the lights in the stadium went out before they took the stage. I remember hearing one of my favorite songs that I hadn’t been expecting at all (because of course I’d studied their previous setlists beforehand), clapping my hands over my mouth, and just silently crying. I didn’t mind the ringing in my ears afterwards; I didn’t mind the fact that mom and I still had a 6-hour drive home from raleigh the next day. that was the spring of my senior year of high school, when I was dealing with full-blown depression for the first time. I felt so happy. despite nobody wanting to go with me, despite everything else that had been going wrong. I didn’t take off my merch bracelet for months; wore that shit to prom. I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing it was. it’s still a little bit of a buzz when those lights go out at a show; once the stagehands have finished changing sets and the headline is ready to go on. it’s still nice to hear my favorite songs. to get barrier spots, to get to watch artists I love do what they do. I’ve learned over time what to do and what not to do, but now I know. now it just feels routine. earplugs, ticket, cash for merch. comfortable shoes (or at least not heels, but always something with covered toes). ID and ticket ready before you get to the door, right hand out for the 21+ stamp. spare battery for the phone, because inevitably it’ll lose charge. keep snapchat open; lock the phone while snapchat is up; that way when you open it it’ll already be in camera mode. remember ibuprofen in case the leg and back pain is too much this time. I feel like I have to brace myself for being in pain now, more than just enjoying the show. it’s all rote. all routine. I still do it because it’s an experience, and I enjoy it, in theory. but at this point it’s like trying to rub one out when it’s just not happening.

the most content I can remember being was those few months in early 2014. it wasn’t perfect, of course. my anxiety was still worsening, my roommate still hated me because I didn’t have feelings for him and his friends decided to put the moves on me, I still got very confused and almost definitely used by a few people. but, man. I had friends, I had places to go. my grades were excellent, I was going to transfer into my dream program. I had a boy I liked that liked me back. so I thought. things just felt different. or maybe they were just new. well... they weren’t that new after a while, but they still felt like something then. I remember the first time A kissed me. I’d had the biggest goddamn crush on him, my god. I was surprised but happy when he’d texted me over winter break, asking when I was going back to indiana. offered to keep me company while my roommate was at work, because my anxiety got so bad I couldn’t be left alone. and he did! he dropped by right after I got settled in after winter break, and we sat and talked. I remember not feeling well, probably from not eating, lying down on my bed, curled up listening to him pluck away at my bass, trying to figure out what the problem was. it was the action, we decided. I remember one night after an orchestra concert; he and my roommate had gone to get food from the pizza place next door. he let me have one or two french fries after some puppy-dog eyes. I snuck a picture of him from my spot on the couch; just him watching tv in that tux. I remember going to strangers’ houses with him; his friends, of course, but I didn’t know them. I needed company, he picked me up, brought me out with him sometimes. I liked him, of course, but I was mostly just grateful for him being there when I needed it. I never thought I had a chance with him, but it was still nice spending the time together. we watched boondock saints in my room one night, sharing a blanket, every so often having to go outside in the bitter cold with my laptop because the fan didn’t work right and it would overheat. I’d bring homework to his apartment and we’d both work on things separately but together. one night I’m sure I did that, but eventually we ended up watching tv. I think it was a standup routine or two. side by side on his bed. I wasn’t quite sure how to sit, but I remember settling in a little more after a long while and just resting my head on his shoulder. being surprised when he adjusted to maneuver his arm around my waist. I remember looking up at him, playfully poking his cheek, him joking you wanna go? and us wrestling around, trying to land light slaps on each other’s faces. at one point he had me pinned and tickled my sides til I couldn’t breathe. I remember sitting on his outstretched legs, somehow, or at least mine were over his. the lamp on the shelf over his bed lit up his eyes, blue as mine. I remember looking back at the screen, to the movie we weren’t watching. turning back. grabbing his arm in shock, since I wasn’t expecting him to be up in my face. but it was just what I thought it would be. what I wanted, but wouldn’t have dared hope for. I remember the rest of that night pretty well too, because it was something out of my wildest dreams. granted, I thought that him wanting to sleep with me meant he liked me too. but even without that illusion it still would’ve been... wow. my only experience til then was with the boy I lost my virginity to. he wasn’t quite so gentle with my chest, and he didn’t last anywhere near as long either, ha. this boy went down on me twice in one go; what? he bent me around, kissed my neck, kissed my ankle up on his shoulder; that was all too new and it was just.. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I thought losing my virginity was underwhelming because that was just how sex was, but turns out the guy I lost my virginity to was both 1. not all that good at it and 2. kinda small, ha. it doesn’t matter that much, but when the second one is.. very noticeably different. ay papi. I was sore after that for sure.

