MOOP!

So, yesterday evening, I pull open the top drawer of my desk for something. "Oh right" thinks I. "I should eat the last square of chocolate (the good kind) and throw out that wrapper.

So I pick up the wrapper which seems curiously light. And gee golly whillikers, if there isn't an awful lot of shredded foil all across my drawer. Huh.



Gee, I wonder. What shreads the wrappers of things containing food. Oh that's right. Mice.

You wanna know what gives me panic attacks? Well, thinking about the men¹ who have significantly fucked me up, but besides that, want to know?

Mice. Mice, and rats, and goddamn hamsters give me panic attacks. I cannot function with rodents. I think the technical word is "phobia".

So, I'm sitting there, taking things out of my drawer --the drawer that contains my checkbook, and all the wires to my computers, and my meds, and all sorts of other nicely chewable substances-- and crying, because that's what happens when I start to freak out. I cry.

Eventually, Maddie comes home, and helps me get distracted, and we move everything off the floor, and vacuum like hell, because MICE ARE NOT PERMITTED IN MY HOME OH HELL NO. And in between the vacumming, we observe that no other food product in the entire room has been touched by mousey bastards, up to and including the box containing cracker crumbs that was just lying on the floor next to the trash can. Which is kinda, you know. Weird.

So I come up with this list, which Maddie transcribes, of what might have happened:

• There is actually a mouse


• This mouse likes chocolate. REALLY likes chocolate. Like really, man.


• It is indeed a chocolate demon!


• This will end in sobs. (A/N: This wasn't a theory, it was in reference to me using the vacuum to vacuum the top drawer of my desk. Surprisingly, it *didn't* end in sobs.)


• Somehow, the person who lived here before us left mouse treats to spite us! And somehow we did not see them….. they floated in the air. (Which is to say, we moved the desk to that corner when we moved in, so the mouse treats left there just...floated until the desk was there.)


• Aliens… oh shit!


• Something HATES chocolate. And disintegrated it!


• God Really Really wanted us to vacuum.(since we were talking about maybe doing that earlier in the afternoon)

Also, written down in this list is the phrase "I AM A GODESS OF DOMESTICITY." Which I'm pretty sure is something I said in between posing with the vacuum.

Oh yeah, I'm hot:



Soyeah. Mice.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Yes, this is sexist. But I consider about two people to have done significant psychological damage to me, and they're both male. So nyah.

Apologies for missing yesterday, I suppose. This is really only just my project, I think, so I don't know why I feel the need to offer apologies to anyone else. Still though. It's just been...a long day. Didn't get a chance to post, not really, so I'm just going to skip the ninth and go onto the tenth.

The tenth is more relevant, anyways.

One year ago today, it was 2008. And I had a bit of a panic attack. Nothing too serious --just me bailing on reality for a bit, climbing my tree, talking to the denizens¹. Being shoeless and in a t-shirt in a tree, at night, in what I think I remember being wet. All of this (including and especially the bodymisery²) is very normal for me.

Different from most every panic attack prior to that date, this was the first time I have any memory of being able to Get Help with my insanities.

I'm up there, in my tree, with Gabe just holding me --not trying to help me, not trying to sort me out, just being this presence wrapped around me in a way that no one had ever really done in the real world³. And somehow, he gave me the strength to know that I would listen to someone else, and that the only way to do that was to use that tool in my pocket and call someone.

I forget exactly what I got Magus to tell me when I called him...something along the lines of "You're a worthwhile person, okay?". And...it worked. We talked a little on the phone, and a bunch on IM. It's frightening to trust like that; I'm still not really any good at it.

But at least I'm getting better.

Oh, and Sor? You're right here:
And I have no idea why I'm telling you all this and I think I may need to go sit quietly back behind my walls for a little bit, but that's probably not the right answer except it's safer there
Only not, because walls trap people inside them

Soyes. I'm actually planning to discuss the entry from today more when I get around to making my resolutions2008 post. But damn. It's nice to know how to trust people. And it's really really nice to know that I have people who, when they ask how I'm feeling, I can say I feel shit and babble a bit and they'll comfort me and randomly and for no reason tell me I'm pretty⁶.

Take care of yourselves, y'all. And call me if you need that shoulder --I mean it.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Annnd slitting Alis's throat. Yeah. I get fucked up during panic attacks. Luckily, denizens don't die like that.

2: Bodymisery --using the world around me to inadvertently hurt myself. Letting myself be hungry or freeze my ass off. Yes, I know I should do that sort of shit, but when I'm in that sort of state, I can't bring myself to care or believe I deserve the proper human comforts I tend to love.

3: I have this thing...since I was very young, most every time I've cried, I've had this desperate want for someone to just be there to hold me and help me feel better. Of course, if I called them or in any way got them to come do such a thing, it would be tainted by the fear that I was hurting someone through my own misery, or dragging them away from something more important⁴. As such, I have *been* held like I needed when I cried, twice now even. It's mind-bogglingly amazing to realize you're living one of your fantasys.⁵

4: Yes, I know this is *really* stupid. You don't have to tell me.

5: 2008 I got to live three big ones, that I remember. Yeah. Yeah. It was an amazing year.

6: Gods, I love that. I never get tired of it, and I'll probably never stop blushing and smiling like an idiot.

...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!