Pillow Spitter

This morning, I spit all over my pillow. I was having a dream in which I was in the middle of a lab class and kept making trips over to the sink. Each time I did, I would notice a tablet in a bowl of water at the bottom of the sink. The second time, I leaned into the sink and just started spitting; that was when I awoke to find myself spitting into my pillow and staring at the alarm on my real life tablet.

I'm not going to talk about how I've been. I am biased in the moment and hollow unless surrounded by people, in which case I would just be lying about how I'm feeling because I can never be sure when others are involved.

Today, I woke up and played Smite on my Xbox, as I do many days. I contemplated my next day of classes with nagging persistence, like it was somehow in my best interest to waste my free time reminding myself of time I would inevitably have to spend. Someone I play Smite with, Greg. I'm starting to freak out wondering if he's angry with me. He goes a whole day without playing with me once in a while. That's not that long, and I know it. But I feel it, especially after a string of days where we play together. I'm not interested in Greg. I'm not interested in most people. I wish he would tell me if I bother him so I could remove him from my friends list and stop seeing him log-on and occupy his time with activities that don't involve me.

A few days ago, I noticed that my ex-best friend blocked me on Xbox Live. This is a friend that I have assured myself I am better off without. In a fit of rage, I logged into her account, unblocked myself, and added her back. We have remained friends since, but then again, she's in the hospital having a baby. I'm surprised her evil boyfriend hasn't blocked me again. I've seen him on, watching Netflix, not spending time with his pregnant girlfriend in the hospital. I'm not there either. My mother was going to go see her, but she was too tired. Did she say she was going to go to feel like a good person for the whole day? Was that the plan? Does she care that she didn't actually do the thing that made her feel like a good person before neglecting to do it? I'm not sure.

I think I'm lonely. I get off on going to my old high school's football field and laying in the grass. I stargaze like all the hipster loners do, but I honestly don't care about the stars. It's all part of the act. I enjoy pacing around the field more than anything, hoping desperately that someone will show up. For any reason. Any person. And sometimes people do. I usually wish they would leave, and then leave, myself.

I have no concept of what or who I am anymore. I'm a collection of thoughts instigated by people and events adjacent to me. I hate sounding pretentious, but the part of me that actually hates it is getting tired of having to censor myself. When I feel I sound pretentious, it's only because I have some twisted idea of what pretentious people say, and then, as a "pretentious person", most everything I think up gets vacuumed into that category.

I wasn't feeling nearly this detached earlier. I spoke to people, I did normal things. I found out my refund money came in and I swelled with the excitement of having money to spend carelessly. I no longer have a best friend to splurge with. That thought hurt, I think. The friend was trouble, I think. I am better without her, I think. Do you see my confusion? Too many forces telling me how to think and feel. The media, my parents, friends, former friends, pictures of Instagram, petitions for social justice, mental health experts.

 It's too much. I am. I exist. And that is where I end. And not in the ironic sense that I end my blog here. That is where I end.

Fantasy

I have a fantasy. Have always had the same one, since I was a child. Whenever I have a moment of identity crisis, wondering what I'm doing with myself in terms of meeting people and romance, I use this fantasy as evidence that I do, indeed, want what I have told the world I want. Screamed it at the world, even. Embarrassingly so, at times, like I'm playing a broken record of "I really am gay, I can prove it!" despite the physical urgings waxing and waning in a constant flux of confusion. It really removes any sense of balance 'discovering myself' might have afforded me, but the fantasy remains.

An older man, not too much older, with only enough problems to be average in a very attractive, boy-next-door way, with all the dumb luck of the plucky hero. He rescues me, an often less-than-savory younger male who finds himself in a damsel-in-distress situation. There's nothing sexual about the many scenarios I've played out in my head about basically any man that enters my life, no matter the capacity and sometimes I don't even have to find him attractive. His fitting into my fantasy world of being rescued makes him alluring. His helping me fight in a do-or-die brawl with an evil, slasher-type third party figure, where the tension is always building and someone else has the knife every second... There's other kinds of rescue fantasies, but lately his becoming more than my savior, but also my partner whom I sometimes save myself, gives me hope. Realistically, I will never live my fantasy. Unless my life turns into a neverending horror thriller, my rescue fantasy will never be manifested. I don't really know how to take that, because I don't dream about cuddling or kissing or walks in the rain. Those things... cursory to me, mostly. Pointless shows of affection to post a status update about, to rub in other peoples' faces that yes, I am in a relationship that is better than your's.

