guilt.

•July 18, 2010 • 6 Comments

In my last public post, I mentioned guilt as motivation to write a blog. I was rereading the post (because I went crazy and everyone’s comments were so fucking supportive and I needed support and you guys gave it to me and yeah.) and I saw that and reading that actually made me want to blog again. Maybe guilt isn’t the motivation, maybe motivation is motivation enough. Having a want to write and let others know what’s going on could be enough of an incentive to just write and write and not care who hates and care who helps … is this making any sense? I’m going in circles.

I’ve been sleeping a lot, lately, because I find that sleep is one of the few places I find solace. For those of you who don’t know, solace just means peace or the state of being content. My dreams are comforting sometimes, more real than life most times, and when I leave them I get really sad. In order to sleep a lot, I’ve been drinking a lot of Mt Dew and then waiting for the crash to hit. This plan is good for myself and my sanity but not really good for anyone else. My mom gets pissed that I sleep through church (she’s a pastor and wants me to go hear her preach), my friends are hurt when I forget to call them like I promised, and my cat gets hungry because I am hours late in feeding her.

That’s where the guilt comes into play again. I feel guilty for letting people/the cat down, but when I don’t let them down I have to go crazy for longer every single day. Is that selfish? Is wanting a few hours of peace more than wanting healthy relationships a bad thing? Sometimes I think it is and sometimes I find nothing wrong with it. I’d like some other opinions.

ALSO with guilt … I feel guilty about this blog in general. Not that I write in it very occasionally, but just for my readers and my friends. A lot of my friends read because they’re my friends and they care about me, but when I want/need to blog about something scary or sad or important I feel guilty for putting them through that. And I know Marina and Dig said in the comments last time that they’ll read what I have to say whether it’s sad or happy, but I still feel guilty. I have a guilt problem.

And I feel guilty even writing that last paragraph! I might delete it. Maybe not. Urg. This is confusing. >.<

N

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going fucking insane.

•July 16, 2010 • 6 Comments

Alright. I have no idea why I’m doing this. It could be in part because I just read Dig’s blog and it was amazing and hilarious (not being cocky even though half of it was about me) and it inspired me or it could be because I’m on a Skype call with two amazing people or it could be because I looked at my blog and felt guilty. Is guilt a good reason to write a blog? Probably not. I should want to write this blog. I should visit my dashboard every few days and just want to write. But I don’t. Honestly, I’ve gone to this website about three times since my last entry; May first. That would be ridiculous if I gave half a shit, which I don’t. Does anyone else? … no.

Why haven’t I blogged? Oh, that’s right. I have no motivation.

I have this really neat dissociative disorder called depersonalization. It’s really terrible, but one of the symptoms is lack of motivation. Looking at something and having no mental or emotional energy to get up and do it. I could be wide afuckingwake, have just drank six Mt Dews, whatever, and I’ll stare at the computer and think of blogging and then go and throw up. Actually, I’d think about throwing up but not be motivated to do that either.

But no one wants to read about that, do they?

No. What you probably want to hear is how content I am right now, which I actually am. Dig is letting me use her laptop while she sleeps, and I’m stealing a lot of her amazing music off of iTunes. This girl has wonderful taste. I’ve found about sixty songs that make my heart smile, and I’m only to the C’s.

God. You don’t care. Nothing is interesting.

I stare at the computer and I am seeing the computer, but at the same time I have no idea what a computer is or even where are the keys are or what they mean or what language I’m writing in or even what a language is, and what are the hands moving, whose hands are they that are typing, how do they know to type, how are they even typing when there is nothing controlling them, what are hands anyways and how does one control them, who is one and where is this person, what is a person, I don’t understand anything.

I cannot get out from behind this fucking glass wall that separates me from everything. It is seriously the most awful thing. I don’t even know what reality feels like. What is it like. Can you smell things? I can smell things sometimes but I’m not really smelling them because it’s not really me. My brain is about three fourths someone elses and one fourth mine and the fourth that is mine is not even mine because I’m so trying to concentrate on getting the three fourths back or trying to make the one fourth more whole but there is something blocking it that I can’t get around. I can see things but I can’t really see them. I see through things. I have to blink a lot and things are still not REAL. FUCK. Fuck! I can’t live like this much longer.

