More fun times . . .
Monthly Archives: August 2012
This week’s stats over at the circus adventure blog.
I don’t like to post more than once a day. But I feel like I need to say a couple of other things.
My mood has been so erratic over the past few weeks, perhaps even the past month. Certainly since the beginning of August. I don’t know what it is, what this rapid cycling means.
I felt odd all day. I would describe my mood as rumpled. Yes, that sounds strange, but it’s the perfect word for it.
This afternoon, I began to feel this weird dissociation. Oftentimes, my first impulse when I write down the date is to put that it’s 2008, many times April of 2008. I don’t know why. Maybe that was the last time I felt sure about things.
I began to feel like I didn’t know how I got here in my life. I mean, I do know, but I feel like I’m in someone else’s life. Not my own.
To illustrate what I mean, here are some excerpts from something I wrote while I was at work:
“This is not you.
None of it.
You’ve morphed into someone else.
But if I’m not me, who am I?
Is my soul in another soul’s body?”
I know it doesn’t make much sense, but it’s how I’ve been feeling since circa 3:00. And that doesn’t even fully describe how I feel. Sort of disoriented, like I just realized where my life is now.
Other excerpts that show things that have been going through my mind:
“I feel like I want to carve my arm into a work of art.
Too bad I can’t do that without people seeing it and panicking.
If only I could do it in a way that was visible only to me.”
“It’s not that I’m afraid of people seeing my bloodily decorated arm, not exactly,
I’m afraid of the judgment and pity
Yet I welcome it, the pity, that is,
But I can’t accept it without feeling degraded, shamed, like I failed because the façade crumbled.”
I don’t know why I’d assume I’d get pity, anyway. Probably more like indignation and contempt. That’s how people seem to generally respond, anyway.
I’m tired of being strong. Of pretending to be strong.
But I can’t let it go. If I do, I lose all I have.
I’ve been torn deciding between whether or not I should post about what happened on Friday. It really wasn’t as bad as my melodramatic post would seem to indicate.
It started innocently enough. Earlier, I’d dropped something in a UPS drop box. I had noticed that something on the drop box said “not picked up.” I didn’t know whether that meant no one had picked up the contents yet on that day or that the UPS drop box was no longer operational. I decided not to worry about it and put it in the box.
A few hours later, I was sitting at home watching Burnt Money because it’s expiring soon on Netflix. (A good movie, by the way, but with lots of sexual content and violence.) I started becoming worried that I’d made a mistake at the drop box. Luckily, I had a tracking number, so I went online to see whether the package had been picked up. According to the sign at the drop box, its contents should’ve been picked up at 7:00 pm if the box was operational. As it was after 7:00, I figured that if there wasn’t any tracking information on the UPS site, then the drop box was probably no longer in use.
There was nothing on the site. I began to panic. The shipment contains a box of Toms that I was mistakenly sent. I wondered if I would get charged if the shoes didn’t make their way back to the Toms facility. Ergo, I had to go retrieve the package and send it in a more reliable fashion.
I’ve been wanting to try a caramel apple Frosty parfait at Wendy’s, and there was a Wendy’s across the street from the shopping center with the UPS drop box. I told myself I could get one of those. So I went to the shopping center and opened the drop box, but I couldn’t see inside to ascertain whether there were any packages in it or not. I tried to see if I could figure out how to open the bottom, but I grew self-conscious since it was nighttime and I was trying to crack open this drop box. It probably seemed suspicious. So I couldn’t get my package back.
I began wondering what I should do, then that’s when my brain started going weird. I decided I should go to Kohl’s to look for some pants. Since I’ve grown into such a huge fatass, most of the pants I own are too tight on me. It was 8:45. Kohl’s was on the other side of town, but it shouldn’t matter because they closed at 11:00. (Actually, they closed at 10:00, but that was still fine.)
Eventually I arrived at Kohl’s. Of course, as generally happens, there were a lot of clearance items. I browsed through these and picked a few shirts to try on. Then I went to the petites area and found some pants to try on. I got the largest size of pants available. They were too tight. Okay, apparently I’m firmly plus-sized now, something I’d sworn would never happen. I went to the plus-sized area but found no sizes for short people. Okay, so I’m a short, hideous, ugly fatass. There were no clothes for me. That was depressing.
I found some skinny jeans that fit me, and I wondered how they were just the right length for me, only to discover later that they were supposed to be capris. Lol. I decided to buy the skinny jeans mainly because I don’t own any and thought I could use them to tuck into boots and generally look trendier.
I looked at the shoes and decided I had to buy these boots even though they were $35. (Yes, I’m a cheapo.) Then I found some other shoes for $13 or so.
I then decided to just purchase everything I had in my hands, which was quite a bit.
But during this whole experience, I’d begun to feel light-headed. A bit woozy. Like I was having a rush of blood to the head and some generally weird chemical shocks were going through it. I saw an older man playing with his daughter or granddaughter in the store. This made me depressed because my parents would’ve never done that with me. Then I just noticed all these people who were there with others and had great relationships. Or even some semblance of a relationship. And I thought about how I could never have that since I’m so bland and dull and timid. If I were on a reality show, they’d say that I lack personality.
Then I decided I needed to do something to myself. Either self-harm or stage a suicide attempt or something. I can’t explain all of this very well because it’s hard to put into words. I just had all these frantic thoughts and felt powerless against them.
My next stop was Wal-Mart. (Incidentally, the same Wal-Mart I went to before my trip to the ER.) I sat in my car and cried a little before going inside. I knew I had wanted to buy a few things, but I couldn’t remember what. Then I realized what I wanted was a water bottle with a filter so I could refill it at water fountains. I looked at those. I then decided I needed to buy a safe or lockbox to put a few items in for when I died. I had this notion that I was going to write down my Internet passwords on a piece of paper and put it in there so someone could find it and use the information to inform people when I died.
I thought that I needed to kill myself in a few hours. I was supposed to, and if I wasn’t, then God would give me a sign. Obviously, no signs were forthcoming. Then when I was looking at the safes, this worker came and asked if he could help me. I was very irritated and curtly said that I was just looking. He said, “You want to buy a safe?” I said that I might and that I was just looking. I used a tone of voice that clearly indicated I wanted him to go away.
Then a few minutes later, I thought that the worker approaching me had been my sign. But probably not really. I grabbed one of the safes and then wildly craved some IBC root beer, so I went to find some. Unfortunately, there were no cold ones anywhere, so after I grabbed the 6-pack, I had to settle for buying and drinking a cold Mug root beer at the time.
Then I thought I needed to check into a hotel so I could spend more money and kill myself.
But instead I went home and realized I hadn’t hurt myself or attempted suicide like I was supposed to. I wanted to slice my forearm but I didn’t because that would be visible later. Instead I grabbed some scissors and drew them across my forearm and used the tip to press down on my arm. So I got the pain, but it left no marks. Then I felt cowardly. I knew that wasn’t “real” self-harming because no identifiable marks were left.
So I should just kill myself, I thought. Except no, you idiot, you haven’t finished your novels. But who cares about your pathetic novels, you idiot, go ahead.
Obviously I didn’t try or do anything. I’m still here and typing. I still posted a new adventure blog installment. So I don’t know. I guess I was in a weird headspace, but it wasn’t a big deal.
Oh, and I did look up tracking info today, and it seems UPS did pick up my package after all. So there was never any reason to go on that excursion in the first place.
Here we are, folks. The latest installment in the choose-your-own-adventure story. I’d love it if you stopped on by!