paper_maiden: Hour of the mice (Hourofthemice)
 And I should be writin my handout for an oral on a Gary Kinsman text. Yet, anxiety has been eating at me and I figured out it might be time to dust off this account and post on it instead of creating endless small word documents full of rants.

Both my english and my french have lost their qualities, becoming muddled together syntaxically (Spellcheck, why is there no adverb for syntax? It should totally be a thing). It is annoying me a great deal more than it should, according to my entourage/the perception I have of my entourage. Yet, there is something very cruel about having all the words, but no correct way to say and used them. It feel very debilitating. Which is one of the reasons I am currently using english. I do not have to deal with a mess instead of my usual maîtrise de la langue.

I have used the backspace a lot more than I think I should have since I started this. I figured I should just spit eeeeverything out, in public and leave it there.

Being 21 brings a great deal more accountability than being 11 did. I remember posting carelessly on Livejournal and hoping someone would stumble upon it, tell me my feelings are valid and normal and make it all okay. That feeling stayed. I kind of hope you'll have a stalking spree and find my Dreamwidth account. I don't want to link this to you. I don't want to be this heavy person you always have to carry around. This is my therapy and I'll figure my shit out. In the last ten years, I at least was able to acknowledge that people don't really understand my feelings. And I've build fortress upon fortress and nobody have ever wished to throw them down, but people have wished to throw me down instead.

They never acknowledged the power of these rotten fortresses, within which I could only face myself and see shadow deforming my body as if I was a monster. And I still feel like it. I still feel disfigured, I still feel vulnerable, I still feel myself empty, eager to be filled and yet distant, slowly pushing away each of my accomplishments. The A+ I yearned for all through the last year is only a few hours away and yet I feel like it's been years. I cannot assimilate it. Crave it into my body.

I have done progress over the past years. I can look at my naked face most days and like what I see. I know I am worth something. I no longer wish to answer Thanatos' calls. And yet...

And yet.
Here I am, still fighting with myself. I need to find the core of this self-hate so I can tune it down. Every fiber of my body is terrified of what will happen once I don't have this familiar voice telling me how much I suck and how I don't deserve anything I have. I am afraid I will, indeed, turn into a monster incapable of self control. But I can't afford to hate anymore. My body can't take it. My mind should not take it. And I don't want my love and my loved ones to fall victim to my own sabotage.

I became a lot better at identifying the anxiety. The knots it snaps through my back and stomac every time it shows up. The acid slowly making its way up to burn my throats and lips, silencing me with a subtle pain. And I'm not quite sure I want to keep it up. I still need to poke around to find where it comes from and what causes it.

My smiles will last. Occasional angst might show up its nose, but what can I do if not fight it.

I'm getting there. Keep up your smile, every second of it contains years of healing powers. I am struggling and I am fighting so hard to break out of myself. But as long as I keep fighting*, I can't really loose.

*I concur, it might be better to fight efficiently, but that's why I am also getting external therapy, right?

P.-S. : Do you feel like I tell you a lot about myself? I feel like I open up on my own sometimes, but you never really ask, so I never really keep it up. If you see this, do you think you can ask me about me? Is there anything you want to know?


paper_maiden: Hour of the mice (Default)

February 2014

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