I haven't been happy for a long time.

I hate that this is true, and I wish I could say this without fear of being told I'm just overreacting or "being a baby".

I usually get along with my father, but I can't show any emotion aside from neutrality around him or else he gets annoyed.

Because I'm just being a typical emotional woman, irrational and weak, obviously. I'm not allowed to be legitimately angry or sad because that's just childish, right, dad?

I do hate getting angry though, because I always end up crying. If I didn't have the awful habit of bursting into tears, I would enjoy being angry a lot more. I wish I could swallow my weak, tearful instincts and be cold and calm. I wish I could look someone in the eye and tell them exactly what I think of them and their bullshit without the threat of tears. My father ceases to take me seriously when I'm crying, and that upsets me even more. Because when am I more serious than when I'm crying? I'm not begging for sympathy or attention. I want to be listened to, and he doesn't listen to me.

He doesn't care.

My mother tries to be understanding but I know she can't really do anything else. She knows, too. I'm just her pathetic, 23-year old daughter who hasn't accomplished anything beyond college graduation in the last year and who has no clue what she wants to do with the rest of her life.

I'm a lazy, stupid, confused waste of flesh that walked out of a job after just a month because I was too sensitive and too inexperienced to handle it.

My father loves reminding me of my inexperience.

I want to get as far away from my family as possible. They make me feel 1 inch tall. Not as successful and brilliant as others my age. I'm sick of being the baby.

I'm depressed. The thing I want most in the world is privacy. A place of my own that is all my own, where no one else can trespass and where I can live how I like, all alone, until I die.

Life is like a board full of holes cut into different shapes, and I don't fit into any of them. I don't feel like I belong. Not anywhere, and not with anyone. It's an awful feeling to have because when you try to tell someone, they don't understand. They think you're just being silly.

It's a lonely, frustrating feeling. I can't relate with other people. Being surrounded by people you can't understand and relate with is terrible because it means you're constantly being reminded of your own strangeness, and the fact that you don't "fit".

I don't know what to do.

Guns and Paranoia

I had a discussion with someone about a week ago about gun ownership and 2nd amendment rights. They believe that gun ownership and concealed carry contribute to "fear of guns" and widespread paranoia. That the presence of armed citizens somehow creates a hostile environment of suspicion and impulsive actions.

I disagree with this entirely. What does contribute to a fear of guns, widespread paranoia, hostile environments and impulsive actions is the complaints from anti-gun alarmists. Instead of encouraging the education of individuals in gun use, its history, and other related topics, they try to eradicate it altogether because it's apparently too dangerous and too scary of a subject. Guns are bad, they are dangerous, and they are unpredictable, they say. I probably don't have to add that these are people who have likely never touched a gun in their lives.

Fear of the unknown. That's what it's about. We fear that which we do not understand, and fear of firearms is exactly the same thing for these people. Instead of seeing how an innocent person could use a gun to protect themselves and prevent a crime from happening, they say "someone could have gotten hurt or even killed". It doesn't matter that the person just saved their own life without having to fire a shot.

But the media reports stories of shootings in a manner that suggests they happen everywhere all the time, and do not provide sufficient facts and details. They select pieces of events and fabricate a story in order to spread fear and paranoia that gun violence is rampant, and a product of mere gun ownership (legal or otherwise), as if simply having a gun in your possession makes you want to go out and kill someone. As if guns either have a free will of their own or somehow manipulate a person's mind and turn them into monsters.

Responsible, well-trained gun owners would probably tell you that they wouldn't want to fire their weapon unless they truly felt they had to. Only under the most perilous circumstances would they choose to use excessive force to deter a criminal. If it means killing that person in order to save themselves, then so be it. The criminal has paid their price.

No, I do not believe that a community teeming with gun owners is liable to turn into one big high noon showdown. If anything, it will be a community where a man respects his neighbor and the neighbor respects him, and where crime decreases as criminals run out of vulnerable targets.

Update

A lot has happened since my last post, but I'm still stuck in a rut of confusion and apprehension. So maybe not much has happened after all?

I walked out of my job because of a person I couldn't work with and since then I've been working on a portfolio and trying (re: failing) to get my life organized and set on the right track.


Why am I holding myself back from accomplishing things? Why am I so lazy?

Does this all sound familiar and annoying? Because it sure does to me.

Every day goes by so fast and I'm left wondering, at the end of the day, what my life is going to amount to. So far it hasn't amounted to much.

There has to be some reason why I'm preventing my own life from happening.

I will be 23 in less than a month and I still don't know what I want to do with my life

I start work sometime next week, and in the meantime I need to figure out what to do from there. I've decided not to pursue a graduate program at Purdue University Calumet since their graduate program for English majors centers around just teaching. Lame. I regret not saying "f*ck it" and applying to art school 5 years ago, knowing that while I would be up to my eyeballs in debt, at least I'd be working towards something I actually cared about. So that's one of the reasons I still try to keep drawing and painting; I'm aware that I have some talent, at least, in that area, and I believe it could serve some kind of purpose later on in my life. I think I should work harder in my drawing to improve, and maybe I can construct a modest portfolio and do something with that. I don't want to be just good enough to do greeting cards; I want to be good enough to illustrate children's books, or draw a comic (if I have the patience), or design characters and environments for shows and films. Do storyboards and that kind of thing.



I just feel so lost, as always.

