For the last three or four days, depending on how one counts a day, I’ve just really been having a hard time with myself. I know three or four days isn’t really that long, and it isn’t, but it’s been a long time since I’ve felt this quality of anger toward myself for day on end. I am normally a person who comes back from things very very quickly. One of the positive things I often have to say about myself is I bounce back quickly.
But these last few days it’s like all I can come up with is a laundry list of things I hate about myself, and how they are ultimately things I can’t resolve, which is a sort of surrender I don’t identify with generally.
I am still so angry with myself, on a level that surprises even me sometimes, over losing the damn sweater. I fucking loved that sweater. I loved it so much. It was the first big vintage piece I ever bought myself. I carefully kept it in good order. And then I left it on a train, and for what? Because I was too stupid and too distracted from the idea of having to switch trains in Peterborough, a thing so very simple that most people don’t need to talk themselves through it 87 times and look ahead to see what platform it is and everything. But I did, and because of that, and because I can’t juggle very well in my mind, I dropped it, and I left it on a train headed for London, and I will, at this point, probably never see it again. it was tiny and it was beautiful and it fit me perfectly, and every time I start planning out my outfits and see a picture of it, or think of it, i am filled with this intense anger and hatred toward myself, because I fucked it up! The fuck up was me!
And normally, I can hold onto that for a minute and let it go, but since Monday I’ve just been feeling this building sense that I am just nothing but a series of problems. I am argumentative and sharp and forgetful and excitable and selfish and inflexible. I snap at people who sometimes don’t deserve it. I am disorganized and messy and I miss things. I feel like everyone in my life basically just has to DEAL with me, and I know intellectually that people are not setting themselves for misery out of some weird sense of obligation to me, it’s so hard for me, right in this moment, to see what makes me worth it. That isn’t to say I’m without gifts or anything, but like, the tradeoff at what cost?
People are KIND and LOVING toward me, and I’m just this.
I am surrounded by people who are generous and incredibly intelligent and kind and funny and I feel like I’m just an ill-tempered backbiter who knows like three things and can’t even carry those off very well. And normally it’s so easy for me to shrug off that feeling, but these last few days--I don’t know if it’s stress or what--it just feels like this massive weight on me. This sense that at core, I am a bad person, and I don’t have the strength or intelligence or skill to change that, it’s just what I AM.
And then I think, “Oh and on top of it all, you’re dramatic, navel-gazing, and boring. Who the fuck cares about any of this? Cut wood and carry water.”
I haven’t hardly written in months. It was like, the one thing I really really felt love and pride in.
AND THEN, this house I’ve been trying to work on for my mom’s boyfriend, I just found out it fell through, not five minutes ago, and it’s NOT my fault, but it FEELS like my fault, and like I fucking got people’s hopes up for nothing.
Anyway, so, I apologize for being a sulky bitch these last few days, and the excuse is, basically, that I’m a sulky bitch and it bothers me.
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i have so many shit to say about rottmnt movie but im trying my best to hold it in and not spill it out in under not only a day but also an hour. got me walking around like an NPC character for real.
i already got raph angst fics ideas— trying so hard not to post them unless they're done, and knowing me i have commitment issues.
i already have donnie ft. kraang tech ideas— please save my phone from me.
grgrgrrggrgrgrggrgrgr
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I get to watch the Riverdale episode in an hour *excited squeals*!! Jabitha incoming!!!
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