Up Late Thinking

Negative self talk is loud right now.

I see signs of depression in me.

I think too much. I worry about what people think of me. I worry about: being in the way, talking too much, not talking enough, walking properly, dressing properly, looking just right, speaking just right, breathing too loudly, laughing too much, not smiling enough.

My therapist says my sister seems to have more of identification with her aggressor because she’s still there at home. Any division between me and the mother is pretty good for me. If I’m less attached then that’s a good thing. He said there may have always been some part of me that knew she was wrong but that part didn’t get a lot of attention because I was too busy playing psychologist with her. I was too busy being her shoulder to cry on, her clown, her whipping boy and dress up doll.

Since I was a kid my mother told me I have a smart mouth. I know that to be true. I know my mouth can easily get me in trouble however, I also think my mouth is one of my strong points.

It’s been 3 days since I heard another human being speak to me. I get lonely. Fife Junior was home during the holiday but my short interaction with him wasn’t good. In his anger about his sister canceling Christmas he decided my clothes were in the dryer too long and tossed them on the floor in the kitchen. This is one angry and hostile house. I don’t appreciate being the one who is expected to keep a level head. Guess who snaps from time to time? Yup, that would be me.

I do a lot of yelling on my blog but I don’t do a lot in real life.

I’m stuck with my newest painting. I finally got her skin tone right but I’m stuck on the background. I suppose there’s no deadline for this but I’m an impatient artist. I want it done now.

When my mother would go into detail about what she was going to do to me later that day I’d look her in the eye and pretend to listen. While she talked I pictured myself taking a razor blade from my jaw on the right side and slashing her face. She’d never see it coming. The whole time she went on and on about this and that restraint, this and that object that would be inserted I’d think about my left hand coming out of nowhere to slash her face. Yes, it’s violent and perhaps shocking but it was my way of having some sort of control over a sadist.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009-2 am EST