I cannot remember yesterday too well. I went to work, I worked, I came home at 1:30. Icleaned some and then I retreated to my room. I was tired and considered sleeping, but I had a doctor’s meeting and I had no idea when my mom would be back home. Also, if I did sleep, I’d be woken up and be groggy.
Well, my mother and I left. We got in there and tried to replay things for Wynn and stuff. I cannot really remember. One, I could not follow up on half the conversation. Two, my head hurt. Two, they were annoying me. By the time we left I told my mom what I was thinking whenever a freakishly lucid thought came around. The memorable one is “I want to damn you all to hell.” Thing is though, that pleased her. Why? Because I was helping them and making progress in saying my feelings and thoughts. Bah.
Well, I am sorry I have a tendency to be courteous and polite. Also, if I were to keep it up, I’d likely curse everyone – including the kids at the library, because I certainly have many unwholesome thoughts when in there.
Anyway, all I remember really is that they want me on another med to help me with my “anxiety”. I see it more as frustrated, pissed off and aggitated. They seem to just smile at that thought and dismiss it. What is the point of me telling them “how I am feeling and thinking” when they pretty much find it funny? Yes, the Wynn-woman found things I said humorous. Bah. She seems to find most of the things I say to be funny. Good for her.
The other thing I remember is that they continued on about “what I want” and my “happiness”. Bull. The thing I ultimately concluded in what went on in the whole converstaion is that they want me happy, but on their terms. “We want you happy, but we also feel you need to expand your horizons and gain a better sense of independence.”
Well, that is lovely, but is that not a bit contradictory? Gain a sense of independence, but it would be best that I do it in a way that satysfied what you think I need? What if what you think will help me find happiness tends to lead only to what I consider annoying to the point that I am daming people and wanting to punch walls again – because yesterday I did want to punch something.
Bastards.
Want me to be happy? Bull.
It sort of reminds me of something my mother mentioned before. It took her a while to accept that despite I am “smart” I do not have the same goals as her expectations had been and she had to deal with that reality. Well, perhaps that is the same here? Maybe Wynn thinks for me to gain hapoiness in my life I must learn to interacts with people, gain independence and a bunch of other bull she believes I NEED.
Well, I can interact with people. I just don’t strive for it. She goes, well just be around people. I say, I am sorry, but that is impractical as far as I am concerned. Why should I put energy at all in a person I will only see once? What is worthwhile in that? If I am going to interact, I would rather it be focused on someone I intend to know by name and will see more than every once in a while in passing like passing a stranger on the street every other day.
Besides, it was she, my mother and my whole hearted agreement when mentioned that I sound like a schitzoid. I’m sorry, I don’t care for people like most would. They do not interest me. Sure, I do noot mind watching them, but I find no other real interest. I do not relate and idon’t care to relate considering that the things they find interesting goes over my head and sparks no fascination in me.
Sigh.
Last night I thought of this fsort of analogy/metaphor/whatever. Perhaps I am like a show music box that one collects. There is much contentment in just sitting there and looking pretty. It is calm and will be well taken care of. Then thereare them. They are like people who like to play the box. Every once in a while they come by to make it play.Then it is forced to “perform”. It does as the person wishes. Keep turning the key, however, or play with it rather than let it rest in its rightful place… The kinks will wear and the box will cease playing. The box will become worn and possibly break from too much use.
What that meant at the time, I cannot recollect quite exactly, but the analogy is quite clear in meaning. I’m a wind up toy that does not need to be “alive” like other kinds. While other music boxes are supposed to be played constantly, like a jack-in-the-box, a noise maker, etcetara… Maybe I am just a different kind of “music box”.
Sigh.
Oh well and god damn it – perhaps even a few fuck it all’s.