2 posts tagged “vox”

NOTICE BEFORE READING:  This post is not a silly attempt to get people to say "oh, Crashtastic, please keep writing on vox!!!" or to get comments along the lines of "I will miss your sparkling wit and glorious angst!"  No.  I'm not one of those people who feels the need to make an annoncement about not writing a blog for a while just to get comments like the aforementioned.  Below is what I think, what I mean, and I will not be accepting comments or opinions on the matter.  I have the opinion of a medical professional who has my best interest at heart, and that, frankly, is all I need.  IF any of you would like to stay in contact with me after today, you know where to find me.  If you don't know where to find me, there's probably a reason for that, and I wish you the best.  Anyway, that said...

This afternoon there was this beautiful, albeit slightly fucked-up girl (guess!) sitting in her shrink's office talking about last week and how on one day basically way too many things happened to make said girl angry, in fact, so angry that she burst a blood vessel in her eye (are those blood vessels or capillaries or what?)  We talked about the man who phoned at work to tell me everything's my fault (my boss set him straight on that, however) and then we talked about my blog and all the craziness I've been going through here (which most of you don't know a thing about despite what you think and I'm still not dishing) and all the craziness I've previously gone through at sites like myspace (a man from a previous job began stalking me through info found on my previously public page, among other little adventures that have happened to me over the years because of this site), bloop, open diary, and the like.  The shrink said, "why not do yoga or something instead of blogging, which just opens you up to all kinds of negative feedback?"  Brilliant.  And true.  Blogging openly, honestly (sometimes too honestly), and seriously about your issues and your life opens you up to negative feedback that will be detrimental to your work in therapy.  And this is not a game, people.  I do have a disorder.  I know that.  I'm dealing with that.  And I refuse to let anyone who gets the privilege of reading this to fuck that up for me.  I've done it so many times in the past, and why?  There are reasons.  But when it comes down to it, anyone (certainly NOT just me) who writes the way I do about the things I do will catch stalkers and meanies along the way.  People who want nothing more than to see my progress go backward, to see my beautiful (though perhaps sick) little world come crashing down.  That's just the way it is.  Believe it or not, there are unsavory characters in the world.  Even here on vox.  Not kidding.  Some of you may think I am one of them, in which case you would be absolutely wrong.  Everything I write here has a purpose and a purpose for good.  If you don't interpret what I write in that way, you may want to examine the negative filters you are looking through to twist my words.  That's you, though....that isn't me.  I refuse to take responsibility for that.

So what now?  Stop writing a blog?  Honestly, writing this blog has helped me.  You've fucking read it!  You see what is here...Now imagine keeping all that bottled up inside and then also imagine what it would be like when it all comes rushing out at once.  I clearly need an outlet.  I am clearly a writer with artistic ability.  Is this not the best outlet for me?  Perhaps not.  My therapist, for one, thinks not.

Although vox is like...2% of my time....it is still part of my time and it still affects my life, believe it or not.  Anyone who says their blog doesn't affect their life has a boring blog.  These are sensitive topics I write about here...and.... 

Maybe this is a bad idea.  What makes it a bad idea is where you come in.  Not most of you, but the ones who wish me ill (believe me, they are out there and they are NOT in my head, they are true flesh and blood living people, I have the emails and private messages to back this up should it ever come to that).  In short, maybe opening up your every thought to public scrutiny is a bad idea.  Maybe that is why therapy is in a small room with only one other person.  Maybe that is why sometimes people with my disorder are treated in hospitals.  Because it's important that it be done correctly so that no one gets hurt.  Do you not know the extreme consequences of therapy failing for me???  Death, my sweets.  Fucking death and I'm not even half kidding.  Those of you who know me well know I'm not kidding.  That's 3 people.  Jay, Rich, and the gorgeous Christina.  The rest of you know what I write here and what I write here alone and looking back, I cringe to think of the portrait that paints of me. 

In actuality, I am very intelligent, ambitious, kind, friendly, loving, adventurous, whipsmart, pretty, sexy, charismatic, personable, delightful to be around, moody, talented, a creative genius, a person you can trust with your fiercest secrets....and more.  You will find few of those things here on my blog.  That's too bad, I guess.  You see only the sickness, maybe...

