Friday, December 25, 2009

It's the day!

Joyyyeux Noël!

(I'm trying to replicate the 'MERRRY CHRISTMASSS!' thing...)

I'm not sure I have the heart, sanity, or something to give out wishes. But you know what I mean, I think.

So, I'm alive. I'm not sure if I mentioned earlier whether I got the yarn and crewel yarn... I did. I don't think I strictly got crewel, but I did get wool embroidery yarny stuff. And some lovely three colours of yarn along with another... which is many colours, like Joseph's robe, I suppose, in the Bible.

I have been on a 'harping spree'... I suppose I'm harping a little happier now. I prefer to do it when my fingers are dry, but often when I come to it, they're sweaty.

Today, in my stocking, I got some oddments of the sweet sort (dried fruit and chocolate/yogurt-covered things) and a drop spindle with roving. Just a little roving, but some. o.o

I'm kind of happy about it, yes! But I find that when I try to work with something in my hands, I feel dizzy and sick. I think it's the focusing on one area as though nothing else exists. So, I tried to wend my way onto a computer so that I could draw embroidery designs... and here I am! Wow!


Well... I've been contemplating odd things for long. I'm kind of morose, feeling a tad not perfect, and very lonely. I felt like this last Christmas. Why do I always feel this way when I ought to be realising what the day is about? I can't really do it... I feel so unpious. I did sing descant yesterday, though... after we had listened in the morning to the King's College Choir in Cambridge, England. Wheeee. So fun. So nice.

The only thing is... I can't enjoy anything, so I feel like giving up! And there's nobody to tell me not to, now that people are off on their separate vacationings for Christmas. I'm very, very glad I didn't get gobs of presents from one person, though. So far, I only have one strict present- the spindle. I'm FINE if I only get one thing like that in my stocking. I'd rather get a tiny bit than much... then you know what to do with it.

I have the feeling that I'll probably give some of my candy away to siblings because I won't want to eat it anytime soon, or not much of it. I feel sick if I eat too many sweet things, or too much sweetness, and eggs and cheese tend to make me feel sick. I know it's not physical sickness because I feel perfectly fine in my body, but in my mind, everything's confusion and sickness. It's very odd. But sometimes I feel like regurgitating due to it... though I try my best not to, and so far I've succeeded.

Among my bad tidings, I think I'm getting sick. I'm/we're hoping it's not whooping cough or something...

But still, merry Christmas!

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

One post per day

That's what I want to do. Or one post per two days.

I hope to post short posts.

But wait- telling about how I'm going to post isn't going to help!

I'm in search of a spindle and roving and some crewel (or cruel) yarn. I want to embroider things... for people. Not to mention, I want to make myself a double-sided hood... wait, that doesn't make sense. Uh. I want to make a hood that is two bits of knitted stuff thick.


I can't really think very well.

I'm also desperately wishing to make myself clothing. And I want to go to Raleigh and visit Mari, but I doubt it's going to happen. Anyway, I'm not sure that I'm mentally prepared to go travelling alone on a train. And I don't think Mum will want me to, anyways. And I sort of don't want to be alone on a train.

Please work your way past accidental typo things... I am so tired, sort of.

I feel like I want to sleep and then wake up every morning to a different house and a new day and some work to do. Work for hands. But no- I can't work. I have nothing to do! So, I'm going to draw pictures of firebirds and weird colourful birdies.


Sunday, December 20, 2009

Trying to put my finger on it

I was writing Nostalgia. Here is what I wrote, and, because I can't put fancy italics and such on here, it will lack that very important element of this section.

I was trying to pinpoint just how rottenly ridiculous it is that I feel. There's lots of this sort of thing in Nostalgia to this point, and in my mind. Hopefully, if you understand or want to say anything, say something. And understand that I'm being perfectly honest in this. ^.^ I suppose many of you probably understand I am...


There's nothing more that I wish to do but to scream. I want to give up and scream, to go hysterical!

Doesn't anyone understand how in my present state, I am nothing but hysterical? I am! I really, really am! Just take it! But I can't let it out because of some strange force in me saying, 'This is life! This is life!' And what a stupid, confusing voice that is, force, whatever... it tells me so much what is not true.

It is not life!

I have thought everything that I go through is life. The deaths, the pain, every lonely feeling I felt, the shadow that overhung me because of being alone, a shadow of depression. I told myself for years that everything bad that happened to me was life. Pain is life- pain goes away, somehow. At some point you die. At some point the pain of a deep cut will go away. At some point the itch and sting of dry hands will go away. Sometime, it will all go away.