That's what terrifies me. Am I only romantically inclined toward a person for the chance that they might fit into my protection fantasies at some point? And until then, I just have to muddle through all the gushy romance stuff? It sickens me to hit all of these locked doors in my life, all of them with an engraved plaque that reads "Oh look, another complication for your confused identity." Just when I think an out, a way to live life like SOME group, even if that group turned out to paint me as firstly, just quirky (singers, women) nerdy (outcasts, video game enthusiasts) and then eventually, what I thought was my final trial to entering normalcy, sexually deviant (homosexuals). But no, I've just gotta take as many shady detours as I can. I am not doing this. My body is literally effing with me. All the time.

I don't want to be normal. That's too much to ask for at this point and I'm not sure I could ever really adapt to that lifestyle. I want to fit somewhere, not in the sense that I'm joining a group of people, but in the sense that I can feel like what I'm thinking and feeling and experiencing can be explained by something. Instead of what has become a running joke in my life, "Are you gay?" and then my subconscious reply "No I just like a bunch of different strange things about men, and sometimes I feel like I'm overcompensating for not fitting in with guys to begin with, and sometimes I wonder if I've become so enraptured with being different that I just think I am, and sometimes I just don't care." It isn't even about homosexuality. It's about being sure of something in my life, being certain that what it seems like is what it is, no questions asked. Anything.

I'm searching for a certainty, not another stupid idea of how things should be that suddenly gets thwarted by that thing called life, which, by the way, reassures you it's NOTHING like the movies as soon as you start thinking you've seen something you're going through at a theater once.

Noticing Ends

It's been 7 months since my last entry. I don't know where my life is. I'm incredibly lost and feel like I'm drowning lately, I overthink any event that happens in my life, no matter how minute, the world is always out to get me (that's what it seems like) and I can't help but be pitiable. I don't feel creative or fun or exciting or likable. I'm a real douchebag for leaving every person I've ever known out in the dark while this joyride spirals down a long hole with seemingly no end. I'm actually seeing a specialist but I'm not sure how things are going on that end. I find myself to be a completely different person in counseling than in my daily life. Sometimes, I walk out of a session and think: "Wow, I'm completely normal," and believe it or not, as redundant and stupid as it seems, I usually follow it up with, "What gives? Why do I feel plagued all the time and then suddenly feel like I have nothing to complain about?" I almost feel gypped, that life can feel so strange and awful one moment, but the second I enter a place where I can get my feelings out... I don't know, they come out, and I feel better, but I always feel like I haven't gotten my point across, that there's something I'm not remembering. On that end, my memory is shit and my attention is shit and I'm apparently borderline ADHD and self-medicating with caffeine (I'm practically an addict by this point)

I read my last entries and I know there is something more than who I show in counseling. I'm going to have to actually trick myself. Hey, you from 7 months ago... Got ya! You're gonna prove to me that I do have more I need to say! Who would of thought I created such an awesome source of my emotions, over an extended period of time, when I posted those ravings. I believed it to be therapeutic then and I hope it pays off now.

Life update: The writing went nowhere. There is no career for me that I can see. College is something I'm still pushing away, work is something I'm still pushing away, there's practically nothing in my life I haven't shoved off once or twice. I know that it would be in my best interest to start thinking positively but... It's a lot harder than it looks and I have this insatiable urge to constantly get my stresses and problems out, and most of these deal with some serious negativity within me. I don't know if it's more therapeutic to admit to myself I have issues or mask them by giving myself compliments and admiring the things I do right. And would it be worth it to actually sit down and try to come up with some? I would be reaching, for sure. I don't do a lot of good and I don't know if I want to or maybe even how. It's like I'm drowning but, somehow, I'm content with that, on some abstract level of consciousness. I've known forever I'm a whore for pity but... I don't know, I don't think I like it enough to derail my entire existence. I mean, who have I kept around to pity me? Even just making small talk with people, I feel like I have some pityphobia. If I mention that negative event, the other person is going to mentally roll their eyes at my grabs for attention, at my fishes for compliments... For a while now, before I became a hermit, I think one of the big problems I have with communication was always worrying that what I said would make someone irritated, make someone see that I'm trying to suck all the attention out of them that I can. I walked into every conversation assuming the other person wanted out the second I said a word. And it sickened me when people would try to complain about their life and get my pity. Like, I hide all this from you to make sure you don't feel the way I do!

