I can't get this song out of my head. And I don't want to.

I've so much I want to write about, if only to get my perspective and emotions figured out, but I'm a little hesitant to do that. It wouldn't serve much of a purpose anyway. I know I would still be in limbo. And why bother holding onto things that have already lost their significance?

I don't think I was totally making things up, but I do know that I've been an idiot.

Today was a good day, with this song keeping me company. I hope tomorrow flies by just as quickly.

For you, whoever you are.

I promise, I'm not going to talk about my moods in this entry.

But I hate how I live. I am bound by these awful constraints that maybe my dad started, but I, and only I, have perpetuated, turning these behaviors and thought processes into something that feels uncontrollable now.

I cannot let myself do what I want to do. I put on such a show of indifference. As if the things that are important to me don't matter, as if I have no interest in the things that tug at my soul.  I come off as distant, rude, uncaring, simple-minded, flat-out weird. And when I'm in the midst of my depression, I simply don't care; I have no interests then. But when I'm not in the mindset...I feel so ashamed. Of who I am and how I come across to others. 

I've been re-reading Evening by Susan Minot and came across this quote that struck home. 

"She could not let what passed between them matter too much afterwards so that when the memory tried to assert itself it had been pushed down by reason and habit and time, eventually becoming no more than a scruffy hidden scar on a scruffy hillside. She had worked to rub it out. That this had been forgotten once and would be forgotten again suddenly seemed worse to her than her own life ending." 

I do exactly this with anything good that happens to me. I worry that I make too much of small things, small gestures, and I don't want to get emotional over things so seemingly insignificant, to be so damned affected, but I always, always am and it's something I can't stop. Except by pushing it down with reason, out of habit, and knowing that with the passing of time, it will be as if it never happened. And isn't that utterly twisted? That I live at such extremes? To be so moved by something so small and feel ashamed of that emotion? And that my next course of action is to snuff it out as quickly as possible. But it's what I do. 

And it is worse than anything. I'm going to try to work on that. 

Just as I've been slowly, quietly, trying to work on other things about myself. I've made a promise to go shopping for clothes/personal items for one hour a week. Last week, I bought new mascara, underwear, a few new tanks, a random but beautiful green scarf, and clear nail polish, since I'm trying to stop biting my nails again and this is only method that has semi-worked in the past. 

That may seem like nothing, but I haven't bought anything personal like this for myself in almost two years.

I want to try to change. 

As a side note, my dad went to the hospital because he was having severe abdominal pain. He had an ultrasound done and it looks like the pain is being caused by a gigantic tumor in his liver, which has grown quite a bit since he last had a scan done (his cancer spread to his liver back in Aug 2013). Since my younger sister was there, he couldn't lie about the results (like he normally does)--it's 9cm long. 

It's amazing that he has lived this long--2 1/2 years with esophageal cancer. But now he's needing pain management...and if that thing ruptures or tears, he could bleed out internally. 

This post was for me, for my sanity. An attempt to get a new perspective, sort of. But now, homework calls. Again. 

I've been such a wreck today. Swayed and held under by my moods of despair, self-disgust, etc . I randomly felt so miserable that I started crying at three separate times while at my desk at work! Aaaaah! Writing random words over and over like "fraud" or "frozen."

I think I might be going crazy. And not just from lack of sleep.

I admit, I have been writing a lot on this blog lately because I was manic over things that had the potential for joy and it's absolutely amazing how even the sheer possibility of something good can make me sooooo happy. And a lunatic.

And, of course, when that pathetic shadow of a hope is taken away, the real crazy settles in. Then I'm forced to truly take a hard look at myself and try not to be buried under the difficult facts. And today was just one of those days when I let myself be overwhelmed, I guess. But I literally felt like I had no defenses. None.

I learned this evening that my dad is going to the hospital. Still waiting to hear from my younger sister on what exactly is going on, but we all know. Even if it isn't today or tomorrow, that pathetic, infuriating piece of work is dying and it will be within this next year. And my life won't be any different with him gone. I won't miss him. I won't even cry when he's dead, unless it's for the waste of his life and the reality that I will never, ever have a father who gives a damn.

You wanna know something stupid? I debated over and over whether or not I would actually "publish" this post, just in case someone actually saw this.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Have a song.

One day this last week, I was over-the-moon happy. For no reason, whatsoever. None of the usual things that spiral me downwards could touch me that day. But there was nothing lifting me up either. I literally have no idea why. More sleep that day, maybe?

Manic depression runs in the family on my mom's side, I know. And I think I got a portion of that depression/moodiness going on. Because the next day, the dumb little things affected me again, dragged me down into that stupid pit of "nothing matters, I'm worth nothing, etc." And when I barely touched the surface on the topic of my father with a co-worker, I was so angry that I couldn't stop shaking for a good hour. When I'm alone, it doesn't affect me in the same way, but as soon as I vocalize it to a semi-normal human being, I'm infuriated that it all happened and that I cannot express it right. I don't want pity, I don't want to dramatize what my childhood/teenage years were like, I just want someone to understand that I am the way I am in part of because of the freak I was raised by. But I can't get it right. And I get really, really upset by all of it, the sharing and the remembering.

After writing all this, I went skimming through the internet for 30 minutes. I'm not sure I really had a point to this post....or why I felt compelled to write one at all. Today was kind of a lousy day. Talked to my cats (yes, you read that right), watched Girl with a Dragon Tattoo and then, for the hell of it, started watching Orange is the New Black (really like it so far). Nearly watched the whole first season. Yikes.

Tomorrow is my official homework/laundry/stress-out day.

And then...back to work.

I'm so tired of my isolation, but it's all I've had the past three years. The thought that I'm turning 26 next month is just laughable.

I've spent another 15 minutes just trying to find a song that I am feeling right now, but no luck. And I'm tired. Whatever. G'night.