Apparently I'm "not human" because I don't want children and want a sterilization.
I should instead "just shut up and live with it" because "that's how I was born."
...according to my fucking pig-ignorant bitch of a pissant mother's logic, babies who were born inside-out should "just shut up and live with" all their internal organs on the outside too. Even if that life will only last a few days.
Fucking catholics SICKEN me.
Fuck it. If I'm not human and I'm too fucking pathetic to do myself in I may as well get someone else to put me out of my misery. And it's ok because it won't be murder, because I'm "not human" after all.
ATTENTION ALL DAILY MAIL READERS! If you've ever felt like excersising that overwhelming desire to kill a dole-scum pinko liberal now's your chance! Just drop me a comment below, leaving your email address and/or mobile number and we'll organise a time and a place for the execution of your wet-dreams!
“I think of the heart as a tea-pot, it‘s yours to pour out your love to those you invite to tea. Now imagine that through malice or accident this tea-pot keeps getting broken, somehow you seem to only ever invite violent, clumsy or careless oafs to tea. You only get one tea-pot, so you have no choice but to glue it back together again after every break. On and on it goes until one day you discover that your tea-pot is more glue then pot and it’s riddled with leaks. Eventually you come to realise that you can no-longer invite people around for tea because you have nothing with which to serve it to them. One day there will be no more tea for anyone.
So, whose fault is it that you have no more love to give? How can anyone say that you’re a “bad person” for refusing to offer them “tea” as and when they or polite society deems it necessary? Despite what some people may wish to be true, love is not an infinite thing. It’s not an endless supply which can magically appear on command and disappear again just as easily. When you say you have to “bury” your feelings, all you’re doing is letting that love “leak out” of the cracks in your ruined heart until it’s all gone for good. It‘s simply tidier to never invite anyone around for tea again.”
“I’ve heard it said that the only reason our “tea-pots” break is because we’re bought up to believe that offering “tea” and getting nothing in return is a bad thing?”
“Perhaps. It’s certainly not polite to accept an invitation to afternoon tea with an attractive, funny and talented young lady, only to then scoff all the cakes and make a swift exit without so much as a by-your-leave. Yet people, yourself included, do invite others to tea with absolutely no expectation of the favour being returned, and still cakes are scoffed and crockery gets broken.”
“This is true. As you say, it is just “tidier” to not bother with the whole rigmarole of “tea-parties”…but then I have been feeling like I need to “throw one” again …”
“One cannot escape ones own nature. And it is in mans own nature to seek out the “intimate” company of others. You mentioned being acutely aware of your own instincts I believe?”
“And you mentioned feeling at odds with your instincts. At once acknowledging and then denying them?”
“Yup. Isn’t that otherwise known as “the human condition?” though?”
“Indeed it is. To be human or be humane? To accept the wild human-animal or tame it? From what you’ve described your instincts are what is compelling you to seek out company with an eye to eventually “settle down.” Yet now is not the best time and you’ve logically assumed that you have nothing but broken crockery to offer in return. How can one throw a decent “tea-party” if one has nothing with which to serve tea?”
“Pretty much, and why bother throwing a “tea-party” when they’ll just “scoff all the cakes and leg it” anyway?”
“Precisely. I for one am very much in favour of taming the wild-man within. I would suggest learning to ignore the human beast scratching at the door and accept that your heart has been broken so many times that it is simply beyond mending. No one can really fault you with that.”
…Can they? Can anyone “fault me” for admitting that I’m broken beyond mending and that I should just accept my lot in life?
So I'm sat here wearing a hat that I've made from scratch and tried to make look like something from gibbous fashions...and I'm not sure if I want to smash it, bin it, keep it, take a picture of it and share it with people, throw it into a dark corner and forget about it or what...
I could try selling it, but I'm convinced no fucker would want to waste money on it, considering it literraly looks like rubbish. It's intentional, it's supposed to look a little like a scruffy steampunky "Tinkers" hat...but to me it doesn't look like "proffesionally" scrappy wearable art, just...you know...bog standard badly constructed pap.
