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I blog more when my moodbase is negative.
The above statement may or may not actually be true. What *is* true is that I write more when my moodbase is negative-- cryptic elljay and twitter posts, BehindtheWalls, paperjournaling, letters I'll never send1, long whiny rants in chat, all sorts of things. When I am unhappy or frustrated or angry or emo or depressed or melancholic or angsty or hurt or lonely or scared, my words tumble onto the page with a rapidity and a desperation that defies all else. When I need to write, I need to write, and better sense of all the things I should be doing right now just can't prevail.
You lot are lucky that I have an increasingly good handle on how much posting is too much, though as I've said before, it's my journal and I'll blog if I want to. Vera has no such luck, in moods such as I've been in since late yesterday, the number of text files littering my desktop climb steadily upwards. When I'm paying attention, I can get it all into the Behind the Walls file, where the most of it belongs. When I'm not, my negative emotions creep into every essay, story, script, or homework I start, and I save them into a dozen disconnected files. My school notebooks lose pages as I tear out the personal stuff, and the ink marks on my right hand reach their sharpest pronunciation.
I feel like I must be on the verge of a panic attack right now. Since yesterday evening, I've done nothing *but* write, it seems, I go through the motions of sleep and walk and breakfast and class, but they are all secondary to taking words out of my mind and putting them into a file of one sort or another. I'm trying to keep them under control, but Jesus, there are an awful lot of them, aren't there?
And of course, right now, I can't talk about it, because I largely don't know what it is. More importantly, I don't have the time to talk about it, and the people I could talk about it to, don't have the time to listen to me. "She's not going to put her life on hold for a couple hours, just because I can't manage mine."
(I'd like to think that the she in question would. It scares me that I can't/don't/won't trust her enough. Or maybe I just know she's happy with her own life right now (because right now, it is oh so perfectly normal, and I want it oh so badly2) and I don't want to ruin that.)
It doesn't help that everything that's hurting me right now is either entirely within my control (schoolwork. Fucking schoolwork) or entirely without. I can't magically make things better for the people I love (god fucking damnit) and I won't work on the things I need to get done for school (damn fucking godit.) Escape from this is available, I just need to force myself into enough masks to pretend I'm stable enough to actually get things done.
And at this point, I need to write my scene for scriptwriting during Calc class. If I can get an idea. That doesn't suck. And that fits the prompt. And isn't just an excuse for me to be vitriolic.
*shrugs* If you've read this far, you're probably going to comment being all sweetly "hugs" and whatnot. That's very kind of you, and it's certainly better than advice I can't or won't use, but it's not really going to make a difference one way or another. It is, as they say, just that time of the month.
K.
MOOP!
1: Letter I'll never send: Sometimes, when I am very hurt or scared or alone, I will turn to the nearest shoulder I have. Usually, that shoulder winds up being in California, or New Zealand, or Maryland, and I can't actually talk to it for whatever reason. So I write a letter, spilling out all my fear and anxiety, just to get it on paper and pretend that it'll all be okay, that I am being safely held by someone who cares about me. I'm not generally actually writing the person a letter, and when I find them later, I'm often not inclined to send such depressing fare, but the act of getting my words out, and pretending I am held often is enough to help.
Occasionally I will also use the term to denote state of the relationship addresses that I use to sort my brain out. I think that almost every person I've ever been romantically involved with has at least one. Some are harsh and bitter, but most of them turn out scared and insecure, me confessing my love and fearing that confession. Mostly, their goal is to let me figure out what little things have been bothering me, how they are my fault, and what I can do to fix them.
The current BehindtheWalls file is littered with these, but they really mostly tend to show up in notebooks and scraps of paper when I get the chance to write in the real world.
2: This is last month's rant, but I suppose it's still applicable. I dearly love being who I am and being with who I'm with, and doing the things I do, but sometimes...I just wish I could be a typical teenage girl. I wish I could celebrate Valentines day with a boy my age3 who goes to college with me4 and gives me a bouquet of my favourite roses5. I wish I could be busy with school and clubs and not running off to dance funny dances or hang out in coffeeshops with people I'm ten years younger than. I wish I could achieve America's ideal, put my hair up in pigtails and smile and make fun of those geeks who play games and watch cheesy romances with my gal pals and never read anything more mentally taxing than the latest gossip girl book. It all boils down to someone I'm deeply and irrevocably not, but worrying about broken nails, and where to get my hair done seems so much easier than stressing out about whether I'm good enough for the girl three thousand miles away who I love, and how to come up with a script for class that's actually creative.
3: Boys my age are idiots.
4: My college is something like less than 25% male. They are all gay, or taken.
5: I haven't got one, I don't think. Maybe deep red? It's not really something that I find all that important or relevant to my life, and I prefer flowers that will last forever, anyways. (That being said, sunset roses are really pretty.)
