Things I Don't Want to Write About (beta)

There's a physiological explanation for the dreamlike quality of my perception, but I am too lazy/inadequately insured to consistently pursue professional help in sorting through the cotton. And I'm not trying to be that girl who uses Google to self-diagnose herself. That girl annoys the snot out of me. So since I don't have professional confirmation, I don't like talking about it because I either describe it in a way that makes visions of Sylvia Plath flash in front of people's eyes or I make it seem like it's not a big deal at all. When I try to explain this simply it comes out like I'm just describing some cute quirks I have. Only it's not cute, and to me it is a big deal. It's just that the shifty way I perceive reality doesn't manifest itself in a way that other people can see.

SEE WHAT I MEAN? "The shifty way I perceive reality." That is totally accurate, but doesn't it make me sound like a lunatic? And therein lies my problem. I want desperately to talk about this stuff, I want to be able to describe it and explain it and deal with it, but I also don't want people to think I'm a) dangerously unbalanced or b) whining c) trying to convince people that I "just see things differently from normal people, I guess. sigh." (barf @ c.) I feel like I'm saying to people, "I'm sick, but not really! Only yes, really, a lot. But don't worry about it. Only, I need help. Probably. I'm okay though!" In a way, I feel like I shouldn't feel as distressed as I sometimes do about this stuff, because outwardly I function perfectly well. It's not schizophrenia, or cancer, so I need to count my g-damn blessings. And I do! I do count them. OBSESSIVELY. (Just kidding, but seriously.) Honestly, the universe has put so many amazing people/opportunities/meals/cats into my life I can't help but feel blessed. And yet sometimes I am straight terrified at the stuff behind my eyeballs. Which makes it even more frustrating that nobody can tell anything is off. Because something definitely is. (But I'm really fine. Mostly.)

Anyway this is one of the Things I Don't Want to Write About. I have about a page's worth of other Things I Don't Want to Write About in my journal, and I can't remember if I mentioned it on here or not but the idea is that I uh, write about things I don't want to write about. Which is sort of equivalent to exercising for me, because I hate it but I have to do it because it's good for me and if I don't do it all the toxic chemical deliciousness I put into my body will collect and hang out forever and that's no good. You get it. So while there's obviously stuff I'd never put in a public forum, in the spirit of "you're only as sick as your secrets" I thought it might be a good idea to put some things on this blog. I sort of like the idea of having it be a regular thing, like my version of outfit posts. (Which I love. When other ladies do them.) Only I don't tend to follow through on stuff like this so we'll see. (You should totally write about the things YOU don't want to write about, too. I almost didn't post this but when I got over the gross self-involvedness it felt pretty good. I think all of us have things we've avoided unpacking hanging out in the back of our brains.)

 

Unrelated: Probably I'll make commenting be a real thing soonish, but right now I just don't feel... ready? Who even knows. I don't exist on any other social media platforms either, but if I don't harass you via your own blog already you can email me if you want. Or send a carrier pigeon. I'm really nice sometimes.