The Downside Of Summer.

Sometimes, summer is a jerk.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. Usually, I love summer. I mean, warm weather, getting to go to the beach, ice cream — it’s all good. But what I hate is during the first few weeks of it, when it starts getting like really, really warm how it makes you extremely tired and exhausted if you’re out in the sun too long. Well, it could just be me that it happens to I’m not really sure. I mean, I’m not exactly used to being outside at all during the summer. Basically, ever summer since pssh, I was 14 or so, I’ve spent a good 80% of it inside with the A/C on the computer up in my bedroom.  So I’m not really used to it, because now it’s like I’m going out everyday.

I just need a couple more days to get myself used to it again, and I’m sure that I’ll be fine. Who knows, I might even get a tan. But for now, it definitely sucks. I need to get out more and do some walking or biking and stuff. I’m starting to get up in the weight range that I don’t like. (I know, I’m an idiot. 5′9 and hates it when I’m over 120). But right now I’m sitting at about an average of 123. I don’t want to go starving myself or anything stupid I’d used to do, because I know how quickly and easily it is to fall back into something like that. I guess I just need to get out and exercise more. I just lack the motivation, really. I don’t know how many times I told myself I was going to start up doing yoga and pilates again, and never did. Bleh, I guess I need to find a way to motivate myself, and keep myself motivated.

So that pretty much leaves me where I am now. Exhausted and tired like you’ve no idea, but just fighting the urge because if I sleep now I’ll be up all night, which I don’t really want. S’hard enough to get to sleep when it’s always so warm at night. Heh. Can you tell I miss living at home where the upstairs area where all the bedrooms were, was air conditioned. Bleh, I sound so spoiled or something — but trust me, I really, really wasn’t.

And that’s pretty much all I can think to come up with for now.  I’m sure I’ll have more to talk about later.

Two more.

So, I had two more of those little episodes last night, and I’m really starting to lose my patience with them. I’m stressed, I get it. Quit fucking with me and let me deal with the bloody stress, kapeesh?  They’re basically just making everything worse. It sucks because I stop breathing for just a little bit, but it freaks me out to no end when I can’t breathe, and of course, if it keeps happening someone’s going to make me go back to the stupid hospital, or to the clinic.  I don’t really want to, because doctors only do one of two things.
1) Give me stupid medication that fucks me up even worse.
2) Do absolutely nothing, tell me I’m fine, and basically waste my time.

So, I admitted to both myself, and my boyfriend the reason why I hate myself so much. You know, my lovely manipulative nature that I mentioned in a previous post? It pretty much eats at me, knowing that’s what I’m doing to people, and being fully aware of it as I’m doing it. But at the same time I’ll start thinking people won’t care about me anymore if I’m “better” or “normal”.

That’s a lovely cycle. Depression -> manipulation -> guilt -> punishing myself -> depression -> repeat until I’m able to break the cycle.

See, the worst part of it all, is that I’m very aware of everything, but I can’t seem to make myself get past it. Maybe I just don’t want to get past it. I’m not entirely sure.

Bleh, it’s early. I’ll probably write something else later.

Two posts in one day?

Well, aren’t I lame. Another post in the same day.

I had a panic attack (or something that resembled it, at least) this morning in the shower. Whatever they are, they’re getting worse. Which is kind of funny, because I went to the ER one night (I don’t have an actual doctor up here yet, since I moved) and the doctor told me that he thought I could control the attacks and that I’d be fine or whatever.  Oh well.
But yeah. I guess I’m getting ahead of myself.
Last night I had one just… hit me, pretty much out of no where. I mean, before it happened I was just lying in bed, joking around with my boyfriend. Of course, as per usual, I had some thoughts swirling around in my head that might make a person stressed out. But still, it still felt like it came out of no where for no purpose. And it SUCKED.
Usually when I’d have them, they’d only last for a couple of minutes tops, but this one seemed to drag on and on forever. My chest felt more compressed than usual, and I actually wasn’t able to breathe for a bit, like I felt like I was choking and couldn’t catch a breath.
Most of the same thing happened this morning in the shower. I’m actually quite glad that I had let my boyfriend convince me to take a shower with him (sidenote: what is it with guys and wanting company in the shower, anyway? ), because if I hadn’t then I might have slipped and smacked my head on something. That would have been lovely, wouldn’t it? But when I was in the shower, I just… couldn’t breath. I kept trying and trying to catch my breath and I couldn’t. I wasn’t even hyperventilating or whatever, I just… couldn’t breath. It felt like there was too much pressure on my chest. It only lasted like 30 seconds or so. Maybe a minute. It felt like so much longer, but yeah. It sucked.