I wish everything … would show itself to me. That I would feel everything and realise I'm not alone, nor is this life. This fake room I'm in... this consciousness... is not a real consciousness.

HOW confusing it is. If I had only written this down ages ago so that it would be out of my head and when I did write it, it wouldn't be confusing.

My old self is... a lovely thing. It is furnished, finished, full and absolutely lively. But the consciousness, the little room that has been made with me locked inside is not the real me. This room, with only a door, a window and a picture on the wall, is not me. The picture doesn't even characterise something- it looks so fake, I don't know what it is- it's some nightmare from when I was a child with a fever. This room is a plague and torment. I can't see outside, and the room has blank, white walls and a plain floor and ceiling, a small room, and useless room. It's a cold room, and there's not a spark of life in it.

This is where I live. It's a prison- I am locked in it. I can't get out by window or by door. It's all I know, all my little world has.

It is this way, I think- long ago, some people would tell me that I couldn't do something I said I thought I could, or that I wanted to try to do. For years I thought that I couldn't do some things, but when I was alone, I fought it out to myself, thinking that yes, yes, I could do it! I knew I could, and if I couldn't do it, I wouldn't be me!

The 'wouldn't be me' was a sort of insanity. If I were not what made up my character- those things I really thought I could do, or that I was -I would be insane. Blank. Like a clean slate that had never been touched or used. I wouldn't be touched by God's hands in His great work of pottery. I would be empty of anything, devoid of any sort of being. I would have a spirit, but an unformed spirit, something without character, virtue, feeling, or anything. It's so strange... but it's that everything that makes me up weaves itself in the rest of the things and they're all intertwined, and if one thing is gone, the whole thing isn't right, can't be- it falls apart and scatters, and somehow... I am nothing. I am plain.

This room is the plainness. It's a confusion of not being able to do, feel, think, or anything. I can't wrap my mind around the simplest ideas, and when I try, I just go giddy with the dizziness of the effort. I don't even know that I try very hard, but I know that I can't try. I can't even try.

O, I HATE it. I hate it so much I could scream, but I've told myself for years that, as I got worse, this was all life. I got 'used' to it. In a very stupid, grim way. A way I just abhor with so much of my being I want to dash it and kill it... and watch it suffer.

I just... I don't know that I could do that, if I were clear- I'm too nice and all -but I feel so angry at it. It's a slave. Hateful.

But it is how I live... and I can do nothing more. I can't do anything. I don't want to even think about it, and I want comfort somewhere... some way to forget that this is all so bad. It somehow isn't, and I know that because this fake me, that isn't me, isn't REALLY me, and sometimes I know that, sort of, and wish I could knock it down and look at the real me, at the beautiful hangings, fire, and pictures, and furniture, and rugs, and everything that a lovely, furnished home I would like would have. My home, sort of.

My mind.

My mind is lost to insanity... a... slave has taken over my mind. I can't even push it down, and the confusedness kills me. I know it makes sense, but I can't even let this make sense to me. I have to write down my thoughts as soon as I think them, because they pass away, and whatever words come out and describe them when I just say them after just thinking them, those words stay for now until I can later read through this and change the word choice and all. I can't change it if I try. I can't understand what I said.

I can't even get a vague impression.

Who has this? Who in the world understands this? Who cares? Everyone thinks I'm being a silly little thing, I suppose. Anyone would. But WHY can't people just make a leap of faith? Especially Christians who have to believe in something they cannot see. O, useless life! Just throw me away if you don't like me! It couldn't be worse, could it?

If I were to talk to someone, I would be sarcastic and sardonic right now and likely rather morbid, saying 'jokes' … sarcastic jokes at people that are truly despicable. I feel like letting it out that way when I am so annoyed and frustrated so that I could tear my hair out if I didn't have an automatic idea that it isn't the thing to do... I don't do drastic things because all my life I've been told and I've believed that I shouldn't do them.

But I should scream. But I can't scream! I'm so used to suppressing screams, crying, everything, so that I have silenced myself and I sometimes am jovial. Well, I don't feel jovial when I'm so angry. I suppress the anger within me, though, so that sometimes it bursts out and other times it doesn't. I'm used to looking, when I'm angry, just serious and depressed- never smiling, but just looking kind of... useless. Thoughtful. But how awful it is... that I've always hidden myself.

Oh, I WISH I could scream. Could someone take me and let me? Could someone drag me away, pull me out of this?

No, there's no one to do it.

Well, thank you- I'll keep on wandering and killing myself until I die.

God sie mid eow.

Friday, December 11, 2009

What I collect

I think it's an interesting thing to write a post on. Maybe. I don't know- I'm not really a blogger, am I?