...And yet I allow comments.  From anyone.  From strangers!  What kind of masochist am I!?!?  I write down my most private thoughts and then allow strangers to comment on them, to tell me what they think, as if they know the whole story.  That's not helpful.  Sure, some comments are encouraging, that is true.  But what about the ones that are not?  What about the strange ones who always seem to find me who have nothing better to do than to write passive-aggressive little messages to our little heroine?  What about them?  Is it worth it?  Will the kind strangers outnumber the evil little nobodies that for some reason (jealousy?  blind hatred?) want me to fail in...life?  Why is it that when some people see something lovely and successful they just want to crash it down?  Are they so insecure that they think taking out one more pretty, smart, talented girl in the world will make room for them to be cared for?  I have known at least 2 girls who used to be actual friends of mine who have confessed to trying to do this to me, out of jealousy (thus the chubby girl entry).  There's a story here:

One girl told me that she and I were just like the characters in that movie, "The Truth About Cats and Dogs" and she was Janeane Garofalo (the short, chubby, plain one who was smart) and I was Uma Thurman (the tall, thin, pretty blonde one, who was dumb) and that that is why all the guys went after me and not her and how she secretly hated me for it.  And then I said, except I'm not dumb.  I have been an A student most of my life.  She realized her error and felt even worse about herself.  I hadn't intended it that way, but like hell I was going to allow her to call me pretty and dumb.  That's simply untrue.  I'm SICK of having to apologize and/or "dumb down" for the jealous bitches who don't want anyone to be SMART and PRETTY and TALENTED and WONDERFUL.  They want everyone to have a fatal flaw, and I suppose I do....and that is my struggles with wanting to live in the world.  I know it must be really hard for people to understand why someone like me would not want to live (poor little rich girl, right?)  Well, it's called an illness and in no way is it my fault and in no way will I ever apologize for being who I am.  Especially not to girls like the aforementioned who can't see what is beautiful about themselves, but only look to what others have that they do not....and then blame girls like me.  That's really sad.  Story over.

So....I don't know the answer.  I don't know if this is good for me.  I don't know if it ever has been.  I've been publicly blogging for 11 years now.....and I'm starting to think the peanut gallery isn't working.  When you blog as part of your therapy for an illness (mine being borderline personality disorder, ocd, et al) it sometimes seems more wise to not accept comments from anyone, or only have entries visible to yourself.  I don't know.  Why does anyone blog?  It seems like an egotistical thing to do, I suppose, but for me....it means survival in the mind and body I was born with and I am doing my best to play the cards I was dealt in the best way I can, utilizing my natural talent:  Writing.  But are these words for anyone else to view?  Maybe not.  Maybe I'm only putting them out there for criticism because I want to hurt myself and I know from 11 years of experience that people on sites like this can be assholes (there's some degree of anonymity some people find irresistable, I suppose) and that the subjects I write on will ultimately attract those who want to hurt instead of help.  11 years, people, of data to back that up.  And while it would be the easiest answer to say, "oh Crash, it's just you....you just create these issues for yourself, it can't possibly be that there are so many nuts in the world," that answer doesn't hold up.  Trust me, it doesn't.  The easiest answers hardly ever do....and believe it or not, I'm not the little instigator you may think I am.  Not always.  Not usually.  

And anyway, does my blog help anyone besides me?  I have no idea.  If it did, I would consider keeping it.  But at this time....it's private entries all the way unless I'm writing something as benign as a book review.  If you want to know about my crazy life and read my writing, you'll have to pay for it.....in the near future.  Let's say, within 2 years.  I'll let you know.  A handful of you are great people.  Aside from the few, I'll just say:

See you, space cowboys, drama queens, phonies, and haters.  It's been.... 

Am I a huge loser because this show terrifies me?  It's on right now and I am literally writing in the comfort of my Vox because I am all alone in the living room, it's dark, and I am afraid.  Lucky for me it is only a half hour show.  Of course, it is usually on 2 in a row, so I end up subjecting myself to an hour of heart palpitations.  Then I go to bed and try not to think about the nasty ghoulies and creatures that could "get me" when I am in that most vulnerable sleep state.

I have always been fascinated by the paranormal and that is something that will stay with me until I die.  I love to be scared!  Being scared is exciting.  Oh dear God....now there's an old lady on who is having her house be haunted by (how fitting) another old lady.  Old ladies are sort-of freaky, but in a good way.  Have you ever read Stephen King's short story...I think it's called "The Grandmother"?  What he writes about in that story is seriously a little spoken about childhood fear.  I used to have nightmares all the time as a child that my grandmother and I were driving in the city and all at once she died and I had to try to take over driving the car, only I was a little child and didn't know how to drive.  Way stressful!

Please feel free to leave a comment...you know, for comfort.  :)