Intense. Thats a mighty word, one I’ve heard a lot of lately. I can’t be the only one that comes off this way.
Each emotion I feel, with the exception of anger, its all intense. So very intense.
The way that I think about things, spirals out of control in my own mind, even I can’t keep up with my own thoughts.
I was born with the talker gene, to want to talk and talk and talk and talk some more. But I was raised not to say anything that could be rude or offensive. Do onto others as you’d have done onto you. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. Comparison is the heart of all unhappiness. Believing your better than another person does you no good, and makes you into a terrible human being. I was raised with morals to be kind, trust until you have a reason to mistrust (Though I still can’t let go of my trust, I trust til I wanna die from the emotional abuse.)
Anyways, I can’t help but feel the need to share this.
I know some have anger problems, or feel depression strongly, or are super hippy happy. And some are on drugs to make you sane and are able to control emotions. Or so I’m led to believe.
Almost everything is a trigger for me though, into sadness, into depression, into pure joy, or major paranoia( not a fan.)
Is it PTSD, or do we experience emotions the same?
When I hear “Real Love” by the Beatles I think back to the day I listened to it a thousand times crying behind my closed bedroom door blocking it so no one could come in if they overheard my tears.
When I walk on K street between 12th and 13th I think of Ana and I walking along there the thousand times we have. And a wave of depression crashes on me, making me believe she’ll never walk with me through downtown Sacramento.
When I’m on lightrail near my parents home, I see Luke driving by, I see the river, the levi, I feel my long tear filled walks/runs, I see everything about who I used to be. I see shame and denial.
When I listen to Mr. Saxobeat, I thankfully don’t remember the very first time I heard it, but I remember the first time I danced to it at my halloween party. I remember what it felt like to hear them say “Wow, I’ve never seen you dance like that” And its true. That song is something special. Thank you very much, Alexandra Stan for making it.
The first time I thought I’d never be loved, never marry, never have a child, when I first came to minor acceptance of one of the events of my past. When I admit to any form of abuse, emotional, or physical its after a long period of denial.
When do you notice baggage. How do you know if its been too much. Can there be too much baggage?
Event 1: Luke forced my head down on him.
Event 2: Luke talked me into flashing them in front of the car.
Event 3: Luke talked me into coming over to his place so his best bud could have someone.
Event 4: Luke showed at the parking lot next door, and when my mom came out to say hello which I begged her not to, he called me a bitch and drove off.
Event 5: Luke invited me over to his house while he had 4 guy friends over so they could all sexually harass me, grab my ass, call me derogatory names. Then drive me home drunk after playing hide and seek with me in some form.
Event 6: I listened to real love for hours to try and believe one day I’d have it, because I had just tried to help Luke and Camille get back together. I fucking tortured myself. As I’ve heard. Emotional cutting. Just as bad, without the scars showing on my skin.
Event 7: Luke waited to text me in the middle of the night, after having found someone I may like, leading me to dump the poor guy, cut off all feelings and jump back to Luke. He did this several times.
Event 8: Robert invited me to the bonfire, I got excited and wore a cute outfit, as some would say ” I was asking for it,” Right? I’ve explained enough, the rest is in another post.
Event 9: I dated Quigley briefly, he led me on, and then lied about ever liking me, about ever even meeting me.
Event 10: 2 years with beaumont. 20 bags of groceries walking the few blocks alone because he never met me when he said he would. Stealing my rent money. Accusing me of cheating. Inviting friends over that steal. Inviting a couple to live with us that turned out bat shit. I got punched in the face and you cowered by the door. I had to yell and scream to get any points across to the crazy bitch. You never stood up for me. You were needy, clingy, and crazy. You are a sociopath. I dated a sociopath.
Fuck. Maybe I do have some valid reasons for stressing, overreacting, and my feelings intensified often.
I need to save up lots of money and see a therapist, it seriously sounds like the only way I’ll calm down again, the only way everything won’t make me crazy all the time. So I don’t want to blow things out of proportion. So I don’t assume the worst all the time.
I assume when you text… it means something is wrong.
I assume when you don’t want to talk, you don’t care.
I assume since you don’t ask, you don’t want to know.
I assume since you didn’t reply how I would’ve liked, I must’ve said or done something wrong.
I’m always assuming I’ve done something wrong. That I’m a terrible human being. That karma has caught up with me for having done such terrible things. Having somehow been a terrible person to someone, somewhere? I must’ve said something wrong. i had to have. You have to like me. I can’t handle those that dispise me, most pathetically I’ve heard my friends claim its because I’m too happy, too skinny, too chipper, too excited, and that Im annoying. I just wanted to be happy. I’d give anything to be happy.
Well, when I’m happy, its so very easy to notice when I’m not, and then I feel. ” I should be happy, I should keep those around me happy” No one needs to know I’m unhappy, or worried, stressed or grumpy.
Then there are days I want to run up to everyone and proclaim “I just want to be loved.”
This is why I think I’d make a good mother, they’ll give me the love and attention I so desperately need. The project of keeping myself healthy to carry them, then to help them grow after. This is why I decided I wanted to be a stay at home mom. I wanted no outside stress. I just wanted to love and hold my child, raise and adore them. And to hopefully have a husband that needs me to cook and clean for them.
I know my future goal has changed, and that I should see a therapist and not just choose to have a child as to fix my problem. But, what if it worked? What if I was able to feel every bit of happiness in joy with my child in my arms. Well, what if?
Side note: I obsess, if you hadn’t noticed.