Shabby Miss Jenn

Wednesday, June 20, 2012


Yes, I created a word. I'm feeling fairly hateful, but, I would much rather ignore the negative energy that seems to surround the emotion known as hatred. And, thus; the word hatefulicious evolved. I'm an icious. Everything I do is icious. Delicious. Vivacious. Auspicious. Capricious. Even fairly Suspicious, but we'll shove that random tic back to the bottom of Pandora's Box. I am going to go out on a limb and say that the prettifying of the word doesn't actually do anything to the emotion. *sighs*

It isn't a pity party day, I'm not feeling sorry for myself, or at least, I don't think I am. But I've randomly burst into tears a few times in the past three or four days. I'm not depressed, I'm actually "fine" so I don't understand, nor do I wish to stop what I'm doing to focus on the feeling and contemplate why I'm dying inside crying.

I do hate it here. In this box. In this prison sentence of a life. In the heat. Where I really don't want to leave my house after 6 am in June. Because it's suffocating and so life-stealing. Someone drop the lock! (WoW joke. Ugh. Add another sigh, years later I still reference the evils of that game.)

I keep having nightmares that I'm running, and running, and going higher, and higher in a building... through trap doors, and attics, and more attics on top of attics, and hallways. I'm running from someone or a bunch of someones. The more recent dreams involve people I know, strong people, dying while I'm on the run. I always stop at some point and try to have a real life moment, an "escape" moment, but always, always; I have to drop real life and start running to survive. I don't know what it means. What my subconcious is trying to tell me I'm missing in my waking hours, but I would definitely say I spend most of my time running. And hiding. And distracting. And trying not to feel. Because feeling is admitting there is a serious problem, I am not normal, I am alone, and I'm hurting. Stopping to live and feel is hard, and
I don't know how to breach the stoicism
 I've developed; so why try?

This is hard. Being sick is fine, I can handle the sick part. I can handle the pain most days, I just block it. The vision I ignore, I've always had vision problems. The migraines are my normal, I don't remember not having them. It's the fatigue and the depression. It's the loneliness and the awkwardness I feel around people because I am uncomfortable and nervousness makes me talk funny, walk funny, and even act funny. At home my family has to take me as I am, and I'd have friends. I'd have someone that I could just go with once and awhile. I wouldn't be stuck. Imprisoned.
Knowing there is a whole world out there I can't be a part of? Lifeless.

I keep seeing ads for our church. Their tag line is: "Come to Life!"

It's mocking me.

Off to continue this ritual facade that has become such a complete part of me. I would have made a great actress. I'm even starting to fool myself.

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