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It's A Nice Day.
Mar. 9th, 2013 01:53 pmI don't want anyone worrying about me.
That's why I don't like asking for help. Even if I need it. People who know me, know that.
On my worst days, I try to protect other people from myself. I tell them that things are okay. I convince myself.
But I'm kidding, really. Telling lies, which I hate. It just twists things when I do. And I know: Things won't be okay until I start making goals for myself again. Things won't be okay until I stop hiding behind excuses and make myself into someone who wants to be here.
I just didn't want anyone to be disappointed, or worried about me. There's still time to fix things, isn't there? Isn't there still time? Always waiting till the deadline to get my act together, and when there's no deadline, I fall behind.
My mind has desperately been looking for role models, something to justify this supreme lack of drive, this lack of self. I look into the stories of younger days, looking into self-styled heroes and protagonists in their own story. It's okay, they were slackers too, they were confused and they couldn't find jobs and their friends worried about them too.
Some people can laugh about the times when they make earnest promises to themselves and then break them on the next day. Not me. Nope, I can't let myself do that, I have to make myself suffer for it. I have to guilt myself so hard that I run away again. Goddamnit, when am I going to break the cycle?
Matt invited me to see the rehearsal of the play, the rehearsal with the script I wrote. The script I meant to modify and send to him, and I can't get my act together enough to do that. Twenty minutes before they were going to put it on, I was cooking breakfast for myself and looking at the clock.
There's a games summit thing at my university, games without frontiers, talks I want to be in on, and I haven't gotten dressed for the day. What is wrong with me? Why can't I see beyond my own self-indulgences?
Why am I so stubborn to the voice that tells me to wake up?
All I've got are dreams that come and go. All I have are goals that I brush up against, as they reoccur, as I want them. Wanting is all I do these days. I can't commit. I go for what's easy. I stay oblivious. And people will abandon me for it, sooner or later. I won't be anything to them but a sad reminder.
Need to stop with this self-pity and stop writing and get up and at least get one thing done. Need to go to the post office and send my nephew a present, at the least, at the least. Promise myself that I'll look over my notes and revise the stories I want to tell, that I need to tell. Plan my own tiny little breakdown as I find I can't commit to my own goals.
That's why I don't like asking for help. Even if I need it. People who know me, know that.
On my worst days, I try to protect other people from myself. I tell them that things are okay. I convince myself.
But I'm kidding, really. Telling lies, which I hate. It just twists things when I do. And I know: Things won't be okay until I start making goals for myself again. Things won't be okay until I stop hiding behind excuses and make myself into someone who wants to be here.
I just didn't want anyone to be disappointed, or worried about me. There's still time to fix things, isn't there? Isn't there still time? Always waiting till the deadline to get my act together, and when there's no deadline, I fall behind.
My mind has desperately been looking for role models, something to justify this supreme lack of drive, this lack of self. I look into the stories of younger days, looking into self-styled heroes and protagonists in their own story. It's okay, they were slackers too, they were confused and they couldn't find jobs and their friends worried about them too.
Some people can laugh about the times when they make earnest promises to themselves and then break them on the next day. Not me. Nope, I can't let myself do that, I have to make myself suffer for it. I have to guilt myself so hard that I run away again. Goddamnit, when am I going to break the cycle?
Matt invited me to see the rehearsal of the play, the rehearsal with the script I wrote. The script I meant to modify and send to him, and I can't get my act together enough to do that. Twenty minutes before they were going to put it on, I was cooking breakfast for myself and looking at the clock.
There's a games summit thing at my university, games without frontiers, talks I want to be in on, and I haven't gotten dressed for the day. What is wrong with me? Why can't I see beyond my own self-indulgences?
Why am I so stubborn to the voice that tells me to wake up?
All I've got are dreams that come and go. All I have are goals that I brush up against, as they reoccur, as I want them. Wanting is all I do these days. I can't commit. I go for what's easy. I stay oblivious. And people will abandon me for it, sooner or later. I won't be anything to them but a sad reminder.
Need to stop with this self-pity and stop writing and get up and at least get one thing done. Need to go to the post office and send my nephew a present, at the least, at the least. Promise myself that I'll look over my notes and revise the stories I want to tell, that I need to tell. Plan my own tiny little breakdown as I find I can't commit to my own goals.