I asked my mom to call a psych a few weeks ago and she said she would. But she didn’t. I thought I was going to get help and I was feeling semi-relieved but now I am about 92374918273918273 times more worried that she will continue to forget. She doesn’t understand the PERPETUAL HELL that is my life. I am not being dramatic and I am not being angsty I just can’t get the fuck out of here. It’s a fucking dream and I cannot wake up. fuck. fuck. FUCK.

This was a bad idea. I’m really sorry. You don’t have to comment if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if reading this made you uncomfortable.

I’ll probably make a new blog for these feelings. Ugh.

N

f-bombs. ftw.

•May 1, 2010 • 3 Comments

Poor grammar, especially when typing (spelling too), really fucking pisses me off. Especially when people do it on purpose. “Wat”, “Dat”, “Da” are the most basic. “2maro”. Shit like that. So annoying. I’m also getting really fed up with adding “z” or “zo” to words. It’s stupid. People think it makes them sound cute or funny or that fake-girly-stupid, and I’m sick of it.

I just watched The Breakfast Club, and whenever I watch that movie, I get in a sour mood. I hate how that scumbag is such a bitch to prissy Claire, and yet they hook up in a broom closet just the same. I hate that the athlete only realizes his “like” for the emo chick when she gets a makeover. I hate it that they all stick the nerd with finishing the assignment, and he nicely agrees and writes an amazing piece. It’s all so fucking cliche. Cheesy bullshit. I get that it was the 80s and it’s a fucking John Hughes flick, but I wish every movie wasn’t so god damn predictable.

I wish people who don’t give a shit about you wouldn’t lie and pretend like they do. For so long, you can go thinking someone cares about you, only to have that vanish in a blink. If someone has a problem with you, they should come out and fucking say it. To your face, right away. If the relationship is worth it, you can overcome it. If not, fuck it. That’s a lot of time not wasted, hearts not broken, and voices not lost from screaming at one another.

I also think that when you’ve got someone in your life that is a pain; that gives you shit, makes you feel bad; someone you don’t get along with, you should be able to leave them. You should have the freedom to walk away. For kids it’s difficult because you’re stuck in that one fucking house (or two, depending on your situation. *raises hand*) for eighteen years. You don’t have the choice to get up and walk away. And if it’s a friend, well, what if you don’t have any other friends? What are you supposed to do then? Some people can’t handle solitude. I’m among them.

I’m in a terrible mood because of that fucking movie. Remind me never to watch it again.

I ALSO reallllllllllly hate those pricks who think they’re funny shit. They make perverted and derogatory jokes. Sometimes racist jokes. They insult other people, trying to get a laugh or a rise out of them, but really, the only thing they get is hate directed towards them. Why do they do that? I’ve never understood that whole “they’re mean to make themselves feel better” thing. I know that when I’m mean to someone or do something hurtful, I’m in deep regret for days, sometimes weeks, depending. I wouldn’t fucking feel better making some joke about blacks or asians or talking about “fucking some ho”. I hate sexism and I hate racism and I hate homophobia and I hate the assholes who get away with all that without scratches in their eyes and bruises on their faces.

Fuckers.

a year. :o

•March 20, 2010 • 2 Comments

This is insanely weird of me to think about; that I’ve had a blog for a year. I didn’t even realize it until I went to my homepage, checking for comments, and saw that GIANT ASS ARCHIVE LIST on the side. Do you see that? Glance over at it right now. Look. Isn’t that fucking crazy?! A year. An entire year.

I realize that that year wasn’t filled with the most interesting of posts. I’ve ranted and I’ve bitched and I’ve cried and I’ve showed you sexy men (sorry that that kinda ended D: the world didn’t run out of them, my boyfriend just got jealous ;D ). And all through it, I’ve had a few of you to keep me going, and for that I thank you ๐Ÿ™‚

I remember starting this blog as I was trying to get over some major depression issues. My parents had just divorced, people who I thought were my best friends had betrayed my trust, and I was generally just down. This blog, this ridiculously titled junkinmahcranium.wordpress, seriously helped me climb on top of that pile of shit I was in and feel better about myself. I could write for myself but also for other people, using words that I love in a format that I love, talking about whatever the fuck I wanted to, which I love … and swearing as many times as I felt like it. Which I love.

