You say I'm ignoring you. Stop it!!! STOP IT!! STOP IT!!!!! You're hurting me!!!
I cannot even explain this all to you without you being quiet for just one minute. I need to get this out to live and you won't let me just please don't distract me or else I cannot type this out.
After years and years and years of never being heard I never ever thought that something during my suffering would ever be actually seen by you, even when I shove it everywhere. This is the first time that has happened. Why? Because Blogger doesn't have a 'Private' setting like LiveJournal did. I sat there and reread my private posts, wishing that what I wrote was something I could one day show you.
But the truth is, after a while I go back and look at these fits of horrible pain and sadness and I know that I am only ashamed of my feelings of love and need for you. I really just wish I could express my pain in better ways. You just NEED TO LET ME FINISH GOD DAMN IT I CANNOT TYPE IN SKYPE I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF THIS FIRST! YOU DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH WORSE YOU MAKE IT WHEN YOU INTERRUPT THIS AND NO IT IS NOT EASY FOR ME TO SWITCH WINDOWS AND TO TYPE GOD DAMN IT JUST BE UNDERSTANDING BEFORE I RIP MY STUPID EYES OUT AND I WILL!
I CAN. NOT. TYPE. IN. THAT. WINDOW.
ALL. TYPING. MUST. GO. HERE.
THE. END.
NOW.
When you tell me I'm not listening to you while you frustratedly push your frustration onto me, especially when you treat my pain as something 'frustrating to you' and 'not helping anyone', in truth it's because shock comes when someone for the first time notices your pain. What should I do? First I want to remove it before you can read about 1/5 of the horrors I feel when you verbally attack me from anger.
I have even calmed down my deep pain. When I hear tortured screams, I just want to kill off as many as possible. And that is what I have to do, try to scrawl out my pain in fear. I barely can survive doing it as you scream horrible things just because of anger.
But to even make my VENTING more anger-safe, the one place I have refuge, I stop all things that would normally help my heart problems and my physical health JUST FOR YOU incase ONE DAY you happen to stumble across my pain.
For one, I don't quote you as I want to. I keep it in my head. Right now you just told me one of the things I hoped you would NEVER repeat. Do not even think you know how much strength it takes for a wimpy person like me to hold in going back there because you said "of course not you don't listen to me". Yeah yeah, my pain is called "ignoring" you because you can't "help" me in "silence".
For me, it's agonizing pain where I'm visibly hurting and you frustratedly keep pushing your frustrated words on me to prevent the "unhelpfullness" of silence because you would be here for "nothing".
See I know you weren't frustrated at this moment, or wait, I mean, angry...and you handled it better than usual until you said that horrifying thing about "why do I even bother", taking a huge toll on me, but I had fantasized this terrible moment for years.
Would she be sympathetic? Angry? Horrified? Think I'm insane? It's just not the same because you can't see it in the moment, which is good, because you'd be angry. Maybe when you're not angry, years later, seeing these chronicles of pain would make you somewhat sympathetic. A more realistic scenario is that you'd be disgusted and the deep annals of pain would cause several reactions:
1) you get angrier and angrier reading my responses to your anger
2) You get more and more disgusted with both me and yourself, thus increasing your anger at yourself, even if you silently swallow it down.
3) You think I'm utterly ignoring you with my pain and begin to hide MORE from me while believing I am a conniving and sniveling whiner who hides things "on purpose" because "I can't take it" and "why are you even here for me then".
Oh wait...you probably are thinking "Yes, exactly, minus the 'conniving' and 'sniveling' parts, but I don't see how the other parts are not true at all. This just proves it more".
The explanation would take far too long and you are already losing patience as we speak. These posts are meant for only what fate has in mind. You see them, you don't....but I never thought you "wouldn't tell me" after seeing them. It would be obvious enough since you'd become more angry and hide it, only making life worse for us, and creating more posts like this.
Believe me, I DID hide all those other ones, just like you recommended. Why? Because of these reasons I'm stating, not because I wanted to. In fact, I left many of them open, and there have been at least 20 probably on this blog which after many weeks I decided needed to be encripted somewhat because it would only result in my demise.
I really don't know how to explain the whole "why am I here then" thing, because I've tried countless times. I really appreciate someone being there for me and sympathizing with my pain. I really dream about someone sympathizing to the point where they say, "damn are you okay?", even if they stare at me in silence. That's helpful. It means someone cares enough to be there for me once I recover. Berating me for my open and deep wounds which I am so shy and hesitant about is NOT helpful, and going away is NOT helpful. That sends the message that if you can't berate me to be helpful, I obviously am not doing enough for you, and your 'motivating' words of frustration are obviously not helping fast enough, so leave me altogether until I "cool down". Not happening. I appreciate your understanding in the way that you calm down when I'm about to die of pain. It really helps things go so much faster and smoother for me, and sometimes, for you, if you're involved.
I really did not expect this. I forgot all about that pain for about three or four days, and now you found it. I don't know why I expected sympathy or something, but the moment you saw I knew there would only be disgust and anger, probably mostly at yourself, and what should be mostly at me. That is NOT my mission. I don't have anywhere else to go most of the time, and I guess I just wanted you to know that. I just don't want to be yelled at for it.
Despite how much you didn't MEAN "this is why I don't try" and "you never listen to me", it *drum roll please* hurts (EVERYTHING HURTS YOU! E.V.ER.Y.THING!) yeah yeah I've heard that one before. Even my body hurts right now from the straining shock of how you discovered my pain and then got upset at me for not making a fast enough decision.
Instead of helping me take a breath since I cannot type anywhere else, because I cannot even BEGIN to type this post without exploding, you began to get upset about how you 'couldn't post on this blog' which I fully opened to you, and that sarcastically 'it was better on Skype, that's how it should be'. Although in all the torrents of thoughts that I had from shock I had to process your sarcasm as a way for you to attempt to get my full attention, all I could muster to try to help YOU was to tell you to please stop using sarcasm and frustration to get me to come to you with open arms in the middle of hell. I try to, I really do, and I try to do anything you want during my fits of pain, but you just get angrier if I do or don't. There seems to be no winning with anger, just slight dissipation.
I don't know. I don't know right now. You'll hate me either way, no matter what I wrote in those things, I was at the peak of pain with nobody to vent to. You could vent your anger to yourself and me out loud, but I only have this.
I remembered the horrified looks on their faces as they died. I posted it here because something inside of me told me that if I didn't get it out there, I never would. Posting to myself for years just is the same as screaming to myself for hours in my head. I don't know. I don't want you to read it, really, just to know that it's there I guess. I never know what will make you angry or happy. I am deeply afraid of you reading these for my own sake, and that shouldn't be so, but when you're at home your mom kills you.
I don't know. I'm leaving my fate in God's hands right now. Do as you wish, and I hope the reaction does not create more of these posts in private. You always wanted some of the images and words of my pain to be given to you, and so I guess I was giving it a try.
I don't know.
I really don't.
This is the place where I answer your conversations. I am deeply sorry for the bitter sorrow that your anger causes in my words.
Well....
The end I guess. Until next time I feel dead inside.
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