I need to get back into writing things other than half-assed declarations of my continued existence

    Dyl balanced the cigarette on her lip at a 40 degree angle, revved the chainsaw, and began to cut. The grinding chain shrieked and moaned as bits of frozen tissue shot away from the point of contact like tiny rockets. Her wiry arms shook under the machine’s raw power with each descent into the limb’s hardening flesh.
    The chain struck earth, kicking up thick clots of clay and withered grass. She turned off the saw and let it drop to the icy ground with a heavy, resounding thud. She regarded her work with a practiced eye. The minuscule droplets of her breath intermingled with curling tendrils of smoke as she nudged the leg back into alignment with the rest of the body with the scuffed toe of her boot.
    It looked like a life-size Ken doll, stiff and motionless with its removable parts. The only thing off was the face -- eyes closed, no grin. She knelt over the head and placed her gloved hands on either side of the victim’s face, using her thumbs to tug the pursed blue lips into a smile.

No go.

    She sat back on her heels and studied the horizon. The sun’s feeble rays competed with the occasional 20-mile per hour gusts that rattled the blackened tree branches and sprayed snow off the roof of her old Victorian farmhouse.

    She lived, literally, in the dead center of nowhere. The epicenter of nothingness. The nearest roads were unmarked strips of country gravel that kicked up dust and made speeds over 30mph a challenge. The surrounding horizon stretched on for what Dyl figured were hundreds of miles; one flat field after another. A few windbreaks here and there, but little else. She liked the isolation, the uninterrupted privacy. Her house was perched on the only hill in the area, and she would always be able to see if someone was coming.

But no one ever did, and that was just fine with her.

    Dyl took one last pull on her cigarette, then placed it between her victim’s lips. A strong gust of wind sent the ash toppling over, blowing into a pair of cavernous nostrils and clinging to 2-day old stubble. Dyl wiped it away, then pushed the cigarette all the way into the mouth. She forced the lips shut, but the jaw hung slack. She’d have to do something about that. There was caulk in the garage. 

Kate has yet to take over

I sound crazy, don't I? Like I'm awaiting the moment my other personality awakens and turns me into someone else?

I wish this were the case, actually. So, I made what could either be looked at as a huge mistake or a wise, but challenging, decision.

I decided not to further pursue a full time job that pays $10 an hour. Okay, before the hypothetical audience asks why I would turn this job down, let me explain myself. It wasn't an easy decision for me to make. I was called back for three interviews total; I attended each of them. The last one is the decider, the 5-hour observathon where I spent 4 hours behind the front desk, saying hi to anyone who walked in and serving beverages when they were asked for. Some points were very busy with people coming in; others were incredibly dull and I had nothing to do but sit and pretend I had something interesting to look at, even though there was nothing. At 4:05 I told the woman working the front desk/coordinator position I was applying for that I wasn't sure I could handle this. I should have specified that I wouldn't be able to juggle school with a full time job, but she understood and let me go a few minutes later.

The whole time I was there I felt awkward, uncomfortable with myself, and I was in the way (the area behind the front desk was quite cramped). It's hard to smile and look at ease when you aren't expected to actually DO anything, but at the same time you know you have to do SOMETHING. I stuck out because I wasn't working there; I probably looked like some random pasty girl just sitting back there awkwardly, trying to force my stiff face into an easygoing smile while looking important, like I served an actual purpose.

But it just didn't feel right to me. The cons outweighed the pros. I'm volunteering my time and knowledge at my local library to help teachers teach adults how to speak English as a second language (ESL). Keep in mind this is volunteering, not a paid position. However, I think I will grow to enjoy it and it's a valuable experience. I also want to use this as an opportunity to improve my people skills, which need a lot of improvement, and figure out how to loosen up, have fun, and become a somewhat competent helper in tutoring. The people I've met so far are very nice and also very direct, which I appreciate. I hate vagueness. To me, that shows a person who can be deceptive and manipulative. I appreciate honesty and concise answers.

One of the more obvious reasons why I chose to not further pursue the full time job is that they are looking for a committed employee; someone who will stay with the company for a long period of time, someone who will help the company grow. I can not commit to it, as it is not my career goal, and I wouldn't feel right working this job for a few months and then have to quit because of school. That would be more work for them to go through, and that wouldn't be fair to them.

What I want is part-time work, something I can juggle with being a full time student. (Not to mention the perks of being a student which include insurance and discounts).

I return!

So I've neglected this place quite a lot and I know I need to do more writing. I've been focusing more on drawing and figuring out what do to with my life. Or what life I have, anyway.

I'm always talking about being a better person, and for awhile now I've been thinking about how I'm much more kick-ass in my head than in reality. Let's call this figment of my imagination "Kate". My hidden, other self who is outgoing, fun, likable, clever, witty, confident, and motivated. She has style, class, and attracts people who are just as awesome as she is.

Why can't I be Kate? Why am I so self-aware as to be crippled by my inhibitions and discomfort? Why do I care what others think of me? Why do I naturally stiffen up when I'm around other people? Why can't I stop feeling ugly, stupid, antisocial, boring, lazy, and pathetic all around?

Kate lives up in my head, but I want so badly to bring her to life -- to be her.

Is it weird that I have an alter ego in my mind who often does and says really badass things that I imagine I could've done in situations that ended up being so awkward? I don't want to stand out, and yet I do. I want to be noticed by people I admire. I want to be admired. I want to have some influence in the world.


Of course, Kate is prettier than me. I can't say how, but I suppose her confidence and superior sense of style have something to do with it. She always has something funny and witty to say, and she always makes people laugh. Everyone loves talking to her. Her voice doesn't sound weird. She doesn't say awkward things at awkward moments. She thinks before she talks -- and she doesn't talk too fast.

I want so badly to be this girl. To be interesting, to be the person with friends that always want to hang with her. To be assertive, and to do things right. To be calm at all times.

Sometimes I wish my life was like Stanley's in The Mask, where he puts on a mysterious mask and suddenly his alter ego takes over, and he runs wild through Edge City, getting away with whatever he wants. He's charismatic, funny, adventurous, and magnetic. I wish Kate would take over sometime. She can use an outing.