Even through a few more spouts of depression, I’ve kept up with this blog because deep inside I knew it helped. Sometimes, even if no one comments, it’s good to just rant and post and get all those pent-up feelings out. A lot of the time I’m really vague, for my own safety or because I don’t like sharing serious secrets, and so I thank you for putting up with that .. but I’m not sorry. Sometimes you just have to do something for yourself instead of other people, for once, and blogging is that thing.

I don’t really know where I’m going with this except that I’m really grateful for this blog and all that it’s brought me. It’s given me a way to reflect on myself, a way to not go crazy, and a way to show off the men I’m attracted to.

So, thanks readers, and thanks WordPress. You’ve done a lot for me, and I seriously appreciate it.

N

PS. ROBERT DOWNEY JR, BITCHESSSSSSSSSSS! ๐Ÿ˜€ ๐Ÿ˜€ ๐Ÿ˜€

*drools*

moved. :)

•March 10, 2010 • 1 Comment

Hi! It’s been a while. ๐Ÿ˜ฎ

I moved last Monday, and last week was spent entirely unpacking boxes and rushing to the store (I don’t know if you can call it RUSH, seeing as it takes about a half an hour to get to the closest town large enough to even have a store) to get must-have items for the new home. My mom got a job as a pastor in this small-town church, and so we moved from our metro Milwaukee to near the Quad Cities in Illinois.

I started school this week, just two days ago, actually. My first day was absolutely terrible. I made about zero friends, met about 6,000 bitches, and had to spend an hour with the tight-pantsed guidance counselor (I talked with Diggly, my best friend, about this .. why the HELL do they ALL WEAR tight pants? Is there some guidance counselor code or memo that they send out? “Hey Guidanceย Gurlz, it’s Monday, and you know what that means! Non-stop circulation-cutoffs for the next five days. And even on the weekends, too, if you feel like getting in shape! Woo! Keep it fresh!” ? I don’t understand.). It was just awful.

Monday night, I attempted (and faaaaailed) to join a sport. I’ve probably mentioned this before, but I am not. athletic. at. all. And that was proved to twenty in-shape, fit and sporty sophomore girls, and their five amazing coaches, and myself. God, I sucked so bad. But, I *was* part of a real sports team for an hour and twenty minutes. I felt, and still feel, really badass for that. ๐Ÿ™‚

Yesterday was a better day. I made a few friends.

Today’s going okay so far, but I’m hungry as an expecting mother.

I don’t want to bore you with more talk of moving, and being moved, so I’m going to gush really quickly. :3

I HAVE ALWAYS WANTED A CAT. But back in MKE, I lived with both my parents (right now I just live with my mom; they’re split up) and my dad is allergic to cats and dogs. So I could never have one. I’ve been obsessed with getting an orange tabby and naming it Rooster, but as of late, a woman who lives in our town admitted that she deosn’t like her cat and wants to get rid of it. SO I’M ADOPTING THIS CAT, and naming him/her (still haven’t found out yet D:) after my best friend Dig. Dig is not her real name, by the way, it’s Marissa or M-Dawg. I’ve mentioned her before. But anyways, naming my cat after her. We get the cat in the next week. I’m so excited.

Okay. Have to go. Dunno when I’ll be back on because my house still doesn’t have internet hooked up D:. Bye!

โค N

birthalization – are these loins doing it?!

•February 9, 2010 • 3 Comments

This blog post will be shit, I can tell. Skip it if you’d like! ๐Ÿ™‚

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about children, in direct reference to myself. Not that I want any anytime soon (these legs are closed TIGHTLY when next to the male gentalia, for serious, just ask my ex), but in general I’ve been wishy washy. I really want to raise a kid or four, but I don’t actually want to carry the kids around in me for a while and then pop them out. Because as fun a phrase as “pop them out” is, I know it’s not as easy or painless as that. And because I’m weak, I’m afraid.

