The only thing between you and me is the wall I jealously guard

The last couple of days have been a curious series of events. And I'm not sure how to feel about any of it. Actually, that isn't even true. I know how I felt.

I've been swinging violently from the highest of highs, to the most absurd rages. Just total anger for no real reason. There isn't a real reason for it, things are actually going fairly well in my life.

I've recently hooked up with an old childhood friend, Mat and I have been arguing very little, I've been doing people's hair, I've been out and active fairly regularly.

But maybe this is the problem. Maybe it's that I've stepped too far away from where I'm used to residing.

I was going to make today's blog entry about makeup and clothes. About the different masks and armor I have worn to protect me from the people who surround me. And I think I'll touch on that.

So here's the thing...I've always been different. I've been everything from a drama queen to a quiet lurker. And in school I had a very small group of people who stuck by my side, for the most part I was disliked, treated with disdain. Treated like a carrier of the plague. I've always been different and awkward. For many reasons.

First of all, in my childhood my family were Jehovah's Witnesses. And let me tell you, being raised in the equivalent of a cult (especially in a small town in the Midwest) is one hell of a way to turn a kid into an outcast.

But on top of that, I'd been home-schooled until I was of 5th grade age, but stayed behind a year because I just didn't get everything, and my social skills were lacking.

And the crowning sign that screamed 'DIFFERENT!' was that I behaved differently, I expressed myself differently.

My teenage years were hell. Picked on, teased, bullied, attacked, ostracized, and spoken down to... Ignored, unwanted. You bet.

I wasn't ever asked to go to parties, go to dances, or even to dance when I went. I wasn't asked out by people. The few boyfriends I had between middle school were guys I asked out, and its an embarrassingly small number.

So, when the actual outcast thing started to kick in, I suited up every day in my 'armor'. First it was the goth clothing.

A slouchy looking set of bondage pants (almost always in black), some sassy, dark t-shirt (occasionally a tank top or long sleeve), huge hoodies, and either massive boots or skater shoes. To be fair, occasionally I woke massive, angry looking boy-styled bondage pants too. Always full of chains and straps.

Then I discovered the jewelery. Angry looking leather bracelets, rings on multiple fingers, chokers and chunky necklaces.

My hair was dyed every color under the sun, each other more outrageous then the last. And I almost always wore it down, unless my depression got so bad that I let my hygiene slipped and I was gross. Then it was yay pony tail.

When I wore makeup it was either elaborate and uncanny looking, or it was smudged darkness around my eyes, and a pale glow to my skin, with too dark lips.

With my headphones on my head and a dark backpack low on my back, a sullen and almost violent look brewing on my features, and an angry gait you've got me in highschool.

I wasn't happy, I was bullied and treated like shit. But I lashed back out at the people who called me names. For every time I was called I freak, I yelled out that they were sheep. For every time I was called a bitch, I sneered out that they were pathetic. They'd get in my face, and I'd get right back in theirs. I wasn't gonna take it laying down, after all. Plus, it was a good way to take out some anger.

I recall in my freshman year, some senior got right into my face and called me something. I didn't hear it, but I heard the tone, the one they used for every time I got called bitch, slut, freak, fat, ugly, stupid, cunt, whore... And I stepped toe to toe with him, and told him, in no uncertain terms, that his life meant nothing to me, and if he died a horrific death, I wouldn't even laugh because he was worth so little to me, I doubt I'd acknowledge his demise. His face drained of blood. And I walked away.

But under all that anger at their treatment, I believed them. And that was why I was so angry, why I'm still angry. Because I can't look at my body and not feel let down, and even disgusted. I am frequently heard saying that I'm better looking with my clothes on.

After those years, I believed I was ugly, fat, stupid, unwanted, horrible, and even that I was a tease.

And this isn't okay. Because to be totally honest, there is very little that can convince me otherwise. On my best days, when I see myself all I think is, "Well, I'm not ugly."

Here's a Youtube Vid I found...I think it's very powerful. It brought me to tears when I watched it because...I got it.


But now...

Time to SWITCH directions!

So even though things have been going well, there have been a number of anger outbursts, and I'm so exhausted.

See here's the thing...when I have a bad spell, though it sucks, it's actually fairly mellow...I've got a long period of time when I feel like shit and I hate life...but it's consistent.

When life is good, I have more anger outbursts, and I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, so when it does...I'm devastated.

I'm so fucking tired. So tired and just wrung out that I almost cut today. For the first time in AGES....

I'm holding it off. Hopefully I can until the desire passes, or until something distracts me, but here I am. Another fucking battle.

And even though tonight I will fall asleep, I'll wake up to the same fucking battle tomorrow.

I'm so tired.

I should go try to sleep. It's like 3 in the morning.