But one thing I do every day (well, I do a lot every day, but this is one of the things) is collect spellings of words and pronunciations. I find what I prefer and use it. An example is that I prefer pronouncing 'either' like 'eyether' rather than 'eether'. Not with a soft, unvoiced 'th', though, but I think you know what I mean. ^.^

I also like to 'cultivate' an older look at writing... if that makes sense. I like using old subjunctives and doing sentence structure the way I find it done in old books. I hate modern rules of punctuation and such- they're so forced and ugly and sound all academic to me. They sound stiff. I like old kinds because it seems to fit a train-of-thought style which I suppose I have.

That's one of the only things I collect. It's interesting to note (to me) by this that I tend to do a lot of things in my head, not physical things. I don't collect stamps much because... I don't see stamps much. I have learned to hide in my own mind and use thinking as a way to keep myself entertained... I don't know why. I like to sing, which is loud and the kids don't like, but I can live without singing if they want me to (but I just sometimes feel, 'I will just SING whether they like it or not or I'll explode...').

So, over years of feeling like being pushed on all sides, I've learned to satisfy myself with just thinking. It's both a good thing and a bad thing, really... because now I don't know how to let myself have some few joys for me to look at, things that are MY OWN WAY. I don't know what my own way is, really. I haven't for years. I think that now is the time God is going to let me see it, to let me have some sort of self-esteem and be able to bloom *outside of myself*. I haven't for years... I've suppressed my knowledge within me, and my wisdom, and everything. My friends see it, but my family doesn't and those who are with me in RL won't likely see it. I'm quiet, timid and only sometimes I'm bold, and people generally just stare at me when I am.

I know there's more to me than my family makes out. My not talking to them about my thoughts, learning to live *alone*, has made it this way, and they still think I'm like I was when I was eleven, just a bit taller and bigger around and looking older.

But I KNOW this must be the last time I get like this. Since I was eleven, I've gone often into bumps of depression, if that makes sense. This time, it was sort of... a looong time. And it is the last time, I think. I have this feeling God's been telling me it is, all these years... I may not have seen it, but God meant me all along to be normal sometime, but likely I'll feel lonely many times the way I have all my life until 'then', and sometimes I might wonder if it really ended.

Often, if there's any chance of my friends or siblings leaving me out of something, or any kind of me being left out, I start being protective and defensive and stiff with people... and I am perked and aware of anything they say, what could they mean? I have been left out of things kind of subtly throughout my life, and those times all built up to make me be an alone person who lives inside of her head.

But I don't think I can really live this way, any longer. That is one reason why it must end... because it simply makes sense that it will. And God has always made sense in my life. I'm not saying that every moment of my life I know what's going to happen and know how it works, but oftentimes I look back and realise that EVERYTHING went PERFECTLY. Even if it was horrible. And still is. It all went perfectly for some great end... and I don't know how I know that, but somehow I do. It's like looking at a clock, of course... it all works perfectly together to work the seconds away. You may not know how it does, but somehow you know... I am not sure. I think sometimes God just shows me, even if I don't really see the end and how it does... He tells me it does and shows me little bits of how it does, and I can not at all complain. There's no reason to.

But right now, I don't see perfectness so well. It's hard to see anything. But I know that this has to be the end... it does. And I don't think counselling will bring me out- I think God will, along with what tools he used those other times. I've been this way before, just not exactly the same and not for long... I'm depressed for the 'same reason'. I'm just lonely. Alone. I feel forgotten, untrusted, even though I *think* I must be able to be trusted. I am an honest person and I ... all these years, I've been changing deep, deep inside of me, and I don't think my siblings understand to what extent. They don't know me as who I know I am. I try to show it, but it depends if they will actually accept it. For all they know, I could easily be faking it- they have to make a leap of faith from the eleven-year-old Amorette to the fifteen-year-old. Or just current. I don't know that my age has to do with it so much as my state of mind during those times.

That's how it is. :) My mind is my house. It's not much of one to me, and I don't at all feel 'home sweet home' about it, but that's what it is. This house I live in in the middle of the city isn't much of a home to me... because it doesn't offer me comforts or shelter or anything. I have... somehow... been so AWAY from here. I don't know. It's so radical just how I have been, I think, that I can't explain it. It's too weird. But also, it's very much what many humans feel deep in themselves, even if they've been loved so much and had a home, we all have a sense of loneliness and lostness.

And the way out of it is God, is it not? It's not like you immediately feel happy and unlost (I don't think that's really possible *at all*), but you know... *why* it is this way. We aren't where we belong. All the pain and suffering isn't RIGHT. We know that. Innately. And so... here we are, waiting.