You’ve probably noticed, but sometimes I just take to my blog and write out arbitrary crap: events that have happened or how I feel. These are the kinds of things most people share with family members or close friends, but I have communication issues. I’m not just saying that – I find it nearly impossible to speak about how I feel or things that I feel are important. I rarely offer anything other than superficial information unless seriously prompted, and I continue to offer these irrelevant tidbits to those in my life because it makes them feel less removed.
That’s why I’ve always written, I suppose. Before, my notebooks received all this information. I would stay up until unreasonable hours of the morning pouring out emotions. Now a lot of it goes here… makes me feel less guilty about not talking, because in a way I am still telling someone. Maybe writing is still a form of internalisation, but it lessens the pressure inside of me.
I’ve been trying to work on it… mostly because my mother sort of found out about some stuff, and told me if I didn’t start communicating she’s going to effectively ground me. I don’t think I’ve been grounded in years. The thing is, she doesn’t understand how difficult it all is for me, and I can’t tell her because I am incapable of proper communication. I used to write her letters when it was too hard for me to talk about, but nowadays I don’t know what to say and what to keep inside. I don’t want to burden her, or anyone, and I don’t want anybody peering too closely into my life.
I guess all this was why I agreed to go to a therapist/psychiatrist person. “What harm can it do?” I thought. But I only went once. The prospect of a weekly appointment, the expectation that I would tell this strange woman how I feel, the requirement to journal (which actually made me stop writing for a while)…. it was all too much in my anxiety-ridden brain. The next week I was supposed to go she was out of town, and then I just kept quiet about it in hopes my mother would forget. Which she did. I know I really need to go, to learn coping methods and communication, but I can’t bear to even bring it up. With worrying about Latin, college, work, tutoring, next year’s schedule…. I’m going to go insane if there’s another thing I have to think about.
Like I said, I really haven’t been doing well lately, but I’m trying desperately hard to remedy it. I’m staying on my own for a few days because I’m housesitting, so maybe I’ll be able to kind of reset. ‘Cause people, even my family, tend to stress me the hell out.
This ^^ is a very interesting concept.
I’m not saying I necessarily have it, and if I do it’s probably quite mild. But a lot of the descriptions and definitions just make sense…