The above statement may or may not actually be true. What *is* true is that I write more when my moodbase is negative-- cryptic elljay and twitter posts, BehindtheWalls, paperjournaling, letters I'll never send1, long whiny rants in chat, all sorts of things. When I am unhappy or frustrated or angry or emo or depressed or melancholic or angsty or hurt or lonely or scared, my words tumble onto the page with a rapidity and a desperation that defies all else. When I need to write, I need to write, and better sense of all the things I should be doing right now just can't prevail.
You lot are lucky that I have an increasingly good handle on how much posting is too much, though as I've said before, it's my journal and I'll blog if I want to. Vera has no such luck, in moods such as I've been in since late yesterday, the number of text files littering my desktop climb steadily upwards. When I'm paying attention, I can get it all into the Behind the Walls file, where the most of it belongs. When I'm not, my negative emotions creep into every essay, story, script, or homework I start, and I save them into a dozen disconnected files. My school notebooks lose pages as I tear out the personal stuff, and the ink marks on my right hand reach their sharpest pronunciation.
I feel like I must be on the verge of a panic attack right now. Since yesterday evening, I've done nothing *but* write, it seems, I go through the motions of sleep and walk and breakfast and class, but they are all secondary to taking words out of my mind and putting them into a file of one sort or another. I'm trying to keep them under control, but Jesus, there are an awful lot of them, aren't there?
And of course, right now, I can't talk about it, because I largely don't know what it is. More importantly, I don't have the time to talk about it, and the people I could talk about it to, don't have the time to listen to me. "She's not going to put her life on hold for a couple hours, just because I can't manage mine."
(I'd like to think that the she in question would. It scares me that I can't/don't/won't trust her enough. Or maybe I just know she's happy with her own life right now (because right now, it is oh so perfectly normal, and I want it oh so badly2) and I don't want to ruin that.)
It doesn't help that everything that's hurting me right now is either entirely within my control (schoolwork. Fucking schoolwork) or entirely without. I can't magically make things better for the people I love (god fucking damnit) and I won't work on the things I need to get done for school (damn fucking godit.) Escape from this is available, I just need to force myself into enough masks to pretend I'm stable enough to actually get things done.
And at this point, I need to write my scene for scriptwriting during Calc class. If I can get an idea. That doesn't suck. And that fits the prompt. And isn't just an excuse for me to be vitriolic.
*shrugs* If you've read this far, you're probably going to comment being all sweetly "hugs" and whatnot. That's very kind of you, and it's certainly better than advice I can't or won't use, but it's not really going to make a difference one way or another. It is, as they say, just that time of the month.
K.
MOOP!
1: Letter I'll never send: Sometimes, when I am very hurt or scared or alone, I will turn to the nearest shoulder I have. Usually, that shoulder winds up being in California, or New Zealand, or Maryland, and I can't actually talk to it for whatever reason. So I write a letter, spilling out all my fear and anxiety, just to get it on paper and pretend that it'll all be okay, that I am being safely held by someone who cares about me. I'm not generally actually writing the person a letter, and when I find them later, I'm often not inclined to send such depressing fare, but the act of getting my words out, and pretending I am held often is enough to help.
Occasionally I will also use the term to denote state of the relationship addresses that I use to sort my brain out. I think that almost every person I've ever been romantically involved with has at least one. Some are harsh and bitter, but most of them turn out scared and insecure, me confessing my love and fearing that confession. Mostly, their goal is to let me figure out what little things have been bothering me, how they are my fault, and what I can do to fix them.
The current BehindtheWalls file is littered with these, but they really mostly tend to show up in notebooks and scraps of paper when I get the chance to write in the real world.
2: This is last month's rant, but I suppose it's still applicable. I dearly love being who I am and being with who I'm with, and doing the things I do, but sometimes...I just wish I could be a typical teenage girl. I wish I could celebrate Valentines day with a boy my age3 who goes to college with me4 and gives me a bouquet of my favourite roses5. I wish I could be busy with school and clubs and not running off to dance funny dances or hang out in coffeeshops with people I'm ten years younger than. I wish I could achieve America's ideal, put my hair up in pigtails and smile and make fun of those geeks who play games and watch cheesy romances with my gal pals and never read anything more mentally taxing than the latest gossip girl book. It all boils down to someone I'm deeply and irrevocably not, but worrying about broken nails, and where to get my hair done seems so much easier than stressing out about whether I'm good enough for the girl three thousand miles away who I love, and how to come up with a script for class that's actually creative.
3: Boys my age are idiots.
4: My college is something like less than 25% male. They are all gay, or taken.
5: I haven't got one, I don't think. Maybe deep red? It's not really something that I find all that important or relevant to my life, and I prefer flowers that will last forever, anyways. (That being said, sunset roses are really pretty.)