Search

nonsense unicorn's blog

rambles of a sociophobe

Sorry not sorry

I’m one of those people that apologise way too much. You know, you bump into me and knock my coffee on the ground but I’m the one saying sorry.


I know it’s probably a symptom of my inherent anxiety that I’ve only recently been prithy to its existence, and also my lack of self esteem and confidence. Still, knowing this I just can’t stop apologising for my existence.

I was at derby practice last night and my partner had to tell me to stop apologising when I bumped her – when we were doing fucking contact! Like duh this is what the sport consists of, and I’m still apologising for doing the right thing,  still constantly feeling like one big fucking boil on the ass of the earth.

I can’t stop, yet I know it’s vastly affecting me and adds to this boiling resentment and anger I have inside me that makes me so angry at the world.

Ever since I remember I have just felt like a doormat, like a piece of cellophane that nobody notices or cares or listens to. And I have just accepted that as my essence.


I finished my graduate diploma the other day (I hope anyway, if my pass my exam). When I finished, instead of being proud of myself or whatever, I went and bought a gift for my partner to thank him for being there through it – another back handed apology. Instead of me being congratulated for this achievement, I’m still apologising “sorry for all my stressing during my studies, take this gift as a sign of my appreciation”. Which of course, his support is worth thanking – but it just feels so backwards. I’m always putting everyone else in the spotlight…


I don’t really know what the point of this post is. I guess because I’ve run away this morning – I’ve been awake since 5am due to the boys sleeping, we had a fight and  I cracked the shits and left. Not cool, I know he can’t help it,  but I’m getting sleep deprived slowly because of it. But you know, he’s had a hard week so I should just deal with it.

Advertisements

Alone in the grey

I don’t know if we are in a slow motion car crash, flogging a dead horse, or running up that hill together.

Things haven’t been good lately. We had a big fight on Friday night (mainly due to my tiredness and numbness that set in that turned me into an unresponsive stone wall. Completely my fault due to my failing mental state). That led to him telling me to move out and me slobbering on my pillow in the spare room all night fantasising about dying because existence in general is just too fucking arduous and pointless.

Something something we kinda made up and know that things need to change soon or it’s not worth it. Basically, let’s give it a few months and see what happens.

Limbo.

Image from game Limbo, which you should totally play btw.

This isn’t really the best thing right now, because my mind automatically thinks “well we are just stretching out the inevitable aren’t we? What’s the fucking point”.

There is no rational thought or hope because my poisoned mind embodies my whole existence as hopeless. How can I have hope in a hopeless existence?

I know I’ve got to get my fucked up mind sorted and see a psych again blah blah because I can’t keep living in a way where every day I drive home I wonder how long it will take me to die if I swung my car into the next pole. I’m well aware that’s not cool and should probably get sorted.

I just don’t know if I can deal with this whole “things gotta change in a few months”‘deal. I can’t help but feel we are already broken up. I can’t take him seriously when he says that he loves me – it makes me scoff on the inside.

Fuckface in the past tried to do the whole “let’s have a break and reconvene when we are both better”. Nope I don’t do breaks. It’s all in or fuck off. And that’s how I feel now – either fuck off or its all in. 

He says its not limbo but it is. I can’t see forward through this because I have the inability to see through the perpetual grey that consumes me.

Suppose someone like me probably shouldn’t even be in a relationship because of this kinda shit anyway.

Life is an Onion Bag

I’m in a real “existence is futile and I hate the world” kind of mood lately. Everything about this superficial rat race that we are forced to begrudgingly live in for survival pisses me off.

I hate that life is such that I have to go jump up and down in the gym with other fucking losers pumping “iron” to keep fit and aesthetically pleasing for society.

I hate all the “life poke stops” set up by the status quo that we are meant to live by – education, career, get married, pop out a freaking kid. And if you want to go against the grain you’re met with fake smiles and feigned agreeance with”yeah you do you” as they silently judge you behind their gin and tonics and bulbous preggo bellies and bull crap. Like you’re some freak for not being engaged after 5 years or don’t want to make another human to sap more energy from our already dying planet.

I hate reading bullshit on here with people continuing to make the same mistakes for a lifetime and still complain and wonder why things don’t change. I’ve unfollowed a bunch of people that I can’t stand watching the car crash burn any longer.

Moreover I hate myself that after so many futile attempts at living life I’m still the same broken record, wallowing in my melancholy wishing for loneliness and existence to cease.

Merry Christmas.

Halloween broke me

It was a ridiculously bad day anyway. Early start, and an array of little iggly biggly annoying things at work that slowly built up, bringing down my resilience.

