MOOP!

Following yesterday's theme of offbeat things fixing my mood, I am feeling better now because I lied to jere7my.

Now, normally, lying to jere7my is a naughty wicked thing and absolutely shouldn't be done. But it was one of those "are you okay?" "yes." lies --not that it makes it better or nothin', but at least I hope you can all understand that it's the sort of lie I tell far too often, and am therefore very used to doing.

He said okay. Trusting my answer, we returned to the dance.

I blinked, and my brain laughed at me. "Well dear" a rather sensible part of it said. "You told him you were okay. I do think that means you have to actually be okay now."

And so I more or less was.

***

As for reasons why my mood was in a not good place, well, the most of those belong in other venues. Stress about classes, and schoolwork and scheduling for next year is one. An interesting analysis of what is lost by the choices I have made is another. Letting my brain slowly piece together all the reasons why I might have failed one particular facet of my life is a very unpleasant third.

None of them are going to go away in the next few days, especially not if my body is going to insist on spewing blood shortly, like I suspect it will. I don't anticipate feeling particularly happy, probably not in more than brief spurts until the summer, but at least I don't seem to feel particularly negative. And in the meantime, there are ferrets and lemon cake, and those are both very very good things indeed.

I'm sure one of these days, the things that make me cry will go back to all being based in myself, and my own poor self-image, rather than in the problems caused by other people and my relationships with them. I look forward to it --while it's never fun to feel hideous and unloved, it's much easier to snap my brain out of it than when I'm trying to comprehend why I feel so hurt in a situation where no one involved has done anything wrong. Tears shed at the fault of others are generally more earned than tears shed at my own faults, or something equally melancholic and poetic.

Have a good evening, my dears.

~Sor
MOOP!

So, last Tuesday I had an emo attack of the *worst* sort, which led to me curled up on the floor crying and holding my boxcutter. Not cutting myself, not cutting anything else (although I was tempted to butcher my jeans just as an outlet) just playing with it. Eventually, my brain kicked in and went all "hurr, you're a writer, why don't you write on yourself instead of not-cut yourself. Doesn't hurt anyone!"

So...I did. I wrote an exceptionally emo poem called "Litany of Hate" using myself as the canvas. I wrote it mostly on my arms and legs, and have done my best to reproduce the not COMPLETELY behind the walls bits here:

( Said poem. An unhealthy combination of emo and 'Why Sorcy is effed up' version point whatever beneath the cut. Own risk, blabla )

So! Results.

( In which Sorcy does manage to metadiscuss the above poem and some of the ramifications it had on her, but also spends quite a bit of time digressing about movies, being distractable, and plotting lesbian biblophiliac porn. )

Logically, I think the next thing to do would be an analysis of the poem itself, but I'm bored of writing this, and will do so later. (Later here having a meaning of broken'never'. [/scruffy!Norrington]) I'm off to go scrawl down random things in the writersjournal about bits of world that I have been building since sixth grade. Ta!

~Sor
MOOP!

(((Apropos of nothing, I appear to have coined a new term in the dictionary of useful Kat-stuffs. Before the Walls. It's the general equivilant of things that are behind the walls, except that you lot get to read it.)))

Postscript: My English class is rubbing off on me. I actually went back and fixed the text of the second cut so that it had proper parrallelism. On a side note, what does ETA mean? I got that it's some sort of "I edited this" shorthand, but I don't actually know the rest.

Well...shit.

I just...figured out something reasonably important about myself.

...okay, we're being honest here. A painful and different thing for me, I know.

Its something pretty damn important about myself.

I've known for some time that I don't trust people real well. Probably a good lot of you know that as well --I've certainly bitched about it in some form or another, and if I haven't bitched here, it only means I never posted those rants. But last night, somewhere in between getting lost and getting home, I put it all together, and I think I finally have a pretty comprehensive picture of why.

I don't trust people, because I am dead scared of people leaving me. Or being taken away from me, is probably the slightly more accurate description. This *certainly* fits all but one (two?) of the crushes/relationships I've had in the past...oh...I was gonna just let it be from ninth grade, but then I let myself think back farther, and it reaches to at least fifth.


Reasons, bitching, evidence, history:

( Friends )



( boys (and girls) )



( Moving )



( <s>Daddy's Girl</s> )



( And one for the future... )


So yeah. There you go. Sor, in a nutshell. A crazy, paranoid, fucked up nutshell.

But at least I've figured out WHY I'm crazy. At least I can figure out someway to do something about it.

Have a good day.

~Katarina

MOOP!