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Oct. 2nd, 2009 10:45 pmCan I just make an announcement?
This has been the worst fucking period hormonally, ever.
Seriously, body. I've been done bleeding for like two days. Can you stop mood swinging me so violently? It's really getting old, and none of the moods you've swung me into have really been good. I mean, sure, the so-horny-I-will-set-things-on-fire-by-humping-them was kind of fun, but only kind of, and in a really obnoxious way. I'm an inexperienced, awkward, twenty year old virgin. Even if I knew where the nearest fetish club was, I doubt any of them would accept an offer of "can I just slam you up against a wall and kiss the sin out of you? Please?"
And I mean, Jesus, the rest of it. Stressed, more stressed, lack of motivation, I mean, shit man, what was that garbage on Wednesday? That was a panic attack! I have had bouts of emo, and that sir. That was no mere bout of emo.
(That was proof that there may be something wrong with me. Because, you know, my life as an healthy upper-middle class seemingly heteronormative white chick is so damn harsh, I just may get the vapors.
This is not at all to say that I can't have problems, or I can't have shitty days, or I can't feel like the whole world is going to implode from the force of my pain. But let's be honest --my friend Dan4th uses a tag on twitter that is something like #FirstWorldProblems. A lot of the things that make my life suck sometimes are the sort of things that the vast majority of everyone ever will never *ever* have to deal with, because they're not "lucky" enough.
And of course, ultimately, it's my journal and I'll cry, bitch, moan, squee, babble, whine, or just all around post if I want to. You never have to read any of it. I'm just slowly getting aware of just *how* privileged my life really is, and am trying to keep things in perspective when I can.)
At any rate...yeah. I'm really not liking the drop from normal to insignificantly small you keep tossing at me. I also don't like it when you point out problems that I'm unable to articulate in any way that would possibly make them better, or hell, even make sense. I like to have at least some idea of where a Conversation is going to go before I initiate it, just sort of babbling vaguely doesn't do anything good for anyone, not really.
(and fuck it, I'm a giver. I don't do "I have a problem with something that you might be able to change" because I can't wrap my head around asking favours. Or much of anything, really. Some of it is passivity, and some of it is being low maintenance, and a lot of it is this stubborn, stubborn streak in me that doesn't want help from other people, no, not for anything. I solve my own problems, and I make my own entertainment, and if I'm sad, I sure as hell ain't gonna pull you away from being nice and happy in order to worry about me, nu-uh, not when I can just ride it out, and maybe scrawl something on my arm, or curl up in a ball, or cry, and then I'll be over it, and it's okay again.
Hell, half the time I hate to post about it, because if I'm posting, I'm stable, and I know I'm just inviting a flood of "Hm, you okay?" comments for the next day and a half or so. Yes, I'm fucking okay! I'm obviously not crying anymore, not if I'm actually talking on IM, and not shutting up and hiding. I was posting about something that happened, past tense. I've moved on now.
(And you'll know if I ever post when not stable, because it will either lose all paragraph structure ever, or it will be about two sentences, without capitalization. I mostly keep my grammar intact as I get emo, but the fact that I don't skip the capitals at the beginnings of sentences and proper nouns means that, when I write all in lowercase, there is an impact there, one of being scared and alone and broken.
Big hint. The post where I need you to IM me asking if I'm okay is gonna be the post that just says "help me". And it's never gonna happen, because that's not what I do.)
Because, no matter what's going on in my life, either your life is currently worse, and you really don't need my shit, or your life is better, and I'm not willing to drag you down with me. Yes, go ahead and tell me you care about me deeply, and it makes you feel wounded and helpless and untrusted when I don't confess. Look on the bright side, I saved you from having to put down whatever fun thing you were doing to come console the crying chick. If you don't have enough evil in you to appreciate that thought (even if you're horrified by the fact that you do), you're honestly probably not evil enough to deal with me on a daily basis.)
So, my hormones have been completely fuxxored this period. Yes, enough so that I thought fuxxored was a legitimate word to use, you can begin the beatings as soon as I've signed the post. Luckily, my body has been pretty much a complete dear about the whole thing --barely even cramped!
...instead, to make up for it, I got a sore throat that knocked me out of commission for a day, started to cut my first wisdom tooth, have been some degree of "cold" for most of the time spent in my room in the last twenty four hours, and now am feeling just barely on the edge of slightly nauseous -which is to say, potentially going to be sick. During my only free weekend for a month. (I may be lucky, and it's just that I've not eaten enough today. Fingers crossed.)
Thanks body. Once a month, I always get to realize just how much you let me down.
