This is a rambling post. Consider yourself forewarned.
I have a confession to make. Actually, scratch that; it sounds really defensive. Let's just go with, "I have something to declare." Or does that sound like I'm going through customs? You know what, forget it. Let's just get on with this--whatever "this" is.
I occasionally Google stuff along the lines of "What's wrong with me?" or "What's my mental illness?" I'm not exactly sure where this scores on the normal-weird scale since I only know one other person who uses search engines for stuff like that, but still, I'm pretty sure it's not exactly characteristic of most humans. As far back as I can remember, though, I've always been convinced that I have a mental disorder of some sort. Now I'm pretty sure I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder--there were two particularly excruciating spells of it a few years back, but thank God those are over--but I still have this continual need to find out what other disorders I have. Am I bipolar, anxious, paranoid? What else is wrong with me?
I guess that's what it really comes down to. No, scratch that again, that's one of the things it comes down to. I tend to victimize myself (even if just inside my head) and act all rejected and shit. Or am I really rejected? Don't get me wrong, I've experienced those OMG-I-have-the-best-friends-ever moments and everything, but on the whole, I've never really felt one hundred percent accepted, now more than ever. Or should I say, I've never really felt like I completely fit in, like I can be my absolute, total, unfiltered self with anyone. Maybe that's just the way life goes, but there are times when I can't help wishing there was someone with whom I could share every single contradictory side of me. My sister comes pretty close, but even she doesn't get let in on everything. Maybe that's normal? I don't know. I don't know what normal is.
I feel like my entire life has been an ode to hypocrisy. I make fun of things and then I do/say them. I say, "Hey, live and let live!" like some kind of hippie and then I go and mock people for choosing a way of life that I may not necessarily agree with. Is that right? No. My conscience aches. It aches for a lot of reasons and this is just one of them. Maybe that's why I can't find someone who'll accept me for who I am: because I never did that with anyone else. I never opened up my mind and heart in practice and not just in theory. I never said, "You know what, you guys, I'm done. I'm done making fun of people for the choices they make. I'm done acting like I'm better than them because I know I'm not. I'm done pretending that I don't envy the courage of those who plough on ahead, regardless of what those around them think," and then actually implemented it. Instead, I instigated mindless conversations about meaningless things, because what else could I have done with my time, right? And then I have the nerve to sigh and wonder why I don't fit in!
This post isn't really going where it was meant to, but that's okay. That's what I love most about writing; it's a thinking process as much as anything else. I was going to go on about not opening myself up to people, but I think I've come across a likelier reason for my inability to find a--a what, exactly? A best friend? A family member? A soulmate? (I nearly puked as I typed the last one, but you gotta be honest, bro.)
The problem is, I don't even know.
I have a confession to make. Actually, scratch that; it sounds really defensive. Let's just go with, "I have something to declare." Or does that sound like I'm going through customs? You know what, forget it. Let's just get on with this--whatever "this" is.
I occasionally Google stuff along the lines of "What's wrong with me?" or "What's my mental illness?" I'm not exactly sure where this scores on the normal-weird scale since I only know one other person who uses search engines for stuff like that, but still, I'm pretty sure it's not exactly characteristic of most humans. As far back as I can remember, though, I've always been convinced that I have a mental disorder of some sort. Now I'm pretty sure I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder--there were two particularly excruciating spells of it a few years back, but thank God those are over--but I still have this continual need to find out what other disorders I have. Am I bipolar, anxious, paranoid? What else is wrong with me?
I guess that's what it really comes down to. No, scratch that again, that's one of the things it comes down to. I tend to victimize myself (even if just inside my head) and act all rejected and shit. Or am I really rejected? Don't get me wrong, I've experienced those OMG-I-have-the-best-friends-ever moments and everything, but on the whole, I've never really felt one hundred percent accepted, now more than ever. Or should I say, I've never really felt like I completely fit in, like I can be my absolute, total, unfiltered self with anyone. Maybe that's just the way life goes, but there are times when I can't help wishing there was someone with whom I could share every single contradictory side of me. My sister comes pretty close, but even she doesn't get let in on everything. Maybe that's normal? I don't know. I don't know what normal is.
I feel like my entire life has been an ode to hypocrisy. I make fun of things and then I do/say them. I say, "Hey, live and let live!" like some kind of hippie and then I go and mock people for choosing a way of life that I may not necessarily agree with. Is that right? No. My conscience aches. It aches for a lot of reasons and this is just one of them. Maybe that's why I can't find someone who'll accept me for who I am: because I never did that with anyone else. I never opened up my mind and heart in practice and not just in theory. I never said, "You know what, you guys, I'm done. I'm done making fun of people for the choices they make. I'm done acting like I'm better than them because I know I'm not. I'm done pretending that I don't envy the courage of those who plough on ahead, regardless of what those around them think," and then actually implemented it. Instead, I instigated mindless conversations about meaningless things, because what else could I have done with my time, right? And then I have the nerve to sigh and wonder why I don't fit in!
This post isn't really going where it was meant to, but that's okay. That's what I love most about writing; it's a thinking process as much as anything else. I was going to go on about not opening myself up to people, but I think I've come across a likelier reason for my inability to find a--a what, exactly? A best friend? A family member? A soulmate? (I nearly puked as I typed the last one, but you gotta be honest, bro.)
The problem is, I don't even know.
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