But at the same time I look at stuff on gibbous and I think "they're charging hundreds for items that look like crap too...but somehow that's more understandable. The stuff they make I wouldn't mind owning...the stuff I make I DO own...and I don't think much of it..."
I've been feeling like that about a lot of the things I've been making. Like "well...I wouldn't fork out much for that, if I'd even bother buying it at all." And considering I've been spending what little cash I have on materials I'm now convinced that this whole time I've been using my spare time to make and paint things it's just been a total fucking waste...that I'M pretty much a wast...of time, space, energy...i think it's fair to say I'm in another depression. But hot fuck it's not being helped by my inability to sort my life out and grow up...
I really do feel like dying again. I don't give a toss how fucking melodramatic it sounds, I just honestly don't see the point. In anything. I feel like this so often I honestly can't think of any good reason to stay alive. I can think of dumb ones like "other people will be upset" and all that. It's horrible knowing latent Catholic guilt is the only reason you're still alive...
I cant remember the last time I wrote. At least the last time I wrote something that wasn’t self analysing or filled with righteous indignation about…something…
Oh wait, I wrote a parody erotic story and a piece of pseudo autobiographic prose a while ago. Other then that…I don’t know.
I can’t remember the last time made something original. I’ve modified a few jackets and skirts and knocked up a rather below-par costume for last Saturday…other then that, I don’t know.
I cant remember the last time I drew. At least the last time I drew something that wasn’t a mindless doodle…could it really have been as long ago as Christmas and that conceptual sketch of the Wounded Heart?
I honestly can’t remember the last time I painted. Every time I’ve put brush to canvass I’ve blanked and decided to paint something else, like a MLP or to put yet another base-coat on something…again, it seems that my original creativity has fucked off, leaving only the vague urge to do something with my hands other then type, fap or fiddle.
I don’t quite understand where it’s all gone wrong. Perhaps I was more then a bit naive to assume that giving up drink, drugs and mindless sex would improve something as basic as being fundamentally cracked. Perhaps it’s time to just admit that I’m broken and unfixable…
Christ…I don’t know. All I know is I’m sick of feeling like this and I have no idea where to go or what to do.
So the depression seems to have resurfaced. The great part is I don’t even have the means to “break Edge”, so I guess that’s one small “positive” at the moment…but that aside I’m not having the best time with this.
I have trouble focusing on the positive as it is. Now it seems like I’m faced with more crap then is really necessary and I have absolutely no idea of how to get out of it. The weekend didn’t help, went to a party where everyone else was drunk and having a laugh. Sunday I went for a walk in the woods which normally would perk me up, but it left me feeling damp and annoyed. I just can’t seem to get myself into the “right” mindset and all I can think about is hurting other people or hurting myself. I can’t decide whether or not I want to break someone’s spine or slit my own throat.
I’m sure it’ll pass or whatever. But I really can’t see it as all being even remotely worthwhile…
RE: the previous blog. I went out, I didn’t drink, I didn’t run into any fucktards and I did really well at holding my ground online in retaliation for what those pig ignorant metalhead twats said to me. Go me!
Anyway, for the last couple of days I’ve been going through the usual PMT sober. So I’ve been cramping and feeling a tad angry (but not half as much as I usually do), very tired and, unfortunately, very down. I’ve also been getting lots of odd aches and pains in what I can only assume is my kidney/liver region…which is confusing, seeing as how I haven’t drunk anything or taken anything that would fuck with those organs, not even painkillers! O.O
So, the physical stuff aside, the mental stuff still seems to be an issue. I’m wondering how much of it is purely the hormonal flux and how much of it is the depression. Been feeling lonely, ugly, like a total failure, like I probably deserve all the crap I get because I’m not a “proper” woman and so on and so forth. I’ve taken to not dressing up in “girly” stuff (not even fitted t-shirts) anymore for the simple fact that the whole reason for me going straightedge was to feel better in myself, physically, mentally, all that crap. Part of that was deciding that I didn’t need to dress to impress others, just to be comfortable in myself. Another part was the whole “not being a sex object anymore” aspect. Whilst I am physically much more comfortable in baggy jeans, tees, no make-up and un-fussed hair, there’s something within me getting uppity about the situation.