I'm actually starting to get angry about how many measures I've taken against pity-partying and how often it ends up happening with me on the receiving end, like I'm being punished for ever identifying as a person who really enjoys pity. I feel like people are always trying to catch me slipping or point out a mistake or accuse me of being an attention-whore, emotionless, feelingless, uncaring. And these kinds of thoughts don't happen all the time so I'm glad I could get it recorded here.

I'm linking my therapist to this blog, maybe she can shed some light. Plenty of talking points here.

No Complete Thoughts

Sometimes I get in these moods where I literally cannot complete a thought. I just get like so overcome by some emotion, be it guilt, apathy, excitement, etc. that I cannot continue thinking about what I was before. It is during these times that I can only do ANYTHING spontaneously, and so I usually end up taking the most risk and making the most mistakes. Today, I've had the mood for a while, and if I fight it, I pretty much turn into a rock and can't take action at all. I start to feel restless at the same time, but I feel like I'm stuck in one place and can't do anything and that there is no point in doing anything anyways and I would like to know why I feel this way.

I desperately want to see a specialist so I can let all my thoughts just run free and be told why I have them, why I think so much, and what about me makes me so messed up. As humans, we are all "messed up" but I have the most difficult time hiding it with the various labels we choose to hide behind. I think that our personalities are just cover-ups for the mixed emotions and constantly fluctuating motives that truly guide our lives, allowing us to retain a semblance of ordinary action, but all the while reminding someone like me just how fake people are.

See, I'm not sure if it's the mood that makes me overanalyze things this way, or if it's just regular me, and I'm so flustered that I can't stop myself from just venting any thought that comes to the forefront of my mind. I've been wanting to start writing more frequently, but I immediately dismiss it every time it crosses my mind today because of how poorly I felt my writing was yesterday. The only thing I can think to do is to never leave something with a bad feeling about it, because that feeling is going to be the only lasting impression you have of it when you think back later on. I don't even want to face the scene I wrote last night because I'm so convinced it's absolute crap that I don't have the effort to try to fix it. And oh my lord, I don't know how people can just move on and do something else ahead of it, not just in writing, but in anything. I CANNOT just skip something and come back to it, because I will always be thinking about the part I skipped, and in terms of writing, my entire vision of the future of the plot might change depending on what I skipped. So, it all feels like a waste of time.

It feels like this strange mental drowning and I can't remedy it with soothing or quiet activities, like reading or writing, because I'm so on-edge, and I can't go do adrenaline-fueled activities because I never have. And I wonder if that is part of my problem; I build up all this physical energy and have no outlet, or else deny myself an outlet, to let it all out. Because I tell myself I am not sporty. Maybe I just need to go take a run. I wonder if that would fix things... I don't know.

Re-Entering the Real World

So I'm trying to take steps to re-entering the real world. Of course, I'll never know when my Elsa phase is truly over until long after (hence the title of this blog) and I might honestly miss it. Having so much time to myself have been so freeing, and it saddens me to know that life's obligations, usually things you have literally no control over, are going to steal away any form of contentment you can muster up. If I don't return, I will be perceived as insensitive, but ultimately I think I'll be less happy to return. The world is not a good place to undergo any sort of personal changes, because they WILL affect others and reflect negatively back on you. This is sad, that I must throw away where I found comfort in order to return, only to satisfy others?

Sacrifice, sacrifice, I know. Everyone loves to talk about how you should always put others before yourself, but sometimes, I JUST WANT TO DO THINGS FOR ME. And I don't honestly care if that's "selfish," because everyone is selfish. There are a million things during the day that you could do to help others, and by failing to do them, we are all being selfish. As generalized and far-fetched as I made that sound, there must be some truth to it, or I wouldn't feel so insanely in the right. But, all fun rides have an end, and I just hope the picture taken of me comes out okay. I have a feeling it won't, but I won't know until later, when people are comfortable enough with me again to tell me what they think.

And for what am I doing this? I'm not sure. To leave a good reputation when I'm gone? I'll be gone, why do I care? I'm leaving so that I won't have to bother with reputation at all, so why do I care so damn much? I never have any idea about anything lately. It isn't until later, as per the theme of my life, that I notice how stupid my decisions were. I want to be able to look back a few months into my past, at any point in my life, and be satisfied, but it is so rare for me to be proud of who I have been.

And that, children, is sad. 

Which College?