By the time I got home I didn’t want to do anything other than sit in the shower in foetal position and project my dismay for the world onto the shower walls. But I had purchased tickets to the stupid party and it was for charity, so I had to go.

I’m no party animal anymore, but if there’s an opportunity to dress up I like to go all out. This year I was going to do Pale Man from Pan’s Labyrinth. I had it all worked out and ready to go.


The face paint I bought was the wrong type and it just wasn’t working out as I planned. It looked shit. Dummy spit. I was already running late with friends on their way to pick me up, but in a huff I scrubbed my face off and gave up on Pale Man.

Fine. Vampire. Boy has vampire stuff to put on. I try again, but my face base is now red and looks crap with another layer of foundation.

The vampire teeth don’t stick. Dummy spit.

And I haven’t even started on my hair, which is a terrible mushroom from a shit haircut.

I gave up. Boy called my friend who was waiting downstairs 20 minutes for me. My chest tightened lien a thousand rubber bands were snapped around my heart. I refused to talk to my friend in the phone I just wanted to disappear. Did not care about anything anymore.

My friend came up and with the boy they supported me and tried to calm me down.

I ended up chucking on a Sailor Mercury skater dress and went to the party, but I was worn out and down from my spack attack. I had one drink and played Pokemon Go most of the time.

I’m glad I actually made it out, but still. Who would have thought some dumb costume would be the thing to ruin me.

Autopilot On

I figure I had to write something cos it’s meant to be good for you and I haven’t done it in a while.

It’s mainly because I’m on auto pilot mode. That is, in my microcosm, just floating by and getting on with things. 

No extremes in feeling, just existing (with the ever present quiet whisper to disappear on the edge of every breath).

No feelings about much at all. No excitement, but No particular bass either.

I don’t want to do anything but am doing all the things at the same time.

This worries me as I know it signals an impending break soon.

Can’t find the owner of this image, found on Pinterest.

Loves of my Life

I reckon we experience a lot of different loves in our lifetimes, as we fumble through on the eternal search for that one sparkly human that lights up your world. I thought I would share a couple o…

Source: Loves of my Life

Everybody hates me


I mentioned to the Boy last night how I was reading an article about red flags in relationships- one of them being if your friends and family dislike your partner- and how this worried me considering that all his friends and family hate me.

He assured me that is definitely not the case, that yes although his family may not necessarily be as outwardly welcoming like mine is, they definitely like and respect me, particularly for how happy I make him.

It was very difficult to be an accepting rational adult and trust what he was saying.

The cloud in my brain created by the affliction of social anxiety makes it incredibly difficult to decipher the difference between Delusions and intuition. I can never draw the line between what is real and what’s a fucked up fear created by the monkey residing in my brain.

The monkey tells me even my friends hate me and only still hang around with me out of pity.

Maybe I am just an unlikeable jerk.

Shame

Reading this blog made me think about my own experience with shame.

I’ll admit, it’s one of those feelings that I haven’t really taken the time to acknowledge, but I know it is something that has writhed away inside my belly for some time.


Art by Mary Hood

I’ve always been a bit of a a yes person, which has put me in many situations that I regret and feel… Dirty about.

My first kiss being with a random at a dance party while my friend awkwardly stood there and waited.

From being seventeen and letting a guy I don’t even like put his hands up my skirt on the dancefloor and other people saw.

Getting drunk and angry at a friend and getting a lift home with two random men.

Majority of the people I have slept with I regret and feel a certain disgust within myself for doing it. Mainly because I couldn’t say no so just went with it.

Shame is quite a social-induced feeling. This feeling of worthlessness and disgust in yourself and the fear of what other people think of you for doing said thing. It’s like without the social element these things can be easier reconciled within yourself. But the stress of what other people would think of you (or do think of you) turns into a sordid toxic lump in the pit of your stomach.

These unfortunate events turn into unchangeable lore about you as a human, something that you need to punish yourself for ever doing in the first place.

I forever can’t forgive myself for things that happened over a decade ago. The feelings of shame and guilt and disgust in myself never go away. Remembering things brings up the same feelings I felt back when it happened.

Is shame about forgiving oneself?


Heart Beat

I lied in bed last night trying to consciously stop my heart with the slowing of my breath.

I still couldn’t feel the sordid muscle beating inside the chasm of my chest, but still breath exhaled from my mouth.

It didn’t work. Obviously.


Artwork by Destiny Blue – seriously check her stuff out its amazing! Her story speaks so close to mine…http://destinyblue.deviantart.com/

I’m okay now.

It was a strange evening.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