2004-02-11
Even I Can't Make Sense of What I am Saying

hearing: All That's Left - Thrice and the annoying noise my mouse is making
reading: Lilith by George MacDonald and A Swiftly Tilting Planet by Madeline L'Engle
thinking: About how very much I love this diary.

Let's give diary dear more kisses *kiss kiss*. Why? Well diary dear gives me a place to talk almost as freely as I wish without worry that I am burdening anyone else. I am writing to something impersonal. No one in particular. No one cannot be burdened or feel that they must do or say something in return. It's nice. My confidant...my sympathizing ear... A journal is such. It will not judge me or misunderstand me. The people who read it might, but I wasn't writing to them now was I?

I guess I am feeling this more lately because I realize how much I continue to withdraw. Day by day. I sat at my computer today with a splitting headache and rather than announcing it practically to the whole world, I briefly mentioned it to one person. Just one. I pack everything up, slowly but surely. I just always fear that I am whiney and annoying and burdensome. Here, it doesn't really matter. Just write. I used to be so much more open with people because I needed to talk about things so bad. I went through so long of never having anyone to talk to about anything. I have a problem being open with my parents because I feel I have an image to uphold. One of a perfect, obedient, timid, shallow, happy, conservative Christian girl. If I tell them more of what I think and expose more of who I really am, could they really accept me? Would they really still love me? But that is another problem. We are discussing my open ness. All my siblings are younger and I cannot talk with them about my problems. Obviously. I have very very few Christian relatives, much less any that are really involved in my life. And I have no one beyond that and no means of acquiring anyone yet beyond that. So when problems arise where do I go to? When I am having a crummy day who do I tell? My diary.

I used to go to my online friends more. Near strangers really. When I sit with my sister and we talk and laugh over things while I hold conversations, I realize again how little one can ever really know a person online. Its a one dimensional world. Even if a person is totally honest, you are still only seeing a small dimension of their whole self. You still hardly know them. Which sends me off remembering that the only friends I have, hardly even know me. I think I have one, maybe two people, who really KNOW me. Oh angst. An unknown creature.

But when I did have friends did I open up that much? No, I guess. I remember when I was struggling with my sexual orientation. I was so scared. I knew that I was homosexual (I know I know, before I said bi, but the truth is, I was only bi because I felt I had to appear straight and normal to other people by liking guys and I did even if it was rather forced) but I had to pretend I wasn't. I couldn't tell anyone. My parents were homophobics and had trained me to be such. (Just imagine being homosexual AND homophobic...its possible, trust me, I hated myself, I felt so worthless...) I couldn't tell my friends because what if they wouldn't like me anymore? What if they all abandoned me? What if they teased me? How would I explain that to my parents? If something like that happened, it wouldn't be long before they would learn what was wrong with me. And then, would they still love me? I couldn't believe it. So I didn't tell anyone. I had no one to guide me. I had no one to reassure me. No one to love me and accept me in spite of it. No one to tell me that God still loved me. I thought He hated me. I thought I was spurned, rejected, and horrible filth in His sight for being homosexual. I thought I was unsaved until I was straight again. That I HAD to be straight to be accepted by Him, to be His child, and that, when a homosexual, my soul was the property of the devil's. But I needed God. I didn't want to go to hell. Not just that though. I just needed God. So I had to get back in His good graces. I had to get straight. I prayed that He would help me turn round and get straight and then that He would forgive me and take me back again. I did get straight. Of course He took me back, but although I didn't know it then, He never really left me.

I am not sure how much point there was to that. I just had to get it out. That was such a hard time of my life and I have been holding it in for so long. A deep, dark secret. I finally feel that it is safe to let it out. I am sure bits and pieces of things like that will show up every now and then. "Just had to get it out" Yeah.

So many points to make but my brain won't connect them to process them thoroughly then type them out coherently. Ugh.

I have been having majorly bad self confidence problems lately. Pretending that I think well and highly of myself. It isn't that I hate who I am or that I want to be different. I just don't know how good of a self I really am. I have been feeling as though maybe I am not such a good self. Which makes me angsty and depressed. That I am such a bad self. *sigh* I just kind of try to blow it off. Like everything else. Focus on anything but my self confidence problems. I still tend to feel them rather keenly through whatever else I am doing, but I just pretend I can't. Hoping that maybe my bad self will be remedied by being forgotten. Not neglected, just not directly acknowledged.

Although it is also a feeling of incompetency elsewhere. One self confidence shortcoming is dolling. When I look at other dollers dolls and then look at mine, I feel that I am maybe not as good as I thought I was. I can see that I already have a clearly defined pixel shading style. Each doller does. But how good is that style? Will my style ever get good enough to sit up there with the best? Why does it even have to matter? Cause I always seem to want to be the best...(Or at the very least, one of the best)the favorite...

Hmmm...that sounds a tad familiar actually... *winks* Unintentional, I promise!

Its getting later and later (earlier and earlier?) and I get more and more tired. Daylogging? Ugh. Housework today. I have a cut on my finger and it made it annoying to do the dishes and scrub the sink, especially without gloves. Hurt like hell man. But I did it. Actually, it was enjoyable. Vaccumed and swiffered also. I borrowed my sister's portable cd player and blasted my Violet Burning cd at an unusually high volume so that I could hear it over the vaccum. Good times. I had fun vaccuming and swiffering. So fulfilling too. The floors had been so dirty. Sucking up all the dust and crud. Priceless. Near ecstasy darlings. Near ecstasy. So I guess that is the answer to why I do housework. I don't see why I need to have a reason for helping out around the house without being asked. Everyone should do nice, helpful things without being asked. I am just doing my fair share of them. Having been left to babysit the kids helpless for a week, I know what a chore it is just to take care of a house and children. And I was only watching the children! I didn't have the burden of knowing I am raising the children and that they are mine to train and mold. I also didn't have financial affairs to worry about. Or a relationship with a spouse to keep strong. Or a job. Neither do I have Lupus and a buttload of physical ailments and conditions and, well, who knows what like my mom. Haha >.< And those times when I had an awful week of babysitting were utter torture for me. I would get so worn out. And I was experiencing so little of it. I realize how much work my parents have to do. The least I can do is pitch in where I am able. So I do. And I can't wait to be asked either. A person needs to be responsible and recognize when things need doing and then do them. Yes.

I am digressing though. After housework, I read and ate and napped and dolled and chatted. Yep. Thus I am led to now. I am a tad bit too hot and my head is pounding and it gets later and later (earlier and earlier). I am exhausted. I need to vaccum upstairs tomorrow (and I will possibly be cleaning the bathrooms. I think it might be time). I need my rest so that I may be able to do these things. Yes. Alright...bed time...finally...

(Did this entry make sense to you? If not, thats ok, cause I don't know if this entry even made sense to me.)

before & & after