MOOP!

I am not crying anymore. You don't need to give me sympathy or hugs, though I won't especially mind them, especially if they're accompanied by an actual comment.

But sometimes I do cry, and when I do, I generally look like absolute shit. Tonight pretty much wasn't an exception. But if I shade my eyes and look away, there is beauty in all that pain. Because I'm human, and because crying is human, and humans are beautiful.

One of the things I feel in the back of my mind is that I don't post enough pictures to this journal. I think it would be nice to change that. I like this self portrait.

Not every picture I take is taken from before the walls¹. Every once in a while, I take one behind.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Behind the Walls is a term I've used for most of five years now. It is everything that is secret, and not for anyone but me to know. Sometimes I share it, a little. Theoretically, I've been getting better at sharing over the past few years. Before the Walls would, of course, be anything that anyone could see --most of this journal.

Dear self.

Well, I guess this is just resounding fucking proof that you're not a functional human being. Your emotional stability should not be dependant on other people, ever. Grow up, stop crying, and pretend to be an adult. You know, that thing that you're so desperate for people to see you as?

Luv, me.

P.S: You're not worth it. Get over yourself.

And I read thoughtstreams from a year and two and three ago.
And I read BehindtheWalls, the first one, the one that coined the term.
And I read secret journals, that I was never meant to find in the first place.
And I read letters that were never meant to be sent
And I read notes that were left on my keyboard

And I talk, to you and you and you. And it doesn't really help. Not right now.

I just feel empty.
I just feel so
frigging
empty.

And I'm doing things off Al's radar. She pays such careful attention, should I cut-scratch-bite-hit myself, she swoops and grabs me and stops me.

But there are more ways to hurt yourself then with knives. There are ways to hurt yourself that don't hurt at all, that shouldn't hurt at all, that only burn because you're a freak.
(Other people are not the only ones who are not to touch my neck. I don't even like it when I touch it myself)

You pull strings tight round your wrist, and cause your hand to tingle from the loss of blood. And then you stop, you release the cord, the chain, whatever it is you have, and let your hand return to normal. Maybe you caused slight indents on your wrist, that fade within moments. Maybe you didn't. You didn't actually hurt yourself, just caused the world to feel different for a little bit.

You're all about making the world feel different for a little bit.

...

And in the middle of the empty and the hate and the lost and alone, she says one beautiful perfect priceless thing, without reason, without warning.

And the stretched thin emptyness, keeping you from doing anything stupid snaps away, and the saltwater starts running down your face. Fucking tears, you've been here before. How long since the last time you cried? Perhaps a week?

Fucking tears.

Maybe it's time to go away for a little while. Take all of who and what you are and bundle it up in a shirt and a robe and a hoodie and a coat and go walk. Walk the paths that you've made familiar, familiar because you hurt sometimes, and when you hurt, you need to leave. You need to go somewhere new.

Were I in Maryland, I would go to my playground. The one I don't bring other people to. Because other people taint memories, and I need a place where all the memories are mine and mine exclusively.

It's interesting to see how hard I have to work to find any given reference to any given thing. It's interesting to see whether I choose to use the reference when I do. For the last paragraph, end it "My 'Das Nonstop-Programm'." A reference that one and only one person will get. Good for him, then.

From Dar Williams* to Clam Chowder* to Dresden Dolls* to Marillion* All the words, all the lyrics are different, all the tones are different, all the moods are exactly the same. Sad and quiet and beautiful and melencholy.

Where to next. They Might be Giants? Where do they make balloons? I suppose.

It's time for me to wrap myself up and leave. May you find happiness where you need it. May I find happiness before I sleep.

BehindtheWalls

*The Christians and the Pagans, Windmills, Sing, Lavender.

...Shit.

Crying sucks. *pouts* I hate this.

And no, I don't need to talk about it. Or rather, I do, and I have. So yes.

~Sor
MOOP!

And now, right before I turn off comments, and make this post avaliable to teh world, I'm forced to think about myself.
Never a pleasent task that is.
Oddly, I'm not thinking of that which is making me cry right now. I'm thinking of attention whoring, and wanting to be the star. Which really does happen to me a lot.

Take this post for instance. I don't want hugs, or sympathy, or lendings of ears. I'm specifically turning off comments so I don't have to deal with anyone saying anything that would just upset me. So why am I even posting this?

Logically, it's for the attention. Yet that attention which I need, I have been given in the form of conversations with those more intelligent then myself. I don't *want* attention from the rest of you, for one reason or another, mostly because I don't know you well enough, or I don't want you to know me that well.

And for all of those going "Shock and Awe! Kat doesn't trust me!!" don't feel bad. I don't trust a good 96% or so of the people I know. Not with myself, or my thoughts and feelings and emotions. Not with what lies Behind the Walls.

And yes, all of the people who I do tend to let further behind the walls ARE people I know online. This doesn't mean I don't like the rest of you well enough, I do, and I highly enjoy spending time with the most of you. But somehow, having that extra level of removal from the version of my world that exists in this reality, makes it easier for me to let you see me.

Perhaps this is because, even though I intend to meet all three of the people I've been confiding/ranting/bitching to, there is still at least some level of anonymity.

...Holy shit, I just spelled that right on the first try. Wow.

Right, right, back to what I was saying.

