sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
So this is technically fifteen minutes late. Sue me, it's not tomorrow until the sun rises or I sleep.

A week ago, I made a post being all "Half-Naked Thursday, whee!". It was meant to be a look at more metaphorical nakedness, stripping down the walls to show you what I've really got going on in my world.

At any rate, then I mentioned that I originally had two photos and was only showing one of them. This makes this weeks HNT really really easy for me to manage --next week, I will have to actually look around to find a bit of myself to reveal, if indeed, I continue on with this trend.

But yes. Have a picture of me being naked. Odd, in that it's also not a picture of me at all.

Happy Thursday.



This second is a little more new, a little more raw. It's the ceiling of my room, directly above my desk.

A week or two ago, I was having a rough night. In talking with Rackle, she brought up the term "Index card days", where you're just so socially frustrated and out of cope that you have to communicate through tiny 3" by 5" cards.

I have a pile in my desk drawer. Out they came that day, and it seemed the most logical thing in the world to write some song lyrics across them. Lyrics from strength-songs, where the lyrics don't necessarily matter in the slightest, but the message of being strong is crucial to my well being. "Go Away Godboy" is the song I use the most for this --I've never really had problems with people trying to convert me or mine, but howling along with the words can stabilize my mood like nothing else.

Because the words are meant to say "fuck you, I'm stronger than that", and on days when I am weak and helpless, I really need that.

And I forced myself out of the sobbing1 to write more of them, because if I am actively writing, I am forcing distraction, and that little edge of distraction is all I need sometimes to stabilize. All of them have wound up there, tucked into the framework of the drop ceiling. I've got ten of them now, apparently. I'm sure that, as I enter this mood, and need the music and lyrics, I'll think of more.

So that's my current vulnerability. Come visit, I'll let you read them if you'd like.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Which itself was after that pervasive emptiness, and broken by my reaching out. I don't like playing shitty girl games, and I hate being cryptic, but that doesn't mean I manage to make all my words to people transparent. There are people who can read between the letters and the lines, through the /me and the carefully arranged punctuation and capitalization, and figure out what I'm actually trying to say over IM, that I just can't, because the words just won't come.

...and because there isn't an elegant way to put what I'd be doing in reality into words. It's that vulnerable look when I arrive on your doorstep, and ask for a hug, and pull myself into you, a double fistful of your shirt as I hide inside your arms, and pour myself out onto your shoulder. It's past want, straight into need, and I don't have a lot of people I've done it to, or *could* do it to (two? maybe three?) and I'm about to lose one of them, but I don't care, because sometimes there's safety there, and that's what I need more than anything else, that memory of safety. ((ETA: Holy run-on sentences, Batman! But this is kinda what my brain starts doing when I am in a vulnerable state))

It's an index card with eight words on it. It's an IM with eleven. It's being held, and being *held* and being held. It's the stairwells at Springstep, and just out the door at NEFFA. It's the long process of reducing the scarred and improving the weird. It's crying in June with the door shut, it's crying in July curled in the arms of someone I can't have, it's crying in August to a boy I barely know, it's crying-sobbing-breaking in January as I watch Next to Normal and try to separate their pain from mine, and try to find the strength I need to say the words I can't, I couldn't, I did.

It's the response I need, when I need it. It's breaking the emptiness with a *kiss*, and breaking the sobs with an *embrace*. It's *comfort*, from everyone who's ever given it.

And it's s00j and Dar and Vienna and Amanda and Alice.

If you can figure out a quicker way to tell people I need "that" than all the above, I'd love to hear it.
sorcyress: xkcd panel with a single character alone at the computer and the text "Some nights, typing *hug* just doesn't cut it." (xkcd hug)
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!
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
A/N: The events and things and thoughts and feelings leading up to this particular thoughtstream have been sorted out and reasoned with and talked over and etc. In short, please don't read too deeply into this post, I'm not trying to put it out there as a hint to anyone*, it is merely some words that I think sound good strung together.

***

friendship privileges )

~Sor
MOOP!

*...anymore.
**This may be less true than I think. I'm not sure how body shy I am at the moment, it tends to vary across a long range, even within the same people.
***Well, technically, I don't want to stoink anybody. Replace with snog/date/pet as appropriate.

