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  • When I was fifteen I remember telling myself everything would be ok because by the time I was thirty I'd have a career and would be married and all that shit. So it was ok for me to not understand the world as of yet. It was clear pretty early on that the way my brain worked was slightly different than others. However most every idiot teenager thinks that. "I'm so uniquely different. No one understands me.." blah blah blah. Little did I know it would take another solid fifteen years to really come to terms with the truth of it all.

    What's that you say? Stop sounding dramatic?
    Oh well ok.

    See it sort of hit home with me that maybe it wasn't all just paranoia when I was writing my mom's eulogy in my head one night while trying to fall asleep. She wasn't dead. She still isn't dead. Let's get that cleared up right now. However she was going through one of her "bad times". We had put her in the hospital twice before this round because she was suicidal and wanted to cut herself up.

    The first time we put her in I had come home to see the "overnight bag" on the dining room table. Mom was standing in the bathroom putting face lotion on and explaining to me how the doctor said she needed to go in because she wasn't safe. Then she showed me her arm all cut up.

    I fucking hate the smell of that face lotion.

    Anyway she went in for a week then came out and the following morning the dog got loose and she had me help look. She said "He got away and I thought about just going back to bed; but I thought if I did that you'd put me back in the hospital."

    Completely normal response. I sort of gathered from that sentence a few things. 1.) It was evidently "us" that put her in the hospital and not herself. and 2.) It was going to be a rough couple of years.

    Anyway. I was laying in bed a few years later writing her eulogy because I knew it was just a matter of time and that my sisters wouldn't be able to give it. That it would land on me because I would be able to do it without crying. That has been my job this whole time. To not cry or have emotions. It irritated me when I realized that's what my job was, because dude. I'm her daughter and shouldn't have to be the parent. Also slowly came to realize it was probably weird my only response to it all was mild irritation/anger. Then I started doing a little cataloging of situations and my responses.

    Between the level of psychology I've studied (my attempt to figure out people so that I could fit in) and memories I have it slowly sank in that there is perhaps some misfiring going on up in my noggin.

    What's that? Yes I know. Anyone can read a psychology book and diagnose themselves any vague condition they want. It was the hip thing to be a borderline personality thanks to Winona Ryder. That isn't what I'm doing though. I -want- to fit. I -want- to feel things. I -want- to feel less broken.

    "Essie was building a new foundation for herself to run around in."
    So that's what I'm doing now. No writing stories isn't my version of therapy. Got myself an actual therapist for this crap. This is all supplemental ego stroking because I'm a narcissist to (got the paper with the doctor's signature on that one).

    No it isn't interesting or cool. Being a flat line is just that. Flat.
    There is that one guy though. He's pretty cool. I want to learn how to feel some things for him.

    (Oh look she ended it on an introduction to a new topic that she didn't say anything more about. what a teasing bitch. maybe I'll read more stuff later). Yep.
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