Being Treated, Appropriately

"This   is   not   your   year."

I am going to be real for a moment, I don't know with whom. Foremost, I will address plainly why it is that I unpublicized my blog. I was feeling like a sorry, sad, whiny person (that I, at times very much am) and felt an overwhelming concern that which regarded something I struggle against perpetually (this sentence, I know). The thought process started with the apprehension that people only need me in their life during  a time of hardship, because I deal with that somewhat well, and can obviously relate to (unjustified, melodramatic) misery. I began to be filled with an anxious dread, it dawned upon me that perhaps people could in fact see where I was at mentally/emotionally. I am also so worried that this is the reason a person would distance themselves from me. So, with that said, in leu of posting a half-truth blog explicating my actual happiness, appreciation, and joys of this life; I hid it all together. I had no one person in mind, just a very general sense of shame, and being ashamed at how everything.. . looked (for lack of a better word). One of three thoughts down, my second is even less thought out. I just thought that I would voice where exactly I am coming from, giving a subpar example from my evening. He tells me that he is a "wet blanket", his words, and I was not intrigued nor attracted to the idea (progress), but thought to myself that it was fitting. He told me that he did not want any one of his friends to expect him to be fun, entertaining, enjoyable, wanting to talk of anything outside of his own feelings, and working out anything besides his own issues he was currently battling. Again, I am not saying that this was desirable for me, but rather, relatable. You give yourself what it is that you believe you deserve, and the second part of that saying (that I botched purposefully) should be that you force the things that aren't what you think you deserve into something like that. Anyway, the third idea, which was actually the first, really crystalized tonight, in a car, where they oft do. I asked myself if I really remember the beginning of this year, and I don't mean just the beginning, but the very initial hours of it. I was bawling my eyes out, really, quietly choking, when I broke down, in a car, where it often occurs. I was partially filled with misdirected anger towards Austin, which I suppose now makes sense if I were to make that night about the year in entirety, the largest part was detestation towards my very self, my very being. I blocked out most of it, like many minuscule traumas that haunt me still. I do recall telling him that I hated myself, I recall being extremely honest involving all of that. The point of this story (that I am not even going to tell, due to its innocuousness) is that I do not even know if I voiced this notion, but oh, I knew it, knew it well, believed in it. What I knew was that this was an omen, this was a telling happening, as well as feeling, that would last the whole year, and simply foreshadowed its messy collapse. I may have said a sign from god, the writing so apparent on the wall. I had never felt as bad in my recent memory, as I did minutes after the stroke of midnight. It was 2012, and I highly dislike sobbing in front of people, I hate feeling small, pathetic, raw. It is not even October, and this year has truly been the denigration of a lot of walls, and finding out a lot, too much. I reflect on New Years as being the night that everything went wrong, and I was aware it would remain seeming that way. Everything will be deemed magical and lovely once this is over, whatever this is. (I just have allowed feelings of significantly low self worth dictate every step of the way.) And I know, better than anyone, that it is off-putting and annoying when I so easily spill my guts, make a mess, don't know where to begin in cleaning it up, usually try anyway. (Or, equally, say nothing at all). I will also say, only because it came up so many times tonight, and I was walking a bit on eggshells; honest to god fuck anyone who has deserted me. Not left me behind, but really abandoned me when I was caring so deep and sincerely. I get that I am not perfect, even confusing, in some unusually unsettling way, but nothing I have or haven't done has justified or warranted such terce/crass rejection. My meaning-well has really just not gotten me far, has done practically the opposite as one would anticipate. I was kind, abiding, understanding, and it seemingly turned these people cold, unfeeling, and completely self-seeking. So many things contributed and lead up to my (above all, mental) absolute catastrophe, which I suppose is why the ruin is so widespread and across the board. This universal feeling of failure, is derived from a million small, little mishaps (misunderstandings), errors, shortcomings and deficiencies. In truth, I am really just rambling now, thinking of how all people who say that they take pleasure in writing, in actuality, found a more comfortable outlet to speak of themselves, un-errupted for hours on end. This is not pompous, or arrogant in any fashion, self-depreciating prose can be the best kind, but it is all of the self. And why I wrote this was to tell someone that I want to appear, then be happy for my friends, the good ones merit good. Fuck my shitty relations, whether it be because they are conscious that I am not where I wish to be or not, my effort and love is meaningless, and believe it or not that feels kind of awful. I am cutting ties, growing up, going to make decisions, and maybe even use writing as a tool to learn things about myself, not solely reiterate how transfixed on the past I am. Things get worse before they get better, mid-twenties breakdowns (I guess) happen, and I will persist in spending my time with people whom neglect to notice (anything). If I appear distracted within a conversation, it is because I am dwelling on the restoration of my faith, and whatever we are speaking of is likely demonstrating the contrary of that.
Yeah, I am mad for how it is I am considered, but it starts with myself.
Convince myself that I am an un-missed, emotion-crazed, pseudo intellectual, then start to play the part.