Real Talk (cliche as hell)

Do you ever feel like a complete fraud? Like the person you tell the world is you couldn't be further from the truth?

I do.

On so many levels.

Since high school I've been describing myself as a "hippie" who is anti-war, pro-love, against violence and prejudice. I truly am against war and killing; such acts are plagues on our race.

But I am filled with such anger at times. I can't pull off the serene, ethereal, go with the flow attitude. There are times when my anger feels like it's going to rip me apart. Not only do I feel hate and rage (directed primarily at specific persons) but years of battling with my brother who has always expressed his anger physically has trained me to instinctively react physically; I have been taught by example that fighting (whether offensively or defensively) is the only way to get the message across (or survive).

This sounds a lot darker than anything actually was. Granted there were times when my brother's rage frightened me, but ultimately we simply rough-housed, as siblings do.

But how can I sit here and condemn violence when my own anger wants to lash out?


On another point, I've been believing myself to suffer from self-diagnosed depression for a few years. Granted "mood disorder" is technically on my medical record for the doctors to check up on, but nobody has diagnosed depression officially. There's a familial history, so it's not exactly a stretch, but how do I know that I didn't just make it up? Obviously everyone knows the power of suggestion. Ever since high school I've had this sneaking feeling that I wanted to be edgy or something so I took some sign of feeling "down" and mentally amplified it causing symptoms that wouldn't have shown up if I hadn't decided I was going to be depressed. That sounds like a terrible attention-getting stunt doesn't it?

I've been rejecting the suggestion of talking to a counselor for awhile now even though it would probably help unscramble my head. Part of this is because I had a counselor in grade school whom I loved dearly that passed away a few years ago; it took me awhile to get comfortable with her as it was, I didn't want to start all over again. Plus I'm weirdly part prideful in the sense that I should be able to handle my shit and it's nobody else's business. (and yet I'm quick to confide in some people the sordid details as if it's no big deal). But the bigger part of why I don't want to talk to anyone is that I am secretly worried that they're going to tell me that there's nothing wrong with me: that I am in fact just a lazy spoiled young person that has made up issues to get out of taking responsibility for my life.

There are days when I feel anything but normal (of course there's no such thing, but tell my brain that) and yet they seem to be outnumbered by days where I fear that I secretly am normal and therefore there is nothing special about me. How freaking sick is that? Like having mood issue is something to be "proud" of because it makes me unique (which is statistically untrue).


Then there's the fact that I still identify myself as a writer but I write something every once in a blue moon (ironically there is a blue moon next week but that's neither here nor there). I don't feel the need to write like I used to, there's no release or catharsis in it anymore for me. That went away when I stopped feeling...or at least when my emotions leveled out...
Yeah I'm not buying that excuse either but hey, at least I'm not falling into the depths of despair. There's something to be said for numbness if it keeps you sane. It's still a pain in the ass though.


Well these have been some thoughts from the hormone-hyped brain of Bridget (yes it's that bloody week har har [unintended]) but there's a storm coming in and i better batten down the hatches not to mention get my laptop inside.

if anyone actually reads this,, don't judge me too harshly please,
introspection is hard enough

B