I'm a Bit of a Mess

In case you ever wanted to know more about me....here's a talkative blog:

I'm going to be very upfront with you all; you probably wouldn't like me if you knew me in person. I say that in a very sincere mindset- and you can blame part of it on the fact that I say mopey stuff like that in the first place. I hate myself most of the time; so I'm usually not the most fun to be around, unless I'm rocking a big fake smile-which I do very well very often, I might add.

When I do like myself it's usually in part because I take pride in my ability to manipulate others or because I'm thinking way too highly of something I drew or a killer essay I wrote for my English class. I'm a piece of evidence to testify that even the most insecure people can be very pompous at times.

I think part of the problem is that I don't allow myself to be happy often. Oh someone likes me? Let me treat them like dirt until they find the smarts to leave. Oh someone tolerates me? I better give them a reason to hate me, quick! Yeah-that's pretty much how my head works. Well- that's how it works when it's not churning up voices to drive me berserk or making me skip meals or helping me find comfort in the sting of razorblades in my skin. Sometimes I'm fine. Sometimes I'm fine for long bits of time, happy, even. But some days I'm not. Sometimes I dream about death. And I know it's sick and irrational...but it's comforting.

I talk very frequently, like senseless word vomit flying all over the place. And maybe that's just something that comes with my love of words when I read and write, but I think most of it is because I'm desperate to distract myself. Maybe I like it when others listen, or maybe I just like to listen to myself instead of the little monsters I create that live under my skin and eat me alive. I'm not exactly sure what causes me to talk the way that I do, but I don't like it. I wish I could be like one of the normal girls with ambition and goals and standards and morals...and I am to a point I suppose, but I'm oh so distracted by this crippling sickness. Some call it over thinking. I call it hell. Because my insecurity breaks me and my demons are seldom quiet and I know we're all living with the same problems and it's all in how we look at the big picture that determines our happiness- but I feel I'm unable to handle my own mind most of the time. I can never silence my thoughts. And I can never keep my head from spinning up endless nightmares to increasing degrees of terror. I can never slow my conscious down. I can never rest. And it's destroying me slowly and I'm not sure how to stop it....

And so you probably wouldn't like me if you knew me personally- because I'm not too fond of myself to begin with.

Thank you for your time.
Xox

'Melia