Do you ever just sit there and think about things you’ve said and done so long ago, that it almost unsettles you? Like you sit there and question whether or not they were mistakes, whether you regret doing those things—or not doing them.
That is basically what my head is doing about 50% of every day. I’m a worrier, and all I do is wander and wonder.
Worrier, wander, wonder.
What an interesting way to put it.
Every now and then, I wonder about the morning of my high school graduation. The day I realized I wasn’t going back to Iona. My relationship with my mom, my dad, my siblings, everyone. These thoughts fly through my head on a daily basis.
I wonder if I should text one of my friends, and ask them to hang out. And then I back out, and decide to watch Sabrina the Teenaged Witch. And then I wonder why I didn’t just go out, and then I worry if I made the wrong choice, and then worry if I’m heading back into the Dark Place.
It’s like a never-ending cycle, and it is super annoying.
But I feel like I can’t help myself. Almost like, if I don’t think about these things, what am I supposed to think about? Lately, I’ve been focused on my skin. I purchased a handful of skin products, and I’ve been washing my face every day, sometimes twice. No results yet, but that makes me worry if my acne is here to stay. And I know that stress causes acne, but I just am not the kind of person who can shrug things off. Everything I’ve ever written and thought comes back to haunt me.
Just like those open letters that I wrote to my siblings and parents. I’ve told myself at least once every day since they’ve been out there, that making those public were seven huge mistakes, one after the next. And if I delete them now, there’s no point, because they’ve already been read. I already had to take the ones about my parents down from Facebook, because the other day, my mom complained to me about how her friends shove things into her face about what I put on Facebook.
Like, who the hell cares what I publish? Facebook is for fun, I almost never post anything serious on there. And yet, when me and my siblings did Christmas pictures in 2015, apparently a shit ton of people turned to my mom and had something to say about it. Like, screw you guys. Those pictures were us, having fun. We asked our dad to take the pictures, and we ended up taking a couple with him. We don’t do that kind of thing often, so why did it matter so much that it became something that ate at my mom to the point where she had something to say about it two years later?
Those people aren’t friends, those people are assholes. And I let my mom know it. I’ve done nothing to intentionally hurt her feelings, and yet, she ended up getting hurt anyway, because of those people who turned to her. So, if you happened to be one of those so-called friends: congratulations, you’re an asshole.
So even that, something so small that ate at my mom, now eats at me. Because I can’t let things go and throw them away. I hold on. I hold grudges, and I hold on to every little thing that could possibly be taken in a wrong way.
Yeah, I guess you can say that I’m hard on myself. Well, what else do you expect? This isn’t a CoverGirl ad; I’m not easy, breezy. I wish I was, but I’m not. Actually, I probably seem that way on the outside. But I know how I am.
I’m the kind of person who gives themselves migraines.
What’s funny is that I thought that I was going to write something light and fluffy and fun, because lately, I haven’t really done anything but my daily prompted pieces. And I ended up basically tearing myself apart.
Maybe I’ll have something better for you guys soon, unprompted. I feel like I need to do more improvised work. I don’t want to sound too monotone, too robot-ish—ya feel me?
Anyway, Happy Friday. Enjoy your weekend.