8/8/17

pt2. 

Soooo today I’m gonna type on here since I don’t have enough energy to go on my laptop. For a while I have wanted to move my bed into the corner of my bedroom. It used to be in the corner until I got my desk, which I admit I really needed. So I talked to mom and dad and we decided what we should do is make the back bedroom into my room. Which I’m cool with, gives me a better shaped room, not as close to my parents room, the only thing I don’t like is it’s farther from the bathroom and if I’m honest I admit I’m scared of the dark. But I’m glad I can move to the back bedroom. The thing that sucks is right now the back bedroom is full of anything and everything and obviously that all has to come out and be moved into my current room. I’m scared that even though right now I have enough energy to start doing it, that I’m going to go back into the place where I’m depressed and can barely get out of bed and won’t be able to continue my room. But if I’m gonna do anything, I knew I had to take all the photos off the old computer (I call it the tank) and put it on the home laptop. Mom decided to sit next to me as I was trying to figure out how to transfer all of the photos and she wanted to go through them all. I think the first part that was difficult was the fact I don’t like people sitting next to me, at least not them, and then going through the pictures. My baby pictures I love looking at, I was a cute baby 😊😂. But the older I see myself in the pictures, the more I don’t want to see myself. The pictures of me looking beyond stupid or being a dork, the photos my mom loves to laugh about, give me so much anxiety I can barely breathe. I guess I’m so self conscious now that I can’t handle myself doing something in the past that I wouldn’t do now. My mom wanted to take pictures of all the old photos that I looked stupid or dorky in. Every time I felt my chest tighten and anxiety take over. As I got older I’m the pictures, I scrolled through them faster. Everyone says I’m too hard on myself, and while the logic side of me knows I am, the emotional side tells me I’m not hard enough. The truth is, I don’t know how not to be hard on myself. I kind of wonder if the reason I’m so hard on myself is because it’s a sense of comfort in a way. Grandma was always extremely hard on me, and when she passed I wonder if to avoid less change I just learned to be harder on myself like she was to me. Or if I am so hard on myself because I lack self confidence. Grandma always yelled at me because I wasn’t doing something correct, and now I’m older and am not confident, and I’m being my own abuser. Dang, I never thought of it that way. I’m being my own abuser I’m a way by being so hard on myself. Isn’t it amazing that moving my bed turned into this, that may or may not be me over thinking. Oh well. I guess since I’m talking about the photos I might as well explain the other part of going through them that bothered me so bad. When I was young in the photos (by young I mean 10 years old and younger), I was so smiley. How did I manage to be so smiley when I was going to grandmas and she was hitting me? When and why did that start to change? I know the older I got the more I was doing a fake smile, but what happened that it all changed? Maybe that’s my next thing to figure out. What happened. Or what happened right before I tried to end my life the first time in 5th grade. I guess that’s the part I still have to figure out. All I know right now is that I’m tired.

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