To. Me. It. Looked. So. Pretty. Burning.

Have you ever listened to a song and suddenly and immediately remembered things from long, long ago, a lifetime ago, even?

I'm having one of those nights.

Let's be real. I've also had a glass of wine (one, I promise), and I'm feeling all sorts of ups, downs, lefts, and rights. (Thanks, Aunt Flo. You're not my aunt anymore.)

And I suppose this is a safe place to vent. The general subject(s) of my rant doesn't (do not) read my blog. Or probably anything involving my life. Let's be real... hardly ANYBODY reads this blog. (Until today and I'll be hearing about it...)

I think that people think they really know me. And thus far, I've been pretty okay with allowing people to think what they want.

There's the kind folk who only see the good and think I'm a happy, sunshiney sweet, goofy, silly, vapid, empty headed girl. Let me stop you there. You're dead wrong. I'm highly intelligent, first of all, if I may toot my own horn. Secondly, I'm intentionally full of empty headed pointless conversation because if I said what I really thought, I'd probably hurt a lot of feelings and likely shock a lot of people. I generally have a low tolerance for people. I'm pretty impatient. I never said it's a good thing. It's why I generally keep my mouth shut. Cuz I've learned long ago being mean and angry doesn't give you the right to vent on the entire world. Also, I'm a dark, sarcastic, broody individual, but that creeps people out, and they quickly lose interest in your existence if you're too sad all the time. So if you fill the conversational voids with goofy, pointless chatter and blather, people are generally happy and leave you alone for the most part. Cuz let's be honest, I don't wanna talk about why I'm such an angry person.

Moving on. There's the people who think I'm not worth a thing. That I'm only gonna screw up continually and endlessly for the rest of my life. The people who whispered behind my back *She's turning out just like [insert relative here]* when I got pregnant at nineteen (gasp) unmarried. Congratulations, pat yourself on the back, you were right about me - because yes, I DID hear what you said about me growing up, when you thought no one would repeat your harsh, judgmental words. Say and think what you want, but I'm keeping my head above water, and just because you feel you do no wrong doesn't mean you're better than me. So stop condescendingly asking me how I'm doing as if you care and as if my response matters. (I really do hate that, pet peeve.)

There's probably a lot of in betweens, a lot of not sures, and a lot of don't care either ways.

True story?

I'm a loony toon with a pretty, smiley mask plastered on my face. But, hey aren't we all though? We pretend to be happy and okay for the convenience and happiness of those around us, generally speaking. It's easier just to survive. Easier to keep it moving. Easier to just keep scrambling and climbing. And trust and believe, I will. I probably won't ever stop fighting, even against my better judgment.

I didn't have a hard childhood. My dad bailed early and has yet to own up to the fact that he actually helped create an entire other person whose life might actually matter a little bit. Ridiculous as it all seems to me, I bear no ill will. I had a step dad who literally stepped up. He was my real dad. Except I lost him before I could realize that. Before my daughter could meet him. Every time - EVERY time - I remember, it breaks my heart all over again. I miss him. I lost a central part of my life, and I never even knew I needed him. I named my son after my brother, but his middle name is my step dad's, James.

My mom did what she could.

Childhood wasn't impossible. But I almost didn't survive. I was a horribly, insanely depressed teenager, and hardly anybody knew. It used to make me so angry that people didn't notice. It took me a long time to realize that I'm just too good at hiding and covering up. How could they know, I suppose? I'm sure there must have been signs and clues. But I wonder all the time... I never took pills. (Not until I got pregnant and had a few too many anxiety attacks and near breakdowns...) So what made me keep going when so many give up under even less pressure? Blind optimism or stupidity? Honestly, I couldn't tell you.

I've had a lot of fake friends. People I trusted with my life turned out to care nothing for me. I used to be the girl who gave everybody my everything. I could be your best friend in the whole world. Now? I'm nobody's best friend. I trust nothing and no one. A handful of people to blame for this one, but what they've done to me I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. (Actually there's a lot I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Just cuz I don't like them doesn't mean their life should suck.) I'm disillusioned and jaded and haggard and old.

There are some who wonder why I put all of this out there. It's cheap therapy. Pulling apart the insides of my brain and baring it all in an online blog somehow makes me feel better. Until a week or so later when I look back and read it and realize I sound like a whiny emo kid. But I'll never delete the post because it's honest, if nothing else. If it has no entertainment value whatsoever, it is at the very least brutally honest. And maybe I'm one hundred percent wrong. Perhaps. Still how I feel.

I'm so, so tired. Mentally and emotionally worn. Sick of self doubt and self hatred and self consciousness and generally insecurity and insanity. I'm sick of all these people who have taken away little pieces, big chunks, bit by bit and time after time. I don't know when to stop giving. And eventually I turn into a toddler and sit my temper tantrumming butt in the middle of the floor and pout and cross my arms and say NO! and then forget it cuz nobody is getting anything out of me. I wave back and forth between the two extremes.

This is a thousand years long. Hey, in my defense I've done fairly decently at maintaining an upbeat air on this blog. I completely put away the last blog (think: post-baby, post partum depression mania) because it did nothing but depress me. (Yeesh.)

I'm sure there's someone out there who genuinely, deep in their heart believes I have no reason to be depressed or sad at all ever. And if so, thanks. I've done a great job at it, then.

I don't think I ever stop. I think I just keep running and running from all of it, and I don't stop, and I don't look back at the avalanche piling up behind me.

I just keep running.

Always running.

Sigh,
Alex.Is