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Paranoia Diary: Entry IV
You ever get that feeling that you're walking on egg shells? That everytime you turn around someone is plotting against you? To the point where the only safe place is somewhere familiar to you? Do you just feel like you're never safe no matter how safe you may think that you are? You could always be safer, and even if you want to go out and you want to be normal. You just get so scared, scared of what's going to happen next-- What's going to happen in a few moments? Is something else bad going to happen if I leave this room, if I walk out that door? And you just get so worked up over all these questions, that your mind starts working on your body and then before you know it....
You have a anxiety disorder.
That's what happen to me when I was a freshman, fearful of my abusive step-father. I didn't want to leave the house, I couldn't go among those kids... Those kids that made fun of me because of my hair or my clothes when they never faced a real problem in their entire lives. The people that would judge me for not having any friends only because they didn't know that I couldn't have friends in the enviroment I was living in. While they were making fun of me because of my clothes or my hair or because I didn't know what they were laughing at (usually me) only because I was too scared to deal with being bullied by these nobodies when I was being bullied by someone else. Someone much scarier than the whore in my seventh period class or the guy that told me my face scared him in my sixth period class. My step-father scared me, because no matter what I did-- Whether I was purposely pissing him off or not trying to piss him off at all, he hated everything that I did. I was always treated like some kind of parasite in that household. So instead of having to deal with everyone bullying me, I decided to only deal with the one that mattered, the one that was destroying the place that was suppose to be safety when I was scared of the bad people. But when the bad people are inside your safe place, where else is there to go. And I wonder to myself how many times did I take to the streets, wanting to runaway and leave it all behind. Leave behind my mother and her new family, become someone else. How I cried to my (ex) best friend over the phone telling her that I needed her and that I felt like I was going to kill myself. That in death there would be no more pain and suffering.
Are you suffering?
Yes, Emilie Autumn I am suffering... I was suffering then and then I was suffering the year after when I got caught between trying to go back on my meds and detoxing from them because of the influence of someone that didn't need her pills and so I didn't need mine either. A person that was cutting and so I was allowed to cut too. And when everything became too much, when the work that I was doing easily the beginning of my sophomore year began to slip and I couldn't do it anymore because I wasn't on concerta, and so I wasn't focusing anymore. I was focusing on the old bullies that had come back from their graves of last year who were still terrorizing me because why? Because I was an easy target, well at least I wasn't as easy as she was to get in bed.
So I stopped taking the meds all together, and then I stopped going to school and then I dropped out the first time. And I tried writing a book, but then my computer got killed and I lost the book I had been writing so I couldn't write anymore. Then I started a story with Her because I fell in love with Her and I believed her when she lied about the voice in her head named Daniel and I lied about the voice in my head named Slith to the point that I might have actually believed Slith was real while she was just playing around with me like she did to all of her friends. And then I became someone else, and this someone else had to always be strong because if I wasn't strong then she might leave and find someone else that could take care of her problems. And I couldn't be like any of her other ex's and so I tried to be the best I could be for her and acted like I had no problems and that I didn't get scared and I didn't want to cut and I didn't feel lonely and I didn't feel depressed because I knew that she needed me because her problems were far worse then mine. And so I had to check myself and watch myself and make sure that I never did anything that got her upset and when she did things purposely to get me upset, I had to hold my tongue and be there for her even more than I was before I had to be the best. The best for her, the best so that she would stop comparing me to the past. And when I thought everything was okay, that she was finally alright with her PTSD--
She got a split personality......... Back to the drawing board.
But when I needed someone, and I didn't know who to go to because I didn't want any of my other friends knowing that I was suicidal or that I was depressed or that their was something wrong with me. So when I sank down into a depression and finally confided in her saying that I think that the "bell jar" is coming down on me. She told me in the most clearest way possible,
"You do not hve major depression."
And like my hero and inspiration, Emilie Autumn Liddell said about her own manic depression/bipolar disorder, I did not want to have depression. I did not want to have the overwhelming sadness and the mood swings, I didn't want to have the feeling of worthlessness and the suicidal dreams and promises that I whispered to myself late at night when no one could hear me but the shadows in my closet and the ghosts in the halls of my house. Why would anyone want to have depression? Or any mental disorder for that matter? I know that I never wanted this disorder and though I have used it in my writings and it has helped me see the world in a more darker sense then the average emo/goth girl. I still find that I would be happier without it, though I would not know how to act. I am sure of it, I wouldn't know how to be without my depression. Even when I'm happy, there's always that little bit of darkness in me which helps me write such morbid and dark things. But of course when it came down to someone (who had everything in the world wrong with her) telling me that I didn't have one freaking thing wrong with me that had been diagnosed by someone that had been in psychology much longer than her little school therapist had been around.
