Shut down.

That is where I'm at right now.

Barely able to function.

And honestly only able to do so because my strong tendencies towards loyalty and responsibilities are what force me to actually get up in the morning.

If I were left to my own devices and only had myself to care for, getting out of bed wouldn't even be an option.

I am...

weary.

exhausted.

broken.

and possibly even defeated.

Any fight that was left in me was taken a long time ago.

I would say probably about 95% of the time, I can manage the sadness (read: depression).

Tricks and noises and diversions that distract me from getting too lost within the darkness.

But sometimes...sometimes those tricks aren't enough.

Or some trigger gets switched and the effectiveness of those tricks is rendered useless.

And so I begin to drown.

And rather than fight and thrash and scream out for help, I let myself sink.

Because I don't have the energy to care.

And I cannot drag people down with me.

So what happens during that 5% of time when the sadness engulfs my entire existence and I'm unable to manage it?

I shut down.

I stop being able to function.

I become completely numb, and lean towards cruelty.

My misery becomes a poison.

I am a disease with which I don't want my friends to become infected.

I'm stubborn.

Anyone who knows me knows that.

They probably also know my strong inclinations towards independence and how I basically never ask for help.

Ever.

Why?

Not because I think asking for help is weak.

But because someday I will need help and will be completely alone.

And I will have only myself to depend upon to figure things out.

I don't want to be dependent upon others when I can get things done on my own.

I guess that's where the problems start, though.

Because when that sadness begins to stifle, I cut off all possible airways for oxygen.

I avoid friends.

I stop as much communication as I possibly can.

I welcome the suffocating silence.

I do not want to be the person that brings others down.

Maybe being completely alone and isolated isn't the best.

And turning to both old and new habits to cope with the sadness isn't the healthiest.

But if I can contain this darkness until it is under control again, I'd rather let myself suffer than harm others along the way.

Especially people I care about.

And maybe I should tell people what's going on.

Or at least that I'll be AWOL for a while.

But that will elicit responses I don't want to hear.

It's best to drown on my own.

Besides.

My track record thus far has proven my ability to breathe underwater.

So far, I have survived.

(Maybe...somewhere...there is still some fight left.)

Internal Love Affairs

...Or lack thereof, I should say.

If you want to meet someone who is completely devoid of affection and lacks the ability to truly love people, congratulations.
You've just met her.

Turns out, when you don't have a job and you can't distract yourself with hard-core busy-work or constant noise, your brain tends to go even MORE on overdrive than it already is.  If that's even possible.  (It is.)

I think I've been aware of this problem for a while.
But I also acknowledge that up until this evening, it's severity was unknown to me.

I.  Don't.  Love.  You.

Or you.  Or him.  Or her.
Or anyone.

It's not for lack of trying.

...or is it?

It probably is.
But not in the common understanding of that phrase.

I have spent so much time on building a rough exterior (though, damn it, I'm still nice and friendly on the outside due to fucking common courtesy) - and an even more solidly built defense on the inside - that I now find myself incapable to feel true affection and love for those around me.

Well.
Maybe affection is still something I can draw up.

But love?
Absolutely not.

I find myself responding with non-committal grunts or noises to people who tell me "I love you;" whether that's family members or friends.  It's kind of all the same.  You love me?  Got it.  Do I love you?  Um...

No.
Not because I don't want to.
But because I can't.

For anyone who knows me well, you know how I am with words.
I'm weird with them.
My definitions of some things are specific to my own mental interpretations and how I perceive the world.
But I also know what power they hold, and tend to use them more scarcely rather than in overabundance.

(How I DESPISE people who fucking prattle on for FOREVER.)

So here is the thing.
Well, two things, actually.

1. In the severe changes that I have found myself undergoing from the hell of the past couple of years, I am currently more apt to be less truthful, meaningful, intent, and sincere with my words.  This is a huge fucking deal.
Me.  Of all people.  Who avoids sarcasm towards others because of the potential harm it could cause them.  Who makes fun of herself rather than others because I know I'm joking and I can handle poking fun at myself.
I say things that I don't 100% mean or support.  And, of course, feel a twinge of guilt.  Because it's technically a lie.  I just said something to you that I didn't completely mean, and that's inexcusable.

2. I don't know what true love feels like; and therefore, cannot give what I have not experienced to others.
So I refrain and stay as far away from that word as I can.

Let me explain.

I'm not talking about the "twu wuv" crap that is shown (and very poorly portrayed) in movies like The Princess Bride or any other romantically inclined films.

I'm talking about the Genuine, Unconditional, Sacrificial Love that was portrayed as an example of Christ dying on the cross.

(What?!?  Aimee, you fucking hypocrite.  You, who have clearly stated that you don't know where you are with God right now, are talking about something you aren't currently living out???  Screw this.  I'm out.)
(Yup, I don't blame you.  I wouldn't listen to me either, personally.  But just because I'm a shit person right now doesn't discount my knowledge of what I have lived my entire life believing.)

I have said before - and I'm going to say it again now - that Love is the most powerful force in this world.
It is Love that conquered death.
It is Love that forgives the unforgivable.
It's unconditional, sacrificial, steadfast, unchanging.