Of course, if I went to the hospital in that case, they’d have to do something about this, and not just tell me that there’s nothing really wrong that I can’t fix myself. I mean, I’m sure that there are things I can do to fix all of this junk going on, but it would have been nice to have been handed a manual or something, because these attacks are getting on my nerves.

Unless it’s not a panic attack at all, and I’m really just slowly dying or something. Who knows right?

Bleh, I hate doctors, anyway.

Muse

I’m in search of a muse.

It seems that for the past couple years, the only thing that kept me writing were the unhappy feelings in my life. Depression was always bittersweet. It provided me with the ability to write the smooth spoken phrases, but at the same time excluded me from the entire world. Odd, really. As if being the most depressed out of those in my monkey sphere, gives me an advantage — puts me on a pedestal above everyone else. Sure, they’re happy, but what is happiness worth these days? Isn’t life just a giant game to prove who’s the got the most problems and can earn the most pity? Collect the most comfort?

I tell myself I don’t want to participate in the game, but every time I try to take myself out of it I fail. I’m too used to winning. I’m too used to being good at something, and I’m not entirely ready to give that up just yet. Perhaps that makes me a horrible, selfish individual, but it’s comforting to know that I share this trait with most of humanity anyway, so it loses its insulting nature rather quickly. Depression keeps you under my thumb, because when you feel like it’s your fault, or you want to make me feel better, you’re very easily manipulated.

I hate myself for that. I want to change that. But I don’t want to lose my advantage. I don’t want to step down from my pedestal — even if it’s incredibly lonely up this high. I don’t want to search for a new muse.

Allow me to introduce myself.

The name is Missa, but you can call me the Sarcastic Narcissist.

I’m not entirely sure what there is to say about myself to give you a bit of an introduction to who I am. I suppose I’d fit into the “average 18 year old female” role.  I graduated from High School last year, took a year off to weigh my options, and am pretty much figuring that I’m going to be taking a paralegal course in the fall. And that’s the story of my life.

I aspire to be a lawyer, but I’m settling for less because that’s just how I roll. I’m stuck with this mentality that I’m not good enough for whatever I really want. However, I guess all hope isn’t lost. After I finish the course if I can work in a law firm for a bit, maybe one day I’ll attempt going to Law School once I have experience.

I’ve spent the majority of my life feeling sorry for myself, and putting the blame on others — when really I had to look deep down to actually realize that I wasn’t going to start feeling better until I accepted fault. Over the past 6 years, I’ve dealt with self injury, depression, an eating disorder, been put on anti-depressants, attempted suicide countless times, etc, etc.

Now, before you close your browser thinking, “Great, another emo kid. Forget this.” I want you to realize something. Sure, those things in the past may have defined who I was, they don’t define who I am now. I think mainly the whole reason I created this blog was to hope that perhaps someone might end up reading it, and realizing that there’s life beyond the mishaps of your past, and that like I had said before — once you take a good look at yourself, and realize that only you are holding yourself back, you can begin to move on from the person you used to be. Sure, I’m not entirely “better”, and I’m sure that you’ll realize I’m still struggling with things, but that’s just how life goes.

Alright, that made no sense, and this is a horrible introduction. I really need to work on being more eloquent if I’m going to be writing a blog (even if I’m entirely sure no one will ever read it).

I guess that’s about all for my introduction. Perhaps the next entry will make a bit more sense.