So I defended myself, and do you know what she did?
She tried to kill herself that night.
And the whole day after she ignored me, to the point where I wanted to kill myself. Because I thought that I had broken a unspoken rule, she was allowed to have any mental disorder her heart desired and I wasn't allowed to have one. And so that whole day that she didn't contact me, I was left confused and heart broken. She got back to me the day after, when I was finally having fun with my other friend now ex friend now sadly. She said she was sorry, she said that she knew that I could never forgive her. And then when I told her that I needed her and that I had been thinking about killing myself alot more, that she had given me false hope saying that she would help me with my major depression.
She told me she tried to kill herself.
And you know what?....... I forgave her.
But I became very blunt with my poetry after that, dedicating that song "Liar" by Emilie Autumn to her through I poem that I named "Liar". I flat out called her a liar and I didn't care if she saw it, I was done being the one to bend for her. I was done being the one that had to everything for her. While she did nothing for me. While I was suppose to not have problems, she got to have all the problems in the world. And then you know what happen after that? After school started? After I swallowed my problems again for her?
She got ten more split personalities.
Eleven all together.
And I was suppose to help all of them?
I am told the lies she told me were her way of dealing with something that I apparently was too smart to comprehend, or maybe too sane. I don't know, but when it came down to it. I was only one person, I was only seventeen years old and I was suppose to help someone that had self-diagnosed "Multiple Personality Disorder" and I was suppose to do what with my depression? Stick my head in the over and hope it goes away? It became harder and harder and harder and harder and harder and then one night while I was talking to my friend, one who was gender confused at the time not because he really wanted to be a girl but because he was uncomfortable in his own skin. And while I yearned to show him how beautiful he was, he had sought out comfort from Her at the time, thinking that we were all friends. And that's when she told me something that I just didn't want to hear, that she wanted to be a guy. (Now after the way this story had been going you are probably thinking that I accepted this, that I was like okay-- My guy friend can be a girl and my girlfriend and be a guy... Right? That's what you think happen right? WRONG)
I snapped.
I started crying and it was the first time that my best friend would see me break down, blurting out everyone of Her secrets.
"It's always something different with her-- Oh she was raped, oh she was abused, oh she has fucking fifty million personalities. Oh now she wants to be a guy, now she wants to a guy. Of course she does, of course she wants to be a guy, what other way to stick a knife in me?!"
I got up and I ran out of my room, I ran past my parents, away from my best friend and out into the driveway. I wanted to go to the cementary, I wanted to see my grandparents-- And I mean I wanted to see THEM, not their grave. I was ready to jump into the street, I was ready to end it all. Allow an oncoming car to hit me and end my life. And that's when he grabbed me and made me face him. My best friend, my friend that I wasn't really close to yet. The one that saved me that night, the one that has done more for me in this short time then she ever did for me. I looked up at him, taller then me but younger than me makes me laugh.
"I'm done."
"No you're not-- You can't be done. You're not allowed to be done because I need you and if your done that what do I have? I need you, please don't be done. You can't be done, I know that everything sucks now but everything will get better-- It's not right now but things will get better and you have to be there for them. Because you just can't be done."
At that moment my mind filled with every suicide things that I ever saw and I remember one thing specific, everyone tells you that sucide isn't the best choice or is the worst option. Why are they still calling it a choice or an option? If it's one then don't make it sound like it is. As many times as I tried to die and been brought to the hospital, why didn't anyone ever tell that I just wasn't allowed to die? All they did was say that sucide wasn't the answer, but no one told me what the question was?
To be or not to be? -- Opehlia didn't get the memo, now did she?
Anyway... The point of this rant, this entry, this parnoid raving of madness and probably nonsense that nobody really wants to hear. Is that my paranoia and my sickness is brought on by the need to always be on guard whether I was trying to treat someone with every mental disorder in the book, or trying to balance my sanity with medication or trying to choose my battles with which bully was worse.