It’s not like I have to decide RIGHT NOW, but I was Facebook stalking today and came across this woman who is friends with the sister of this kid I go to school with, and she has three little boys with adorable names: ย Atlas, Rowen, and Oliver. And I seriously “aww”ed out loud. I really want to name some kids. And I’m not going to give them stupid names like Megan or David or John or Amanda or Lauren or Peter. Those just kind of SUCK. They’re so blah. No, I’m going to give my kids neat names like Estella and Yvonne and O’Dair and Calder and Rosalyn and Maddox and maybe Genesis. And right now they might sound silly to you, and maybe I’ll think up better ones, but my kids’ names are going to have a bit of flair. I don’t like plain, bland names like Ann or Sarah or Nora or Maddie.

And also, I really love naming girls with boy names. In almost all of my most recent stories/scripts, I’ve named girls things like Freddie, Ray, Sawyer, Lee ย … etcetera. God, I love them. So I think I’ll name my kids the first name with flair, the second name unisexual.

IF YOU DISAPPROVE, DO NOT MOCK ME. I think a name is really important, and unoriginal names seriously set you back, put you in the shadows, whereas really spunky names make you memorable. My opinion, anyways.

In other news, I like taking pictures for Dailybooth. Find me here :D. This movie was excellent, btw!:

โค

N

there is a ween sitting on my leg

•January 1, 2010 • 2 Comments

What were you doing when the New Year arrived?ย  Dig and I were listening to pop music play over a video about sexual innuendos in Disney films, not even realizing it was the new year. We thought it was rather funny. ๐Ÿ˜€

Random tangent: Around January of last year, I began to realize that half of my life was spent not knowing what the fuck was going on. And that’s not because I just didn’t pay attention, or didn’t remember stuff. It’s taken me since January of last year to get the slight idea that I have: I think my life runs on autopilot. What I feel kind of reminds me this part in an awful Adam Sandler movie, Click, where he owns a remote that controls every aspect of life (especially time). He ends up putting himself on autopilot for about twelve years of his life, where his body reacts automatically to things while his brain is elsewhere.

Sometimes I’ll be doing something somewhere (descriptive, I know. It’s 2am, cut me some slack.) and, basically, WAKE UP from my slumber. It happened tonight a few times (I’m at Dig’s house, having a sleepover on New Years). I was on the phone with two boys and talking to Dig and I just looked around and kept thinking to myself, “how did I get here? ย What am I saying to these people?”. I saw my reflection in the computer screen and just wondered who I was, what I was doing there.

It’s so weird, I know, and I’m not explaining it very well, but it’s just how I feel. I’m on autopilot the most when I’m on the phone or in school, basically anytime I’m around people. Also, when I make videos, I’ll WAKE UP about ten minutes later and wonder why my throat is hurting (from talking), or what I just said. This state of unconscia is also, probably, the cause of why I eat so much ๐Ÿ˜›

I’m not sure exactly why I’m sharing this .. maybe to ask for your thoughts? It’s hard to make sense of sometimes, but the feeling of WAKING UP and feeling like every situation is so damned surreal is getting pretty damned old. What do you guys think it could be? :S It’s not really a worrying thing, more like I don’t know why the fuck it happens.

It is later. I am in a better writing mood ๐Ÿ™‚ I’m in the midst of a contest with some boys; who can stay up later. Who can stay up all night, actually, meaning we don’t get to sleep until the night of the first of January. This would be way more easier than it is now for me if I hadn’t’ve stayed up until six AM on the night of the thirtieth. I am so tired. But I gotta win. It’s a matter of pride.

So far (meaning so far in my search), I have fifteen freckles, three moles, and two birthmarks. I was in the shower when I first started thinking about how many of what I have. Then I saw a freckle near my knee, and a few on my right arm, and then I remembered the mole on my head and the birthmark on my back! And now I’ve begun my journey (xD) into finding every birth-thingy on my boday. It’s fun! I didn’t know I had so many freckles; fourteen! That’s a lot, when you’re not redheaded or irish or anything.

I’ve been on Runescape a bit tonight. I miss it, but it does get a tad boring after a while. It’s really pretty in HD. Why am I talking about RS? You don’t care.

Alright. I’m going to actually ditch writing this to play Runescape, no offense to my two readers .. but it’s more fun. ๐Ÿ˜€

โค and shiz.

N