Not private because I'm better than that.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
I need to get over the two biggest hurdles that are keeping me from talking to people when I'm depressed and need to feel better.

1) That they will think I am a waste of time. This is such a bullshit thing to be afraid of, but it's the really really big one, that keeps me from dialing those ten digits or sending that e-mail or ranting on IM or walking the six houses over to their house, and it's SO STUPID of me to be so affected by it, but it damn near cripples my ability to get help effectively.

Seriously. You know the phrase "call me anytime" that people make, and ocassionally even mean? This is what keeps me from doing it. The fear that I'll inturrupt them or be boring or waste their time. I have dialed numbers and hesitated at hitting the talk button, trying to run through all the possible scenerios in my mind. Very nearly every time, I will not actually call anyone, because I don't want to inturrupt them, and because I don't want to bring their mood down --if they are happy, why would they want to waste their time trying to make me less upset?

2) That they will think less of me for admitting weakness and that it is proof that I am not strong enough to function normally.

Really, more the second part of that than the first. Anyone who reads this livejournal knows that I'm not as strong as I pretend to be, but I'm only just starting to realize just how much I HATE depending on other people, for anything. This includes making me feel better about myself --I tend to feel that I should be fully able to make myself get un-fucked-up, regardless of what got me to the fucked up state in the first place.

Although I had an interesting realization a moment ago. If external forces are what got me to be messed up in the first place, then why on earth shouldn't I be able to accept external forces to get me out of being messed up again?

Handy equations:

A positive Sorcy is equal to the task of neutrilizing one badplace.
A positive External Force is greater than a positive Sorcy

-Sorcy = Badplace
-Sorcy (+ Sorcy) = Badplace (+ Sorcy)
Neutral = Neutral
Good situation!

-Sorcy - External Forces = badplace2
-Sorcy - External Forces (+ Sorcy) = badplace2 (+ Sorcy)
-External Forces = badplace
Bad situation
BUT!
-External Forces = badplace
-External Forces (+ External Forces) = badplace (+ External Forces)
Neutral = Better than neutral
Really good situation!



...............

I am the biggest dork I have ever met in my entire life. Except I still haven't solved Liam's problem, so I'm clearly not. Damn my epicfail abilities at geometry.

Uhm. Yeah. I...like algebra?

*flees!*

~Sor
MOOP!

(For those worried about me, the fact that I'm fleeing ought to be hint enough that I'm in a somewhat playful and silly mood. Yep. Much love to you cool people.)
sorcyress: A character from a comic about the maintenance workers of the universe, holding a thumbs up and saying "MOOP!" (Zonker-MOOP!)
"Welll.... I recommend stopping looking for evidence that people are being taken away from you and start looking for evidence that people are sticking around"

Evidence that people are sticking around:

*I have far too many friends on here. I love it.
*I keep making new friends in the world, and am spending time with them too.
*Veronica and I have an awesome relationship, and at this point it is quite unlikely to ever change.
*Most of the people I really care about have e-mail addresses, which I have.
*I friend random people because they're interesting and sometimes they turn into actual friends (see ZaphodGroupie)
*It doesn't matter where I move, I'm not going to feel any further away from my online friends.
*I have at least two people who I know on the interblag planning semi-concrete trips out to meet me (one is sekrit -shh!) I have countless others with vague hopes.
*My mom has awesome friends, who are my friends too, and keep becoming better friends.
*I haven't lost track of Fish, Jernie, Boe, Josh, Eric, or Chris, and I've only barely lost track of MohrPaul. There is no reason why I'd lose track of all of my thisyearfriends.
*Chickenhat said so. Is there any more reason needed? :D
*Rohan and Jeremy have both looked at Boston area colleges. Jernie is doing his gradschool at Brandise (sp?). MagusMarc, Jarne, Princess Stacey, Northern Dave&Diane, Lisa and Mona, and who knows who else all live in/near Boston. Aunt Jean, Uncle Bob, and Skippy and Bobby live up there, as do Kelly and Zach I believe.


That is all I can think of for the moment. Others?

~Sor
MOOP!
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (OASISSSSS!)
You all friggen rock.

Me.
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
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!
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
...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!

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sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Katarina Whimsy

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