It came to the point like now when I am living in a hotel and sitting in classroom with a bunch of kids that don't know what it feels like to be homeless. No one understood when I was freshman and that there are worse things than failing my freshman year. There was being bullied and abused by a man who was not my father and had no right to touch me. The same goes for my senior year when I am living in a one room hotel trying to deal with my sanity. And in the beginning trying to help a girl with "Multiple Personality Disorder", a girl with anorexia and a guy that was gender confused. Meanwhile in my brain I was slowly dealing with my own depression, learning to resent my girlfriend and all her personalities and falling head over heels in love with my best friend that was gender confused.
Moving on....
I cheated.
She dumped me.
I found out that she lied to me.
My best friend is now my boyfriend and is very comfortable with himself now (Thank to yours truely).
And my other best friend hates my guts now and I have no idea why.
Alright back to my paranoia:
Lost my best friend-- Check.
My girlfriend pushed me away to no end with her "problems" until I finally messed up and she had to leave me because I was the bad person. (Read the above situations and you tell me who was at fault).-- Check.
Became so afraid of being judged by everyone at school because of either living in a hotel or because I cheated on the poor liar that I stopped going to school.-- Check.
And here we are now, and I'm scared again. Scared because I don't know when my boyfriend's parents are going to take him away from me again. I don't know if I'm pregnant or not. I don't know if I'm going to be able to continue to deal with my cutting or my depression. Just because She left doesn't mean that I am cured, I am still sick. My sickness doesn't change because of the people I'm with. I still have major depression, an anxiety disorder and now (diagnosed) Social Phobia. And my boyfriend is the only one that helps me with any of it. My mother helps too as best as she can but my boyfriend, Andrew-- He's the one that gives me that hope that I'm going to get better. And when his parents snatch him away from me because of homework or bad grades or not going to pass this year. I am left without hope of getting better when the bell jar comes down on me. When the darkness swallows me whole.
I am Pandora, and the hope is locked inside of the box again.
And I am stuck in the world of darkness and evil.
I am stuck in my depression.
I am stuck in this room.
"You can come out now Annie?"
That's what they say but I know what's really happening, they're going to get me out there into the world only so they can break me again. That's what they all do, that's what they want. They want me to trust them again, bring me out of my cage, pet me a few times. Give me some treats and then when I least expect it, they kick me back into the cage and I'm cowering in the corner. I'm scared and alone and there's no one to save me because the one that is meant to save me, has been taken away from me.
Am I paranoid enough yet?
You have a anxiety disorder.
That's what happen to me when I was a freshman, fearful of my abusive step-father. I didn't want to leave the house, I couldn't go among those kids... Those kids that made fun of me because of my hair or my clothes when they never faced a real problem in their entire lives. The people that would judge me for not having any friends only because they didn't know that I couldn't have friends in the enviroment I was living in. While they were making fun of me because of my clothes or my hair or because I didn't know what they were laughing at (usually me) only because I was too scared to deal with being bullied by these nobodies when I was being bullied by someone else. Someone much scarier than the whore in my seventh period class or the guy that told me my face scared him in my sixth period class. My step-father scared me, because no matter what I did-- Whether I was purposely pissing him off or not trying to piss him off at all, he hated everything that I did. I was always treated like some kind of parasite in that household. So instead of having to deal with everyone bullying me, I decided to only deal with the one that mattered, the one that was destroying the place that was suppose to be safety when I was scared of the bad people. But when the bad people are inside your safe place, where else is there to go. And I wonder to myself how many times did I take to the streets, wanting to runaway and leave it all behind. Leave behind my mother and her new family, become someone else. How I cried to my (ex) best friend over the phone telling her that I needed her and that I felt like I was going to kill myself. That in death there would be no more pain and suffering.
Are you suffering?
Yes, Emilie Autumn I am suffering... I was suffering then and then I was suffering the year after when I got caught between trying to go back on my meds and detoxing from them because of the influence of someone that didn't need her pills and so I didn't need mine either. A person that was cutting and so I was allowed to cut too. And when everything became too much, when the work that I was doing easily the beginning of my sophomore year began to slip and I couldn't do it anymore because I wasn't on concerta, and so I wasn't focusing anymore. I was focusing on the old bullies that had come back from their graves of last year who were still terrorizing me because why? Because I was an easy target, well at least I wasn't as easy as she was to get in bed.
