Which basically means nothing. I was pretty tired today. I had one of those dreams like I used to in middle school- and it means I'm getting depressed. I believe it does. It's when I'm woken up and I go "Ok". But then I just fall back to sleep. Not unusual. But I will dream I'm getting ready. I will dress myself and brush my teeth, I will be ready to go till ym mom yells "Are you ready to go?" I will open my eyes, glance at the clock, and feel ready to cy. It'll take me an even longer time to get out of bed. And then I'll rush to get ready-except that I'm in slow motion in the morning. Literally, slow motion. And I worry. And whatever. I get there, because I know that I can. I just need to stay concentrated. And try to to get anxious. Once I'm anxious, the whole world stops. The world stops and I shut down and there's nothing and no where to go from there. This happens so much. And I can think it through for hours. Or longer. Even if I'm enthusiastic when it stats, I'm in tears by the end.
I went to school and blah blah **** ****. I didn't mind it. I'm starting to understand algebra and we watched a cool movie about ADHD in crim. Not like "Look, these children are hyper, let's give them ritalin" It was the actual brain waves, the actual minmdset. The actual problems and mental aspects. Most of the class was asleep, but I feel like the kids who kept watching are the kids who could comprehend. Maybe I'm wrong, but it seemed to be the kids who knew someone affected and the kids who saw a lot of themselves in the movie. And I love to watch it because those things facinate me- and I like to hear about the mental things. I like to hear about disorders. I want to understand, because I've also got a disorder. My brain is also different. I also think differently. I process differently. I'm different. And I want to understand.
And I'm going totalk to Fran and I'm going to go into individual. I can do it. I have alot to say and maybe they're right, becasue she knows me, that I could get more out the program if yshe knew me just a little bit better. Or she couldhelp me figure this all out. Maybe it'll fail miserably again. I can try though, can't I? Please don't let me talk myself out of this again.
I remember now, that ther were consequences. That I liked who I was- but I was also miserable. I can enjoy the speaking out and more energy. More efficiency. I can enjoy that. But here I am, I'm just as crazy as I always was. And I can say it was the meds, that they made me crazy, or that I made it all up and havve finally gotten over it. Grown out of it. But I'm so scared. Everywhre I look there are faces. Every corner I turn, there are arms. And my heart beats and I'll cry and it'll tear me apart. I'm so scared to lie in my bed at night. I had stopped, for the first time in my life, opening every cabinet in a room I enter alone. I didn't feel scared about it. But now it I can't do anything until I check. I used to be able to say "stop thinking about it, it'll stop bothering you" But now I can't. Now I can't overpower the repetitive thoughts. They win me and habve all my will. I'm not thinking it, but I can't stop it. I come up with new defenses and my brain comes up with new weapons against me. It's me. I'm the one hurting em. I have only been driving a month or three. And I always said I would be scared to drive alone. And yes, at first it was nerve wracking. But I eventaully grew confident. Now I'm off my confidence and I'm, so scared. To the point that I'll cry and refuse to let Steve get out of the car. And even when I have him check for murderers in the back seat (twice), under and behind the car, thI lock the doors, there is no way anyone could be there, as I'm driving I can see arms, I see the shine of knives, I can feel my throat being slit. I can see things moving and reaching out and there are small noises that shouldn't be. And I'm scared. I run to the garage. I'm just scared. And no matter how many years I give it, I don't grow out of it. It doesn't faed. The phase doesn't end. IT's just me. It's my mind. I am the messed up part of this chain of actions. I am that deformed link.
I just need some help. And the meds...aren't helping. I need to change them. The antianxiety isn't calming me. It's just leaving me unable to give it all of my energy. And I need to. And The sleepies aren't doing right. They're justr messing with me. I need something different.
After school I went dress shopping. We ewent to this far away place and they have thosands of dresses. I started so enthusiastic. I picked out so many dresses. And I wentand I was trying them on and I felt so beautiful. But then nnone of the chest s fit me. They were too big. And the colors weren't right. And my hair made them ugly. And I just lost spririt. When I thought I havd something, it went wrong. My mom found a flaw, aor I did. Or I looked in the mirror one more time and I couldn't see it going right. So I let it change. And I tried on so many dresses and I couldn't smile by the end of it. And I wasn't sure about this dresss and everyone lovd it but I wasn't sure. And I liked it too, the more I heard that they liked it. I don't wan tto be influenced, but I can't help it. She brought out accessories, gloves, everyhing. And then I started crying. Because they aren't returnable and I wasn't sure and I felt bad for letting down the other dress- maybe it would never get to go to a prom now. And that's sad, to get it's hopes up and crush them. And there was no lay away and I couldn't leave it- it would be gone. I couldn;'t leave it and not have it. But it was now or never, and I couldn't choose. I cried and took up the ladies time and cried some more and it wasn't so silly now, the tissues in the dressing room. I got the dress. And I got the fingerelss gloves. And I will eventaully get a purse and jewelery. And Steve will get his tux and it will be great. I'll get my nails done prety and it'll b eok. I'm sorry, blue dress. You were so beautiful. I'm sorrry =[ . I'm such an *******.
I went toSteve's and I upset him becasue I say sorry too much. And I can't help it, I'm just sorry,. I truly am. It really was my fault. It always is my fault. Why didn't I do this and fix this? Why didn't I plan ahead? Why haven't I remembered? I just don't know what to do and I'm so sorry. And he hates when I say it but I'm trying not to anymore and I can't stop completely. I'll keep trying though. And he says I down on myself. And I knew that. But in my eyes, I am wrong. And I will not lie to myself. How stupid are you wehen you need to lie to yourself to be happy? I am honest and I am me and I screw tings up. And no, I'm not beautiful. And my boobs are too small. And my arms are too big. And my nose bump is too sharp. And my hair is too gross. And my highet is too tall, but not tall enough. and my face doesn't wrok. And I walways cry. And those are the true things about me. I don't like saying possitive things about myself- it sound bad when I say it. Not sincere. Not good. I refuse to say my own name until I was in middle school. It was unnecesssary and I hat3ed how it sounded when I said it. It wasn't mine anymore. I don't know what I mean.
I just make everything too big and too much. I put so much on my shoulders when I need to m,ake decisions. And people get mad, because I won't take there advice, but in truth, I've already made my way through their idea and found all the flaws in it. I tell them that- and they get mad. Say it's not a big deal. Say I just need to get over it. I still haven't picked my classes. I have three dresses in my closet. I can never decide what I wuold like to eat. I want someone to take these choices from me and make them. Then again, I can't let them do that. I havea neeed to do everything on my own. I need to. I need to understand it and I need to make it mine. And IO don't know anything anymore becasue I think it through too much. I just want to calm down and enjoy life. Not stress so much.