If I'm going to also be turning this blog into a toilet of ideas, I'm going to handle my shit my own way. In my Actual Human Home™ I have a flamingo bathroom featuring flamingo towels, rugs, toilet covers, vintage art, not vintage art, etc. This girl is desperately seeking excuses to name, theme, and artistically arrange absolute nonsense into something that makes my brain produce an iota of serotonin.
I think that's part of my problem as a person. I'm the master of going overboard. The "too much" gene is very strong in my bloodstream. Can't stop, won't stop, never stop.
Welcome to Triple D - Depression, Delusion, and Disaster.
Also maybe add a bonus D in there. Dumbass. But that's a different fiasco for a different day.
I really can't help it. When I do makeup, I cannot do it tastefully. I must shape shift into a borderline Trixie Mattel looking being. When I get on a roll at my job I will actually forget to eat because I am going all in on those old invoices. When I start watching a new show, I will finish it or die trying.
When I cry, I sob. When I laugh, I sound like a seal that inhaled too much helium.
All or nothing.
This is why I have trouble keeping a lot of friends around. I'm a lot of a person to take in. And, damn, do I know that I can get really annoying. And the friends that I do have must be extremely patient and tolerant or just as bad as I am - if not worse.
And it gets really lonely. Being so excited about something and rarely being met with the same enthusiasm. Is having the best night of your life really the same when you don't have someone to share it with?
For a while I felt like maybe I deserved to be isolated. I go through phases like that a lot. When the people you care about the most don't seem to care at all, you sometimes feel like you should move to the Arctic and live in a shack and grow your own food so you never have to be insufferable to another human being ever again. I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to be a problem. But I am overwhelmingly overwhelming.
So I tried to be less like myself. I was quieter. I stayed in more. I didn't wear my wallet chain. I brushed my hair. I didn't take my rats everywhere I went.
But it was so boring.
I want to be so much more.
I want to be something to someone.
I want to make something I'm proud of.
I want to make something of myself.
It feels like an impossible request to ask so much from the universe.
I'm feeling more like myself again each day. And I don't know if that means I'm getting worse of getting better.
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