(no subject)

Holycrap! Apparently, sometime when I wasn't paying attention, it became B Dan's birthday. Happy birthday, lovey!

(And a happy birthday to Megasuaurs Rex, the cutest human I know, and to Luci, the first online person I ever met in the real world as well. Yay!)

~Sor
MOOP!

I feel this needs to be said every once in a while

If I try to change the subject, that's because I don't want to talk about it.

One of my coping mechanisms --hell, my most used coping mechanism-- is to write. One line posts, quick rants, strings of curses...whatever. I fire it out, and a lot of the time, I don't bother to proofread or think much about it.

This is what twitter is for, after all. Letting people know the mood of that particular instant.

That particular instant. Moods don't last, and I've had more than a few awkward conversations because I let the walls down too low one night and hadn't found a way to hide that fact the following day.

The second most used coping mechanism is to mask. To find so many distractions, splatter myself across the internet, talk to so many people at once that I can't help but put on a happy face and pretend everything's alright. If I pretend enough, it can't help but become real.

However, masking takes a little bit of energy. It's a fragile goddamn process, and while I'm working on it, it's very very delicate. Trying to undistract me, pointing me back to whatever caused me to need to mask in the first place Just Doesn't Help.

So, why am I crying/upset/frustrated/hiding/etc? Because I'm in this shithole of suburbia. Because I'm sleeping alone at night. Because it's been x days since I've seen him or him and it doesn't fucking matter what number x is, it's too fucking high. Because I'm too introverted for this household, and I can't always have people nearby, and without people, I have to be by myself. Because when I'm by myself, I have to deal with myself, and in case my wildly zaphodic ego wasn't enough of a hint, I do not always or even often get along with who I really am.

Because I hate it here, and I can't escape. There *isn't* an escape here. I can go play on mein Das Nonstop-Programm¹ or climb my tree or do any one of another million things that will unthrill my mother and result in annoyed phone messages.

Because I hate it in my head, and without distraction, I *really* can't escape. Let me find my fucking distractions, okay? Or seriously, GTFO, because it doesn't help. Star-hugs-star only works so well, and it's really just well enough.

No. I don't want to talk about it.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Very obscure reference. Don't feel like explaining, figure out a way to search my journal or something, as I'm relatively sure I've reff'd it before.