Tuesday, April 3, 2012

03/04/2012

I ask myself every day why I am here and why I am the way I am. I struggle with my personal demons among them I am lost. I cry inside but never ever let it show unless there is no one to see, no one to hear. I worry if I am doing things right and wonder what other people think but mostly I think. I do not think great thoughts indeed more often than not the thoughts are of the poor me category or you know what you have to do why don't you do it. I ask myself that question a million times a day I think. If I am so smart and knowlegable then why can I not get myself from here to there from A to b from thinking about losing weight to actually doing at least one of the things I know I should do. My life is ruled by would, could and shoud with the loudest voice always about what I should do, what normal people do. But I am not normal by society's light I am indeed close to the middle of abnormale I think. I do not like to work, I have no grand plan that I am working on daily, indeed most days I'm just glad to see the end of. Though I know that is another day gone of the finite number I have, I just don't care. At least that is what I tell myself Nothing matters in the grand scheme of things I am one little dot among 5 trillion or thereabouts. I worry though. I worry that I am not doing things that I'm supposed to do like eating right, sleeping "proper " hours or even talking to others beyond a minor hello how are you in the hall.I should feel at peace but I do not. Twice in as many days I have found myself repeating searches that I did on previous days because I can not remember if I found what I was looking for. I sit up until 6 am importing and converting my ebooks for the database yet can not put the same focus into going out and walking around the track across the street. My priorities are skewed, I am more interested in getting all of my electronic "books" in one place and catalogued than I am in losing the weight I desperatly need to lose before it kills me. I worry about what my neighbours think about me even when I know most of them have no idea who I am and could care less and the few I speak to think I am an old woman who keeps to herself and that is fine with them. I wonder if they even know my name, I know I don't know theirs, unlike the basement the peoople here are not friendly to each other or at least I am less friendly here than I was there. I came here for the bigger room but it also means I am in a bigger, better class of people, most of them work or are honerably retired unlike me. If I look at my life I have achieved nothing earth shattering, everything I did I did poorly or only once and while I could call them personal achievments they lose luster either because of the end resault or because I have never been able to repeat them. There is a place in my mind that is red and raw, it is the place where trust and openness used to live. I hope that it will heal one day but so far it is still as raw and sore as it has been for decades. I wonder sometimes if I am not mad and that the only reason I am not locked up is because I am good at hiding it. I think I am a very good actress or at least I used to be now I prefer to hide in this room than try and be what the outside world expects me to be. I can not pretend any more that I fit. I know I do not. I know in truth I never have. I could blame my parents for the way I am but what would be the point of that, they are both dead and whatever influence they may have had is gone with them. I am accountable only to myself and that self feels so bruised and battered that it finds itself more hidden and yet less so. I hide here in this room where for the most part the outside world can not touch me. I could say that I am grieving and I suppose in a way I am though I thought I accepted my fathers death a long time ago. He wasn't dead then though and now he is. I wonder if the deepened depression I am suffering is partially because that leaves me an orphan. Odd to think like that at 50+ but there you have it. I wonder how long it will take this depression to run it's course and then I realize that unless I make an effort to leave it behind this is the way I will be for the next four years or however much time I have left. My mother died when she was 55 I am getting close to that now and today at least I think I would welcome death, though I would rather it took me while I slept

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