Everything that I am not.
Everything that I cannot be.

But, despite my slipping on being sincere and genuine in all that I speak, I am not so foolish as to say something so cavalier and...false...as "I love you," when I do, in fact, not mean it.

Hence my non-committal, non-verbal responses.

Don't get me wrong.
To the best of my ability and effort of trying, I will say the occasional "I love you" to a friend and mean it as much as I possibly can in my limited knowledge of the subject and/or emotion.
But it is still a big problem for me.

If I have never known (that is to say, for an extended and elongated period of time) what it feels like to reassuringly and confidently know - without a doubt - that I am fully, 100%, completely and totally loved, how can I pass that on to others?
Do I toss out those words like free candy on parade day, because that's what everyone does these days anyway?
No.
I cannot betray myself or my standards in such a wanton manner.

I know this is a problem.
It has been for many years.
The fear of getting hurt has been stronger than the fear of taking the risk to love those around me.

And of course I know that needs to change.
Theoretically, I want it to change.
In practical application, however, that remains a huge obstacle.

I have lost hope for so many things.
So I cannot say that I hope to someday change this.
That I hope to someday actively, passionately, and sincerely live out the love I have for people in my life through not only my words, but through definitive actions as well.

Hope has long been absent in my life, so I cannot say those things.
Regardless...there is slight longing for them to someday come true.
Perhaps when everything has cleared up, when the sun finally shines again, when the future presents itself as present, when there are more answers than questions.
Perhaps that is when I'll be able to finally love others.
Love them.
Love you.

(And allow myself to be loved as well.)

I could start this post out with the statement that I know exactly what I want to say and I have a point and that your time reading this will not be wasted.

But that would, in fact, be a lie.

What is not a lie, however, is the fact that I know I want to write.
Write what? I have no clue.  But I want to write.  I want to get this ache and longing that pierces me deep inside to flow from the cavity within my chest and into my fingertips, out on the keyboard, and onto my computer screen.  I want to make sense with my words, even if I can't make sense of my thoughts.  I want to have clarity.

Whatever the fuck that is.

I can tell you things I know.

I know that I have moved.
I know that moving has helped me not think about you as much.
I know that moving has also helped me think way too much about other things.
I know that I feel unproductive, and that feeling this way pushes me deeper into sadness.

I know that my concept of love is jaded and skewed and I probably don't actually love anybody anymore, which is why I avoid saying the phrase "I love you" to anyone these days.
I know that the stress and worry of not having an income, not having health insurance to be able to start figuring out what's wrong with my body, has gotten to the point where depression is starting to get near-crippling.

I can tell you that today I thought about not wanting to be alive anymore a little too much.

What else?

Ah.
My addictive personality.
And how I tend to cling to things or people or ideals and become obsessive of things.
Like how every day I think about alcohol, and when I can sneak in a drink.  How I wish 6 drinks affected me more than they do.  How it feels good to feel numb and to shut off my brain and to go to bed intoxicated because I can basically fall asleep right away instead of tossing and turning and begging for sleep to come.

How you can meet someone who for once is more goddamn intelligent than you, but for several significant reasons you know it's not going to work out in the long run.  And how that really sucks because you like them a decent amount.  And you know you should just be honest and cut things off now, but you don't want to because you want to see where things will go.  If things will change.  Or, if anything, you will have someone to hold you the next time you see them because they care to some degree.

(And yet there's still that nagging feeling in the back of my head that tells me this can only end badly if I don't end it sooner rather than later.)


Funny how life can end up to be such a shit show in such a short amount of time.


I am tired of not knowing who I am anymore.
I am tired of not being able to say no to people when it comes to things I want.
I am tired of having an irrational fear - and the anxiety that comes with it - of not being able to speak up for fear of offending or angering an individual.

Who the fuck even cares what other people who are insignificant to me think about me?

I shouldn't.


I don't set goals for the new year.
I find it to be pointless and completely useless as everyone who actually sits down on the New Year's holiday ends up failing to follow through with the goals they end up setting.
However.
I do like to set up personal challenges for myself.
(What can I say?  I'm a competitive person.)

I'm going to state these things here and pretend like anyone reading this isn't actually seeing them, because I know that for myself in the past, when I have stated things I want to do before actually setting them in motion, I end up not following through.
So let's all pretend I'm the only one who knows about these goals.

I want to learn to say no to people.
I want to get over the fear I have of speaking up and actually put myself first for the wants and needs I have, because, at the end of the day, I'm the one I'm stuck taking care of.
I want to go to counselling and learn to a) process emotions in general, and b) process them in a healthy manner.
I want to get my fucking body figured out.
I want...well, other stuff probably.

To not feel so dead on the inside.
Maybe to feel intoxicated all the time (I'd say just kidding, but...).

I am such a mess.
And I can't even ask how I got here, because I know the exact moment in time when I first made a choice that has brought me to where I am now.
And I was fully consciously aware of that decision.
As I am with every decision I make.

I am not a fool.

I am fucking brilliant.

Now if only I can put my brilliance to use and find myself a damn job...