and then there was T. those quiet nights, him brushing up and down my arm. it felt so nice, then. I remember the first time he kissed me too; lying all too close in my twin-size bed after staying up talking most of the night. may or may not have watched something, I don’t remember. I put on a playlist I made of one particular artist I liked a lot at the time, and I still remember the exact song that played first. rolled back over. talked a bit more. I remember him plopping my stuffed dog onto my chest, calling me cute. I hope I’m not being too forward, but... and leaning over me. he’d shampoo his beard, and it always smelled so nice. I remember once he said he liked chin scratches, and I went for it, and he said something like I don’t know why people assume ‘chin scratches’ means going so fast, and after that I’d gently work my fingers through and slowly scratch, kind of like you would for a sleeping dog. he loved that; I loved that he loved it. the ankle kisses reminded me of A. I tried not to think about it. he joked a lot about me bruising like an overripe banana; I remember being so proud of myself the first time I put any kind of marks on him. I hadn’t been able to, meanwhile my neck and chest were covered in spots; all different colors. he liked me on top, though I was pretty self-conscious about it. I still remember leaning back once; feeling hands on my hips. you.. are beautiful. at the time I was surprised to hear it, later I angrily rambled in a blog post about how he’d only ever said it to me when I was on top of him. but I also remember that night I was visiting while I was really, really sick. the whole summer I couldn’t sleep without a blanket awkwardly rolled up under my neck, like his arm. I’d gotten so used to it. I was glad to have the real thing for one night. but I was feeling so sick. I was rolling around all night. once I rolled away from him and I heard a groan, felt him pull me closer. heard don’t go...mumbled into my back. I wanted to cry. I didn’t want to have to go. I’m not going anywhere, I whispered back. I wanted to live in that moment. I missed all of it so bad I physically ached. back then I still felt a little awkward about touch, but it was nice. it didn’t make me sick. I wanted that. I’d trace a finger gently up his arm and back, then up to his ear (a sensitive spot, he informed me), and wait for him to turn to me, because he always would. she’s a gotdam succubus! I can still hear him huffing jokingly to our friends. I liked it. knowing he was the kind of guy you wouldn’t want to get in a fight with; the guy that fell on concrete and chipped the concrete; the guy whose face broke a friend’s hand when he tried to punch him. and he’d melt in my hands.

something changed. besides my feelings for them. I just don’t respond the same way. to any kind of affection. I feel like I don’t want it. I’d prefer to sleep without any arms under my neck or draped over my side (the latter makes it hard to breathe). I hadn’t kissed anyone for that entire period of two and a half years between my first farm jam and last winter, and when it did happen I didn’t even want it. I pulled away but sucked it up after a second or two; I’d already kissed him plenty before, what would be different about it? but it felt different. everything else felt, tasted, smelled the same. I just. I didn’t want it. if you’d told little 19yo me that one day she’d have to stomach a kiss from the boy she liked so much, she’d probably have laughed in disbelief, but then wondered what the absolute fuck he’d have to have done to make her feel that way.

it’s all just touch. it just is. it can be nice, I guess.