So I stopped taking the meds all together, and then I stopped going to school and then I dropped out the first time. And I tried writing a book, but then my computer got killed and I lost the book I had been writing so I couldn't write anymore. Then I started a story with Her because I fell in love with Her and I believed her when she lied about the voice in her head named Daniel and I lied about the voice in my head named Slith to the point that I might have actually believed Slith was real while she was just playing around with me like she did to all of her friends. And then I became someone else, and this someone else had to always be strong because if I wasn't strong then she might leave and find someone else that could take care of her problems. And I couldn't be like any of her other ex's and so I tried to be the best I could be for her and acted like I had no problems and that I didn't get scared and I didn't want to cut and I didn't feel lonely and I didn't feel depressed because I knew that she needed me because her problems were far worse then mine. And so I had to check myself and watch myself and make sure that I never did anything that got her upset and when she did things purposely to get me upset, I had to hold my tongue and be there for her even more than I was before I had to be the best. The best for her, the best so that she would stop comparing me to the past. And when I thought everything was okay, that she was finally alright with her PTSD--
She got a split personality......... Back to the drawing board.
But when I needed someone, and I didn't know who to go to because I didn't want any of my other friends knowing that I was suicidal or that I was depressed or that their was something wrong with me. So when I sank down into a depression and finally confided in her saying that I think that the "bell jar" is coming down on me. She told me in the most clearest way possible,
"You do not hve major depression."
And like my hero and inspiration, Emilie Autumn Liddell said about her own manic depression/bipolar disorder, I did not want to have depression. I did not want to have the overwhelming sadness and the mood swings, I didn't want to have the feeling of worthlessness and the suicidal dreams and promises that I whispered to myself late at night when no one could hear me but the shadows in my closet and the ghosts in the halls of my house. Why would anyone want to have depression? Or any mental disorder for that matter? I know that I never wanted this disorder and though I have used it in my writings and it has helped me see the world in a more darker sense then the average emo/goth girl. I still find that I would be happier without it, though I would not know how to act. I am sure of it, I wouldn't know how to be without my depression. Even when I'm happy, there's always that little bit of darkness in me which helps me write such morbid and dark things. But of course when it came down to someone (who had everything in the world wrong with her) telling me that I didn't have one freaking thing wrong with me that had been diagnosed by someone that had been in psychology much longer than her little school therapist had been around.
So I defended myself, and do you know what she did?
She tried to kill herself that night.
And the whole day after she ignored me, to the point where I wanted to kill myself. Because I thought that I had broken a unspoken rule, she was allowed to have any mental disorder her heart desired and I wasn't allowed to have one. And so that whole day that she didn't contact me, I was left confused and heart broken. She got back to me the day after, when I was finally having fun with my other friend now ex friend now sadly. She said she was sorry, she said that she knew that I could never forgive her. And then when I told her that I needed her and that I had been thinking about killing myself alot more, that she had given me false hope saying that she would help me with my major depression.
She told me she tried to kill herself.
And you know what?....... I forgave her.
But I became very blunt with my poetry after that, dedicating that song "Liar" by Emilie Autumn to her through I poem that I named "Liar". I flat out called her a liar and I didn't care if she saw it, I was done being the one to bend for her. I was done being the one that had to everything for her. While she did nothing for me. While I was suppose to not have problems, she got to have all the problems in the world. And then you know what happen after that? After school started? After I swallowed my problems again for her?
She got ten more split personalities.
Eleven all together.
And I was suppose to help all of them?
I am told the lies she told me were her way of dealing with something that I apparently was too smart to comprehend, or maybe too sane. I don't know, but when it came down to it. I was only one person, I was only seventeen years old and I was suppose to help someone that had self-diagnosed "Multiple Personality Disorder" and I was suppose to do what with my depression? Stick my head in the over and hope it goes away? It became harder and harder and harder and harder and harder and then one night while I was talking to my friend, one who was gender confused at the time not because he really wanted to be a girl but because he was uncomfortable in his own skin. And while I yearned to show him how beautiful he was, he had sought out comfort from Her at the time, thinking that we were all friends. And that's when she told me something that I just didn't want to hear, that she wanted to be a guy. (Now after the way this story had been going you are probably thinking that I accepted this, that I was like okay-- My guy friend can be a girl and my girlfriend and be a guy... Right? That's what you think happen right? WRONG)
I snapped.
I started crying and it was the first time that my best friend would see me break down, blurting out everyone of Her secrets.
