One my friends made the statement that I was the most self-aware person she knew. It was an incredible compliment. However, being self-aware is a double-edged sword. What do you do when you mental state resembles a car wreck in slow motion? I can see the break down happening, but I can't stop it. I suppose when the tough truly lose it the tough seek professional help. What caused so many problems is my Grandmother died. She had been ill for a while, so this was not unexpected, just sad. Coming home is...complicated. There are things I love, yet other things I can't stand. Most of which is my family. It's brought to light an interesting dichotomy. I wish to be 'seen' yet this is the family that taught me to hide. Growing up with these people taught me that you should never let people know if you're upset, disturbed or in anyway anything other then mildly irritated. They also taught me that you should never be a burden or need anything from other people, especially family. For they will judge you the harshest. These were the people who taught me that home wasn't a haven, it was a stage, and you always had to be concerned with that the rest of the family would think. I don't even like these people...however, they are the only family I have. I still love them and want there love in return. Perhaps this childhood is part of the reason I find myself in the situation I am with unrequited love.
I am in no way contemplating suicide at the moment. I am, however, pondering just how many sleeping pills it would take to make me sleep for a few months. I hate coming home...and I'll always miss it when I leave.
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