I knew I’d be tense, I didn’t know I’d feel quite that sick. I thought it’d take more pushing to get me more comfortable, but maybe it was just familiar enough that my mind dropped it as an issue. once it stopped feeling.. I don’t know, gross? it went back to oh, this again. wonderful. and stopped being anything. it’s like those nerve endings are fried. rather... I feel it, but it doesn’t connect to anything in my brain. it’s not ~magical~, or ~electric~, it’s not making my heart race. it just is.

but I guess sometimes you just want to be touched. even if it doesn’t feel like anything.

I can feel myself feeling reckless again. not reckless, exactly... but close to it. I don’t really know what’s going on up there. it feels almost like it did before I was on meds. impulsive. sad, sad, sad. everything just feels bad. but why can’t I just... not feel like that, lmao

I guess that’s why I don’t talk to much of anyone anymore, besides just not having the energy to try and keep up with people who can’t even be bothered. I’m sick of being debbie downer. I can’t be sunshiney, why be in the picture at all?

it’d be nice if things felt like things again. if my dopamine receptors would just fuckin work, lmao

I don’t know. it’s a lot. it’s a lot and it’s nothing. I’m sick of being how I am. it just kind of feels like a lot of this is inherent to who I am, and I can’t fake being someone I’m not, and why would anyone want this? my diet might end up killing me, but not before making me very sick, can’t even take me out anywhere, there’s so many things I don’t like... what place do I even have here?

I don’t know, though. maybe instead of fighting the sad with self-loathing...

I do like animals. I like music that stirs up emotions, even if it’s all in minor keys. I like crocheting and learning crafty things. I liked learning language things, when I still had the energy to. I like traveling, when the traveling anxiety doesn’t get me too much. I like specific shows and brands of humor, but there are definitely things I like out there. I like the color purple, and hot fudge brownie sundaes with extra hot fudge and chopped peanuts. I like cool summer evenings and sunsets and looking out at expanses of water. I like classic literature and feeling accomplished when I reach a goal or surprise myself by doing more than I thought I could. soft beds and, sometimes, watching shows with someone. I couldn’t watch some of my favorite shows for at least a year after I transferred schools, because it just wasn’t as fun alone.

I’m grateful too. sometimes I lose sight of that, and I don’t emote too well anymore either. I’m grateful for my pets, just for being there. they have no idea the lengths I go to for them, but I’m just thankful to have another living being in my space with me. harper and micah have been making me laugh every day since I’ve been able to spend more time with them. grateful for my mom’s help. even though she can be a massive bitch to me quite a lot, she hasn’t been charging me rent and hasn’t made me pay up for my phone or insurance since I’ve been out of work. grateful she hasn’t kicked me out, and that she knows I’m working to figure out what I’m doing with my life. I do wish she’d be a little more understanding about a lot of things, but I’m just glad she’s been as accepting as she has been. grateful for the few people I’m even a little close to anymore. it’s almost overwhelming trying to socialize now. more tiring than anything. eye contact has always been kind of hard for me, but being able to self-isolate means that I’ve lost a lot of social skills too. a lot of the time now I just want to be alone. I used to want that because I was hurt; now it feels like I’m just tired. grateful that anyone puts up with my depression bullshit, still. grateful for all the opportunities the money from my last job has afforded me. I was miserable there, but I had basically nothing when I graduated college. I have enough now, still, for a solid number of international trips, without really having to think about it. grateful that I was able to swallow my traveling anxiety to take my first ‘solo’ international trip. grateful that I had good company the whole time, though I know I can be a little abrasive. grateful for all the things I got to see. not everyone gets those chances. not everyone can afford to take a year+ off work and travel when they feel like it, because they feel like it. grateful that I know I’ve got potential somewhere. that even if I feel otherwise, there’s something I can do. no matter how worthless and useless and unworthy my brain likes to tell me I am... I don’t let that thinking guide me. or at least... I try not to.

I don’t know, man. maybe I do need my meds adjusted. I just hope one day I can be a little closer to the type of person I want to be. I thought I’d be there by now, but I’m not. I won’t say I don’t wonder if I’ll ever be able to change. but maybe one day I’ll start feeling better. physically and mentally. and maybe the rest will follow.

#blah blah #so many rambles #literally just word and thought vomit

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