I’m having a bad day. My mind feels like it has tiny bugs crawling around inside it. I’m going to speak in metaphors, because it’s the only thing I can do. It really is.
1. I am an ant farm.
2. I would like to scream, but I’m holding it in. It is as if I screamed, the megaphone wouldn’t reach over the walls of the insane asylum. If I screamed, the only effect it would have is to increase the dosage and make sure I was still safe and sound in ward 8. It’s for my own good, really. And I’m thankful I have the insurance.
3. The therapist that works in Metaphorical Ward 8 thinks there is something wrong with me. She thinks that my refusal to scream is indicitave of pathological behavior. She suggests upping the dosage.
4. I’m thinking of being non-compliant.
5. This is all really just a metaphor. I am not crazy. I desperately feel the need to not censor myself anymore. The preceeding sentence was not a metaphor. I don’t want to censor myself.
6. I am very secretive, with a lot of secrets. I’ve lost a lot.
7. I probably need to go out tonight, a LOT, but I probably; once again, can’t.
I am not sure whether or not to discuss this.
Flying WAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY below the radar, so much so that every force-ful act of being pointlessly and effortlessly ignored in a way that was so unintentional it feels like a calculated SLAP! actually has its perks … but it hurts. I’m too repulsed by schmearyness to discuss specific imagined slights or beg for attention. I imagine myself magnanimously and graciously extending the finger of kindness (it’s not even the middle one!), and only INTERNALLY thinking “where were you when” and “you didn’t even CARE about me during” and “yeah, you say this NOW…” and “sure, you’re putting me in this group of folks TODAY…” and “you like me now that I’ve …” because I know the specific reasons that I am here and others are… there. I can describe them in vivid, bitter sounding, boring detail. In a nasally whiny voice that no one is interested in. Least of all me. I don’t have time for that crap.
But I am THAT kind! I wouldn’t do the i-told-you-so. I was brought up THAT right! I sure would wear a pungent cloud o’ smug though. And that doesn’t make it any cleaner.
8. I do have my friends. Loved ones. People who take a bother. Who give a rat’s posterior. People who are surprising. It’s nice. I like to notice them on my own, a lot of the time. The best way is when I see these little gems poking out of the water and I can process them in my own time – rather than it being a “see! people DO like you!” type of thing. I know people should like me. It doesn’t surprise me when people do. It makes me happy when people are nice and it makes me feel warm to be so loved and it makes me feel connected to be thought of. But I know who I am.
I do dislike being misunderstood. And the thing that has been happening has been that I am no longer getting my point across in my music.
My next entry will be about my song that I wrote for the contest.