My Holiday

Haven’t blogged all holidays, and for good reason, I tried to forget everything. It may not have worked, but I tried.

I didn’t want to come here, and let myself think. Because I have a crazy mind, and with the out the regularity and sanity of school I’m sure I would have gone crazy here. It’s what I do. If you know me, you know that. I over think and overanalyse everything. I end up thinking I know things that aren’t true.

The other reason I didn’t blog is because I got really depressed. Especially in the first week. I remember saying earlier that in last year’s holidays I hit rock bottom. Well, I did it again. I was crazy. I hardly even remember the week. I just sat here, at this computer, listened to the same songs over again, played solitaire and went mental. I wrote, this thing. I was meaning to put it here on this blog spot, but now, it just scares me that I thought these thoughts:

What you’ve never known about me: I actually walk really slowly normally, I only walk fast with friends, because I can escape, and be alone. I love being alone, because I’m not me around other people, I’m who I pretend to be, and I don’t really like that person. I’m actually not a happy person. I smile. I laugh. I joke. But it’s not me. Me: I hate the world. I think happiness is overrated. I love to cry. Sometimes I force myself to cry because it makes me feel. I love to feel. My favourite song at the moment: Try Honesty – Billy Talent. I envy Goths because they have no worries. I like bright colours because they remind me of someone I could never be. I enjoy be upset. “Do what makes you happy, if being miserable is what makes you happy, then be miserable, as long as it makes you happy.” It doesn’t make me happy, it makes me satisfied. Things hurt less when you let them hurt more. Going crazy with anger makes you freer than going crazy on happiness. I don’t envy happy people, because people think I’m a happy person. I understand. They’re just trapped, trapped behind a disguise they invented. A disguise they invented to make other people happy. Other people don’t like sadness. They don’t like it when you say suicide is a good idea, that you’ve contemplated it, or that you know 17 different ways to kill yourself. I understand emos, people who self harm. When things hurt physically, the emotional pain goes away, it’s overpowered. Emotional pain feels worse, but physical pain is stronger, it helps you forget.

What scares the most about that, is that most of it is true. I walk faster with others, I love to cry, that is my favourite song, even though it’s what I imagine death would sound like.
I’m scared of that person, of who I was. And I don’t just mean last week. I know none of you knew me before high school, and those of you that did, you’d know that I never had real friends, people I could tell stuff. But I was seriously emo, I cried randomly for no reason. I wrote lists of all the reasons I should stay alive, but gradually crossed off everything. Everytime I was happy, I gave myself a reason, then I added it to the list, but it was all crossed off.

Until I decided to be a vet. I think that was escape. My reason, “for the animals”, even now I find written over and over again on sheets of paper, in my diary, all over my room. I convinced myself to live, for all the animals I could save. I find it insane when I think about it now, and I’m scared of that person I was. Everytime I look into my past, I’m surprised by what I went through. Most people have some sort of childhood issues, but mine went further than others, I can actually understand how I became depressed. I was severely traumatised as a child.

I make excuses for things now, I make excuses for people, for how they treated me, I try to see the other side of everything. I think that’s damaging to my conscious, I can understand every side of the story, so am okay when I do the wrong thing. I know who started all this, I know who I blame. My parents may truly believe that I’ve led a sheltered life, but I’ve seen things you only ever read about in magazines, things that give people nightmares. They almost found out once, what she did to me, but I stopped them, I got away. They were shocked, but they let me distract them, looking back, I shouldn’t have, but I did. Now, I’d prefer that I had the protection I needed. I’m still making excuses for her in my mind though, and I need someone to tell me that what she did was wrong, that I didn’t deserve it, that when she told me it would be fun, she didn’t mean for me. I need someone to tell me that I was right to be scared, that I wasn’t a whimp. I need someone to understand.

You watch those shows, and you see people say, “it’s not your fault, you did nothing to cause this, she is in the wrong, not you” and you think, Jeez! Kid! Get it already, how can you still think it was you? But the thing is, I trusted her, so it was my fault. You watch other people like you and you think, “ it wasn’t you, you deserve so much more than that”, but why don’t think I deserve more? This blog is probably scaring anyone who’s reading it, because this is a really big secret, and most of you probably know what I’m talking about, what the thing is, but none of you know the person. None of you know what happened, how it happened, how I remember every second, and no matter what I do, it will only ever be me, no one else can ever understand. Because I let her! It was her fault, but I let her get away with it. For over a year! Every week! I let her treat me worse than I should be treated.

I try to tell myself that I didn’t know better, in fact, I had no idea what she was doing. But no matter how innocent I was, I must have understood. I must have actually gotten it.

And now this is completely sidetracked, cuz I was meant to be telling you about my holiday. Well, I’m too annoyed now, Ill blog about the holiday another time.