I think it’s part instinct and part ingrained ideas of female self-worth being tied up with how others perceive you (as a female.) To break it down:
Basic hygiene is a must. Nothing wrong with wanting to be clean. It’s better for you physically as well as mentally, and I’ve never been keen on wallowing around in my own filth. The only times I ever have let my hygiene standards slip were when I was suicidal and, seeing as how I at least don’t feel that bad anymore, keeping myself clean and fresh for my own benefit is a bit obvious. But beyond that things get a bit cloudy. Clothes. Having spent most of my early childhood and adolescence with no kind of dress sense at all it was nice to finally work out what looked good on me and what I was comfortable in…then I started thinking a bit more about the whole feminist-paranoia “women dress for other people, men dress for themselves” thing. The fact that men get to dress in t-shirts and jeans or comfy shirts and trousers and women have to crow-bar themselves into ridiculous dresses/skirts/tops/corsets etc otherwise they’re seen as “ugly.” I noticed that I was practically invisible unless I had my cleavage or my legs out. So I figured “fuck that, I’m going to wear whatever the fuck I want. And I want to be comfortable.” Hence the baggies and the loose tees…but I still find myself thinking that I look “ugly” or that I should “make more of an effort.” Make-up. I’ve never been one to go hell for leather with makeup. The only time I did was when I was going through my little “nuber Goth” phase and wore whiteface as often as possible. Now it’s pretty much eye makeup, a bit of concealer and lipstick and that’s it…but sometimes you think “what’s the point? I’m only going for a walk” and don‘t bother with anything. I’ve always liked eyeliner, I like the way it makes everyone’s eyes stand out. I don’t even see it as a gender issue anymore. But as for the whole “must be made up or else” attitude that seems to exist, I’m not sure if I can continue to consciously or subconsciously adhere to such social “bullying.” Yeah, ok, I do realise that makes me some sort of macho sexual terrorist or something but really, what’s the point in it?…but still I find myself thinking I should “try” to look “nice.” Hair. Now I like hair. I like changing my hairstyle as often as possible. I like playing with it an doing things with it. But I do now sport a hairstyle that could be seen as “less then feminine” due to the fact it’s partially shaved. I have often worried that I’ve made myself “ugly” with the way I’ve styled it… This underlying niggling that I feel is what is bothering me. I know that I shouldn’t give a shit and primarily I don’t. Yet it’s still there, clawing away, undermining the blossoming sense of self worth before it’s even had a chance to shine. Which has lead me to an interesting conclusion…
The desire to look “attractive” is nothing to do with social acceptance and fashion, and everything to do with the instinct to breed. Social norms come and go, and fashion is an ambiguous concept completely separate from human genetics. What is “fashion” in one society is “unfashionable” in another. What is socially acceptable when it comes to appearance in one culture is social suicide in another.
The fact is whilst I understand that fighting the genetic urge to pair up and reproduce is hard, thankless work, it’s still something I have to do if I don’t want to end up as just another statistic or else deeply unhappy, not just biologically confused or frustrated. I know that I cannot base my sense of self-worth on whether or not people want to fuck me. I know that I cannot base my self esteem on whether or not other people think I’m attractive. I know that I cannot base my present and future happiness on whether or not I have a fucking boyfriend. But still that annoying fucking whining that is my biological urge to “nest build” continues to needle away at me in many different ways. And the desire to “look nice” appears to be one of them. I have to ask myself why I want to “look nice.” Who am I “looking nice” for? What even constitutes “looking nice?” And why does it seem to bother me that I’m practically invisible unless I’ve got my legs and/or cleavage out?
Is it right to fight ones own biology? Is that really the path to true happiness and self-fulfilment? Maybe I should stop being a bitch and throw on a nice frock? Maybe I should stop being so precious and just accept that people will see me as a sex object and gross people will hit on me if I try and “look nice” and there’s not allot I can do about it?