1.5.2000

There's something very scary in everything. I'm nervous and I don't know why. Looking at people's pages makes me nervous, checking my e-mail makes me nervous, opening the computer makes me nervous.
The things that should make me nervous don't. I'm not at all enerved about getting to uni. I just don't care anymore. I'm not nervous about ICQ. I'm not scared of making a fool out of myself (or perhaps I am?). I'm not scared of pain or death or injuries.
I happened to read something that made me feel really ill tonight. It wasn't intended as such, I'm pretty sure. It was some memory or other. I'm not going to get into details here. But I thought I'd choke when I read it. And I thought I'd throw up.

I remember one occasion when I was a kid and I was so angry at someone for some reason. I can't explain that feeling. I think I was ready to try to kill someone if they gave me any excuse for it. I couldn't have been more than 5 years old because it was summer and I didn't live here yet.
I just didn't know what to do with that hatred. I had no idea. I couldn't deal with it any way either. There was no way I could think of getting rid of it. Because I wanted to get rid of it, I wanted it to go away. I tried to distract myself for a while, I kept staring at some flowers and thinking I should stop feeling the way I did. I think the next thing I did was start running because I knew I didn't have to think of it if I run. It was just… utterly horrible. The feeling of hatred was tearing me apart and at the same time I was anxious to get rid of it. I think I thought then that it wasn't allowed. There was the hatred and the anxiety at the same time. It was horrible. Completely, utterly horrible. Which is probably why I still remember it.

I knew someone once who had a series of violent fights with his parents. There were footprints up the walls and that kind of stuff. He had a good reason for his anger and anxiety and I suppose he knew it. Because although I think now that I had a good reason for all my hatred etc. I could never allow myself to express it (and I didn't believe I had a reason for it then). I just couldn't. I threw a book to a wall once and it left a gap there. It was a conscious decision. I wondered for a long while if I should or shouldn't. I just had to try what it felt like to express some of the anger. And I was scared the whole time. I knew I was doing wrong.
I've yelled at my parents occasionally. I've snapped at them, and sometimes, if I've felt especially brave I've slammed a door. Which has usually left me feeling afraid. Because I know slamming doors is wrong (and because the noice I make hurts my ears and I'm afraid of loud noices). It's just… I think of fights that end up with footprints all over the walls and I feel ill. I think of the pain and hatred he must've felt and I can imagine it. Because I've felt angry enough to kick the walls and to run around the house with knives. But I can't get it out. I can't let it out. There's no way I would do that if I can help it. Because if I've learnt anything ever in my life, it is that emotions are wrong. Expressing those emotions is even worse. Were they positive or negative. Emotions are just plain wrong.

Surely I know it isn't so. I just can't deal with them. I'm too tired to deal with them. The guy with footprints had Prozac, at least. I guess it must have helped. At least he said it had.
There's two options, either I'm too tired to deal with my emotions or then I'm tired because I don't deal with my emotions. Or both, they aren't mutually exclusive. I was thinking, when I read the self-injury note that quite many of the things listed matched with me. It's just the way it is.

I don't know why I've been thinking of this since Friday. I think it might have contributed to my bad mood. Or then it initiated the bad mood altogether. It might be connected to my urge to cut, even. Either that, or something has pissed me off. I don't know.

Oh, I forgot. I once threw a fork towards my sister. I took good care it wouldn't hit her but I was still terrified it would. It didn't, of course. I only did it because she wouldn't stop yelling at me and I just couldn't bear it anymore. Of course I got beaten up for it, more or less. I don't think I would've done it otherwise but I was put in quite an impossible situation. But no more crap about that.

Hatred makes me freeze somehow. I can't function. I can't feel my body, I can't do anything to get it out because it gets locked inside me in the most peculiar way. It always finds its way out later on but in smaller doses. They're easier to deal with, of course. But the point is that I can't do anything with the hatred. I can't cut it to pieces then. I can't do anything with it. I know it's there but sometimes I can't even feel it. It's like a catatonic shock, you know. You just can't do anything about anything but it doesn't really matter because you aren't really there either. It's quite an okay state of mind, actually. Although it makes me completely incapable of protecting myself. But I guess that's the whole point of it. The same freezing reaction some animals have when they are threatened and can't find a way of escaping. If you're just still enough it will pass.

The hatred that I have stored inside me makes me snap at people occasionally. Someone told me I was cranky but she had never seen me angry. I don't think I'm ever angry in a noticeable way. I'm cranky in a noticeable way. Some people think I'm angry then but it's nothing like my hatred. Because I'm really good at hating. Which is noticeable by the way I bitch about A. (or then it isn't).
Oh, whatever. I always babble too much.

Index.