~Sor
MOOP!
This has been the worst fucking period hormonally, ever.
Seriously, body. I've been done bleeding for like two days. Can you stop mood swinging me so violently? It's really getting old, and none of the moods you've swung me into have really been good. I mean, sure, the so-horny-I-will-set-things-on-fire-by-humping-them was kind of fun, but only kind of, and in a really obnoxious way. I'm an inexperienced, awkward, twenty year old virgin. Even if I knew where the nearest fetish club was, I doubt any of them would accept an offer of "can I just slam you up against a wall and kiss the sin out of you? Please?"
And I mean, Jesus, the rest of it. Stressed, more stressed, lack of motivation, I mean, shit man, what was that garbage on Wednesday? That was a panic attack! I have had bouts of emo, and that sir. That was no mere bout of emo.
(That was proof that there may be something wrong with me. Because, you know, my life as an healthy upper-middle class seemingly heteronormative white chick is so damn harsh, I just may get the vapors.
This is not at all to say that I can't have problems, or I can't have shitty days, or I can't feel like the whole world is going to implode from the force of my pain. But let's be honest --my friend Dan4th uses a tag on twitter that is something like #FirstWorldProblems. A lot of the things that make my life suck sometimes are the sort of things that the vast majority of everyone ever will never *ever* have to deal with, because they're not "lucky" enough.
And of course, ultimately, it's my journal and I'll cry, bitch, moan, squee, babble, whine, or just all around post if I want to. You never have to read any of it. I'm just slowly getting aware of just *how* privileged my life really is, and am trying to keep things in perspective when I can.)
At any rate...yeah. I'm really not liking the drop from normal to insignificantly small you keep tossing at me. I also don't like it when you point out problems that I'm unable to articulate in any way that would possibly make them better, or hell, even make sense. I like to have at least some idea of where a Conversation is going to go before I initiate it, just sort of babbling vaguely doesn't do anything good for anyone, not really.
(and fuck it, I'm a giver. I don't do "I have a problem with something that you might be able to change" because I can't wrap my head around asking favours. Or much of anything, really. Some of it is passivity, and some of it is being low maintenance, and a lot of it is this stubborn, stubborn streak in me that doesn't want help from other people, no, not for anything. I solve my own problems, and I make my own entertainment, and if I'm sad, I sure as hell ain't gonna pull you away from being nice and happy in order to worry about me, nu-uh, not when I can just ride it out, and maybe scrawl something on my arm, or curl up in a ball, or cry, and then I'll be over it, and it's okay again.
Hell, half the time I hate to post about it, because if I'm posting, I'm stable, and I know I'm just inviting a flood of "Hm, you okay?" comments for the next day and a half or so. Yes, I'm fucking okay! I'm obviously not crying anymore, not if I'm actually talking on IM, and not shutting up and hiding. I was posting about something that happened, past tense. I've moved on now.
(And you'll know if I ever post when not stable, because it will either lose all paragraph structure ever, or it will be about two sentences, without capitalization. I mostly keep my grammar intact as I get emo, but the fact that I don't skip the capitals at the beginnings of sentences and proper nouns means that, when I write all in lowercase, there is an impact there, one of being scared and alone and broken.
Big hint. The post where I need you to IM me asking if I'm okay is gonna be the post that just says "help me". And it's never gonna happen, because that's not what I do.)
Because, no matter what's going on in my life, either your life is currently worse, and you really don't need my shit, or your life is better, and I'm not willing to drag you down with me. Yes, go ahead and tell me you care about me deeply, and it makes you feel wounded and helpless and untrusted when I don't confess. Look on the bright side, I saved you from having to put down whatever fun thing you were doing to come console the crying chick. If you don't have enough evil in you to appreciate that thought (even if you're horrified by the fact that you do), you're honestly probably not evil enough to deal with me on a daily basis.)
So, my hormones have been completely fuxxored this period. Yes, enough so that I thought fuxxored was a legitimate word to use, you can begin the beatings as soon as I've signed the post. Luckily, my body has been pretty much a complete dear about the whole thing --barely even cramped!
...instead, to make up for it, I got a sore throat that knocked me out of commission for a day, started to cut my first wisdom tooth, have been some degree of "cold" for most of the time spent in my room in the last twenty four hours, and now am feeling just barely on the edge of slightly nauseous -which is to say, potentially going to be sick. During my only free weekend for a month. (I may be lucky, and it's just that I've not eaten enough today. Fingers crossed.)
Thanks body. Once a month, I always get to realize just how much you let me down.
~Sor
MOOP!