So, I was accepted to the University of Georgia a while back, under an intended theatre major. However, upon closer inspection, I'm starting to worry that the theatre program at UGA is too general. When I was college hunting initially, I searched for Georgia colleges that offered Dramatic Writing degrees specifically, since I want to write, and not act. I'm worried that it is a little late to start re-thinking something like this, and I wish it had dawned on me sooner, but I honestly should have applied to SCAD despite how expensive it was.

People always talk about students making late college plans, and I wondered how that was possible when everything was so accessible back in October. Now, I think I know that students do this kind of thing late because they undergo this weird "I'm graduating, what do I REALLY want to do?" phase. We, as beings who enjoy stability, cannot blindly go to a nice college, and tell ourselves we will figure things out when we get there. We have to enter with some semblance of a plan, and my plan to pursue dramatic writing might be quashed if I go to UGA. I will be able to take the courses, but there don't appear to be many, and I do not want to be bogged down working in a field I enjoy, but STILL not focusing on my career (a la, a more colorful, theatre-filled repeat of high school).

I don't know if it is too late to start looking again, but it probably doesn't matter. SCAD and Emory, my original two choices, are the only Georgia schools I can find that offer specialized degrees in playwriting. A side of me refuses to accept the fact that I will just go to UGA, studying theatre generally without having what I WANT to be talented in expanded on, but some other terrifying monster of apathy is telling me just to go with it, and I'm afraid that as I grow older, I listen to this "do-nothing" attitude voice too often. I need to start being active in my life, which sounds like I'm trying to justify not attending a college I know wants me there, but... I don't know, something feels wrong about all of this. I will see, I suppose. Maybe I'll consult school guidance.

Prophet Needed, Cheap Rates

I've decided to stop worrying about all the "Selves" people can be, because its obviously natural and normal to experience such a confusing disarray of personality if everyone is doing it. I'm just going to go on assuming that the only reason no one cares and it doesn't affect them is that no one bothers to think about it, which is such a good idea. But new concepts have a way of invading your every thought once they've finally popped into being, and I'll never get away, but maybe I can convince myself I don't care. Anyways, to the topic of today:

The future is an interesting paradox. It is something that encompasses our entire being, a constant, ambiguous goal that we are always working toward, yet pay very little attention to. Or, even if we pay attention, we haven't been there and seen what it will be like, so all we can do is assume a bunch, try to train ourselves to be prepared, and hope for the best. Ever since I decided I wanted to be in chorus, I guess it was kind of set in stone that music would have SOMETHING to do with my future. I sent it to the back-burner after my first musical, deciding that acting was a better choice. So far, I have no security ahead of me, but I'm a child and I need to have dreams, it doesn't matter whether that these dreams might not come true. It was far ahead of me, so I didn't care too much. I knew I'd have to work hard to be successful in either music or theatre, but again, the time in which I would be faced with doing such hard work was so far ahead of me that it didn't seem to matter. Eventually, I took to writing. Now I was really confused, and after middle school and the beginning of high school, I just kind of mashed them altogether and decided I would write musicals. Why the heck not? I still had a few years to learn how, and college would send me into the real world completely ready for everything, right?

Well, now I'm not so sure. Of course the concept of music, plays, novels, composition, acting, and all the things related to creating musicals are deeply interesting. However, the execution of one big body of work incorporating all these concepts... will I ever finish one? And then, will it be good? And even if it is good to me, will people buy in on it? And even if people buy in on it, will everyone who needs to buy in on it to ensure profit and recognition BUY IN ON IT? Who knows? I say that I love to write, but I never do it. I try to sit there and hash out ideas, but I find myself constantly coming up with new vague concepts, starting them, and then throwing them out. The process could take months, just for the idea to be put on hold indefinitely. Is this what I want to do for a living, or what I want to want to do? Here comes the title:

I need a prophet to come out and give me a hazy vision of the future. Where, generally, will I be, and what will I be doing? Who knows? So if you're out there, gimme a call. We all worry about our futures, and isn't it so interesting that most of that worry is derived from our personal abilities? A myriad of outside circumstances could derail my future, even if I turn out to be a great composer/writer, but those things aren't important or worrying to me. I only care about whether I have the ability. Why? Maybe because these are the only things we can change? Then why do I do nothing to help myself? Why do we push the future even farther ahead of us, giving us the illusion that it will never come? It's always right around the corner, but how do I prepare for it? Should I write more? I just don't know. Can creativity be forced? I don't know. Oh well. Our futures are all unknown, and I guess that's what makes life exciting. But it would totally suck if the one thing I feel I can do, that gives me so many sensations of excitement and child-like wonder, turns out to be false.