"It's always something different with her-- Oh she was raped, oh she was abused, oh she has fucking fifty million personalities. Oh now she wants to be a guy, now she wants to a guy. Of course she does, of course she wants to be a guy, what other way to stick a knife in me?!"
I got up and I ran out of my room, I ran past my parents, away from my best friend and out into the driveway. I wanted to go to the cementary, I wanted to see my grandparents-- And I mean I wanted to see THEM, not their grave. I was ready to jump into the street, I was ready to end it all. Allow an oncoming car to hit me and end my life. And that's when he grabbed me and made me face him. My best friend, my friend that I wasn't really close to yet. The one that saved me that night, the one that has done more for me in this short time then she ever did for me. I looked up at him, taller then me but younger than me makes me laugh.
"I'm done."
"No you're not-- You can't be done. You're not allowed to be done because I need you and if your done that what do I have? I need you, please don't be done. You can't be done, I know that everything sucks now but everything will get better-- It's not right now but things will get better and you have to be there for them. Because you just can't be done."
At that moment my mind filled with every suicide things that I ever saw and I remember one thing specific, everyone tells you that sucide isn't the best choice or is the worst option. Why are they still calling it a choice or an option? If it's one then don't make it sound like it is. As many times as I tried to die and been brought to the hospital, why didn't anyone ever tell that I just wasn't allowed to die? All they did was say that sucide wasn't the answer, but no one told me what the question was?
To be or not to be? -- Opehlia didn't get the memo, now did she?
Anyway... The point of this rant, this entry, this parnoid raving of madness and probably nonsense that nobody really wants to hear. Is that my paranoia and my sickness is brought on by the need to always be on guard whether I was trying to treat someone with every mental disorder in the book, or trying to balance my sanity with medication or trying to choose my battles with which bully was worse.
It came to the point like now when I am living in a hotel and sitting in classroom with a bunch of kids that don't know what it feels like to be homeless. No one understood when I was freshman and that there are worse things than failing my freshman year. There was being bullied and abused by a man who was not my father and had no right to touch me. The same goes for my senior year when I am living in a one room hotel trying to deal with my sanity. And in the beginning trying to help a girl with "Multiple Personality Disorder", a girl with anorexia and a guy that was gender confused. Meanwhile in my brain I was slowly dealing with my own depression, learning to resent my girlfriend and all her personalities and falling head over heels in love with my best friend that was gender confused.
Moving on....
I cheated.
She dumped me.
I found out that she lied to me.
My best friend is now my boyfriend and is very comfortable with himself now (Thank to yours truely).
And my other best friend hates my guts now and I have no idea why.
Alright back to my paranoia:
Lost my best friend-- Check.
My girlfriend pushed me away to no end with her "problems" until I finally messed up and she had to leave me because I was the bad person. (Read the above situations and you tell me who was at fault).-- Check.
Became so afraid of being judged by everyone at school because of either living in a hotel or because I cheated on the poor liar that I stopped going to school.-- Check.
And here we are now, and I'm scared again. Scared because I don't know when my boyfriend's parents are going to take him away from me again. I don't know if I'm pregnant or not. I don't know if I'm going to be able to continue to deal with my cutting or my depression. Just because She left doesn't mean that I am cured, I am still sick. My sickness doesn't change because of the people I'm with. I still have major depression, an anxiety disorder and now (diagnosed) Social Phobia. And my boyfriend is the only one that helps me with any of it. My mother helps too as best as she can but my boyfriend, Andrew-- He's the one that gives me that hope that I'm going to get better. And when his parents snatch him away from me because of homework or bad grades or not going to pass this year. I am left without hope of getting better when the bell jar comes down on me. When the darkness swallows me whole.
I am Pandora, and the hope is locked inside of the box again.
And I am stuck in the world of darkness and evil.
I am stuck in my depression.
I am stuck in this room.
"You can come out now Annie?"
That's what they say but I know what's really happening, they're going to get me out there into the world only so they can break me again. That's what they all do, that's what they want. They want me to trust them again, bring me out of my cage, pet me a few times. Give me some treats and then when I least expect it, they kick me back into the cage and I'm cowering in the corner. I'm scared and alone and there's no one to save me because the one that is meant to save me, has been taken away from me.
Am I paranoid enough yet?
Published 30th May 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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7th Sep 2012 3:25am
11th Nov 2012 7:04am
you have no idea
being paranoid.. well there is no level,
i can relate to your beautiful words
being paranoid.. well there is no level,
i can relate to your beautiful words
