What's wrong with me? I mean ACTUALLY what is wrong with me? Who the fuck messed up when they made me? Is it because of my anxiety riddled mother who, like her mother before her, never even realized there was potentially something wrong with her because it was the fucking 1920's ? Or is it because of my alcoholic, weird ass dad who grew up with seven siblings and an alcoholic weird ass russian dad who'd beat him with a belt, because again, it was the fucking 1920's?
The fact that I grew up in a house of chaos? My sister's death? Countless heartbreaks over friendship? How much weed I smoked when I was 18? The soul crushing realization that, no, I was never gonna just be able to live however I wanted because we live in a world where dancing in the rain and running around fields isn't something you can conceivably do? Maybe because I can't walk out in the lovely french countryside at night whenever I want because I'm a woman? Was it years of teasing that teetered on the edge of bullying by my siblings that stripped a part of my confidence that I'll never get back? Or is it just that I'm too sensitive, so sensitive that all this shit just hits me so. damn. hard?
It feels like someone ripped the soul out of me before I was even born.
Probably a mix of all that right? How the absolute FUCK am I supposed to just shoulder all of this, while trying to find someone or something to blame, because what else am I supposed to do? It makes it easier when I understand, but I don't actually understand. It's so much, all of it is so much. Causality and effect, all of it is linked, I feel shitty in July, I feel shitty in November, I speak too quietly, I make the things wrong with me worse by doing nothing about them, yet they're the ones stopping me in the first place. This cycle is vicious.
Let's not pretend that none of it is my fault though. I mean, freedom of choice right? Theoretically, there's nothing stopping me from just walking out right now, and doing the first thing I want to. Realistically though? There are a million things stopping me.
Ugh. Skveekuwvejx. Yeah I don't know how to finish this entry. Let's not... dwell on it. I guess the best course of action is just acceptance. Accepting that yeah, I'm like, all kinds of fucked up, but hey, I'm still here right? Yay ...
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