I don't know. I just really don't know. I'm a very private person, while I gladly (and ocassionally loudly) share my thoughts and ideas, I keep my feelings and emotions very hidden. I also tend to keep issues I'm having to myself, only asking for advice when I come to a total loss.

Could this be pride? It may be --it fit's the descriptions. I could very well be too prideful to ask for help, and that, paired with my own cynicsism could be a large part of why I tend not to trust people.

But what were we talking about at the start? Attention-whoring? Somewhere in my personal writings, there exists a sequence of words that, I believe reads, "I am an attention whore with stage fright." It is always a frustrating thing when I look back on myself and find that I'm being incredibly fucking RIGHT, and fitting whatever situation perfectly. I am, in fact an attention whore, I have known this for some time, and I try to realize when I'm being stupid for attention, which is never a good thing. And, although I don't believe stage fright is quite the right word at all, I DO avoid the spotlight. I hate being fawned over, which makes crying an absolute nightmare. Because people are good, and nice, and friendly, and because I have been good and nice and friendly to them, they feel obligated to come over and crowd around me and ask if I want to talk (which I generally don't) and if I'm alright (Which I'm sure as hell not, but I'm not going to tell you that). And really, when I get to the point where I'm crying, I reeeeeeeeeally don't want you to pay any attention whatsoever to me. I want you to ignore me, and do what you're doing, and let me find my happy spot and just melt back into the real world at my own sweet pace.

Did I ever tell you folk about the breakdown I had back in...October? It's what sparked a lot of things, including my getting therepy, and sequentially, my getting ADD testing and diagnosed with ADHD. It was...not a good thing. I was re-reading things I wrote while I was having it, and it is...scary. It's scary to remember the fact that, I really was caught in a thought-stream, and had NO FUCKING WAY OUT. The thoughts really were just too fast and too intense, and there was nothing I could cling to to pull myself out.

My saving grace with that one was that it was during a test. Yes, this did meant that I really only finished half of the timed essay, and had to make up the rest later, but it meant I *couldn't* have people fawning over me crazily. And I think that if I *had* had that, I would have snapped, and gone into full bitch mode, and possibly said some things that I would very much regret.

That might be part of the problem with my life. I get mad about as easily as anyone else, I figure, but unlike a lot of people, I really don't have any rational way to release my anger. Yes, I can try and play DDR if I'm at home (although Nik tends to invade) and I can always write and write and write, but in all truth, I don't think the latter really helps very much. It does less to clear the anger, and more to link it to everything else, like my mind links everything, and shut the anger away until the next time I need it. But I don't punch things, I don't scream, Alis won't let me bite my tongue or dig my nails into my palms or scratch up my arms (which were all things I used to do on a fairly regular basis until she came along...and theres a whole stream by itself) so I can't get rid of it through self-inflicted pain, and I always wind up feeling far too guilty to take it out on other people. So generally, when the emotions get to be too much, I wind up crying, writing in a notebook, or both.

And neither activity really condones having a lot of people standing around staring at me with worried looks on their faces and asking if I'm alright.

Also, I noted the other day that when I'm in an especially people-hating sour mood, I go very quiet. This is primarily to keep myself from yelling at people, and I figured it out by watching a friend, who was bitchy and WAS yelling at people. So really, if I go quiet on you and detach myself from the group, I probably really would prefer to be left alone.

*laughs bitterly* My own silly memories. Like bowling. To date, Eric is STILL the only person who has ever managed to figure out the above without my telling them. He's a good lad.

*thinks*

This turned out rather further then I suspected. I meant to discuss attention-whorism, and figure out what I could possibly gain by posting my above post. I still don't know, other then the fact that I HAVE gained a lovely bit of SoC (Stream of Conciousness)

It's odd, thinking about it. When it comes to writing, I think of myself as a fairly good fiction/fantasy writer. But when I write SoC, I find myself IMMENSELY more eloquent. I prefer the subject matter, perhaps? Or maybe I just write best when I really am in such a quiet mood. If life tells me right, I do recieve more, or better compliments on my SoC peices then my stories.

Somehow, that depresses me a little. Perhaps because this is never how I've seen myself when I've said I wanted to be a writer?

Another thing I've figured out, which I don't remember if I ever posted here, is a bit of mathmatical ratio type stuff. I figure that about 80 or so percent of my time, I am happy, or at the very least, indifferent on the positive side of the mood spectrum. I also figure that, out of all my emotional intensity, about 75 percent or so of it comes from or out of that 20 percent of the time where I'm *not* happy. Do negitive emotions just mean more, or do they just stick better? And I know I can get happiness highs, I've done it before, but it's much harder to remember them, and how they feel when I'm feeling negitive then it is to remember the low's I've hit when I'm feeling positive. Do I really just hate myself?

I feel so disjointed. No doubt that if I went back and actually read this peice, I would agree with the fact that I *am* being disjointed, and that I'm very much letting myself swirl about the thought-stream. Controlled though. I try to avoid letting myself be in it uncontrolled, the results are rarely pretty.

*sigh* I have to go babysit. In all truth, I only may or may not actually be around on AIM, and if I am,I only may or may not want to talk. So ta.

...And I turned comments back on. The first few lines though, the first post...that is not to be commented on. Alright?

~Sorcyress
MOOP!