Rants and Rambles

Songs have a beautiful way of expressing things we struggle to speak. Tonight I am listening to The Strumbellas, and I fell in love with their songs “Spirits” and “Shovels and Dirt”. I think each line has something impressive to offer. It’s hard to miss the main line in spirits: “I’ve got guns in my head and they won’t go, spirits in my head and they won’t go”.

And I think “it ain’t worth livin’ if you don’t get hurt” and “I’ve got a head full of darkness and darkness is good” is also two of the most beautifully truthful lines I’ve heard, along with “Well demons pull me side to side again, yeah well I’m scared to sleep and I hate my friends . . .” I never knew it was so easy to sum up psychological pain.

Is darkness good? A lot of my depressions have been bad, the episodes have driven me into self-destruction and put me through a lot of pain, but the beauty that has come out of that pain has been magnificent. I’ve done some of my best writing. I started this blog. I played some of my best on the piano. Without that little bit of darkness, half of me wouldn’t exist. The darkness is me, and it’s a part of me I couldn’t live without.

That being said, I’ll be in the Santa Monica area tomorrow. Sometimes it’s nice to push aside the darkness and have a little fun.

I don’t talk much about my writing projects on here, but most people know I write short stories as well as some poetry that I think is shit. I’ve been to some fiction workshops, and I’m taking yet another fiction class this semester, but I’m shit at communicating with other writers. Maybe if we write back and forth, I can communicate with them, but not many are willing to do that.

So, if there are ever any fellow writers out there who are serious about their writing, and would be willing to give me some thoughtful, constructive criticism on my work in return for a batch of my own thoughtful, constructive criticism on their work, please get in contact with me. I have a few writing projects that I want to push forward, but I need some more reassurance and criticism before I do.

I’m not quite sure what this post is. Remember when I used to do these kinds of vagabond posts where each paragraph is something completely irrelevant to the previous one? I took some Melatonin and I’m hoping it will knock me out soon so I don’t have to torture you all any longer.

Love yourself. You are enough.

And that’s today’s mental truth. Well, tonight’s mental truth. It’s almost tomorrow’s mental truth. I’ll blog about my Santa Monica experience. I’ll be sharing pictures on instagram, you can follow me there @ Written_in_the_photo, and my twitter @Ipenned. I don’t use Twitter much, and I just created a new account, so there’s not much there, but if you’re a big twitter person, you might get a kick out of things I retweet.

Anyway, enough of this shit post. Ali, Out.

Ideas Galore

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This New Year has initiated some kind of new way of thinking about myself, as you can probably tell from my last few posts.

And the funny thing is, I feel so much more content with myself.

I feel so much more content knowing that I’m trying hard to be someone I’m not in the public, and that this self that I spend so much time alone with is my true self. That’s good because I like my true self.

I don’t mind my public self because it gets me through school and interviews and all that.

plate-1Today I’ve really noticed how content I feel, however. I’ve been so stuck on the subject for the last week that I keep forgetting to eat again. This happens a lot. If I go on a writing binge (which is often) I might skip breakfast, lunch, and dinner and not eat until four the next morning when I finally figure I’ve had enough. Then I’ll wake up the next day and start the cycle all over again. I’ve inadvertently lost weight in the past doing that and when I noticed I’d dropped ten pounds I started eating again.

I did eat today because I was at my boyfriend’s house when they made dinner. There was food all over the place and I was instructed to eat so I did so. I was already hungry anyway, but I didn’t really care if I was hungry or not. Not until there was a bowl in front of me and my tastebuds started tingling.

I slurped that shit down like a hog eating slop.

I’m hungry right now (I’m telling you, I haven’t been eating) but it’s 1:34 in the morning, it’s too much energy to go make food and I’m too busy in my head.

All the possibilities.

There are so many.

I won’t go as far as to say I feel comfortable going outside.

But now that I see I actually do interact with the world differently than most people and I’m not just some social weirdo incapable of “normality” I feel more comfortable with myself in public.

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I always say I don’t care what people think about me when I’m out in public. That obviously seems like a contradiction when social anxiety disorder is all about caring what other people think about you.

But as I’ve stated, mine is a little different. I’m more worried I’m doing something socially unconventional–a weird tone, the wrong facial expression (too exaggerated? monotone? angry?) or blurting something random in an attempt to keep conversation flowing which, obviously, never works–and that’s where the bulk of the worrying about their opinion comes from.

I also worry about the usual things like “I look shitty today” or “that group laughing over there is laughing at me because I’m walking like an idiot” and I have the tendency to bend over my paper like a reincarnation of Gollum pounces on The Ring from Lord Of The Rings. I cover my writing because I hate people reading my stuff.

writing20raw20logoMy writing is my true self. It’s raw and unarmored. I don’t like people seeing that squishy, fleshy part of me. At least not people I have to see every day. I feel violated.

I’m a private person. I like my solitude.

I do wish I could express my emotions a little more though. It’s really hard for me to formulate them verbally. They just lodge themselves in the pit of my stomach and the back of my brain and only release when I have a pen in my hand or a keyboard on my lap. I have no other release.

It’s not that I don’t want people to know how I’m feeling, it’s not that I don’t trust them with my feelings, it’s that I physically can’t do it. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s just too hard to put into words the feeling and whenever I’ve tried, it didn’t come out how I wanted to.

In order for me to say what I’m really feeling, people would have to ask me pretty specific questions and even then it’s going to be a struggle getting it out of me. Sometimes I wish they would so I could at least make an attempt, but how are they going to know what to ask?

However, when I say I don’t care what people think about me, I really mean it. I’m not terrified of them like it seems, and if they don’t like me I really don’t give a shit because I prefer being by myself anyway.

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But the fact that I need to blend in and be one of them in order to get where I want to be on this Earth makes me stress over being socially proper. Stressing over being socially proper makes me 2x more socially anxious than I already was.

I still don’t care what people think.

What I learned this semester was invaluable, however. A month or so back, I ranted and raved over how proud  I was that I spoke up one night and interacted with the group. What I did not say was how the interaction really went.

Yes, it was a huge success. However, having a conversation with me sometimes is like starting at point A, leaping to point G, sliding into point C, and then launching to point Z. I’m all over the place. I don’t really understand how to carry a conversation unless the other person leads, so the majority of the time I just throw out irrelevant ideas to see if something hooks.

I’ve learned, over the course of my life, not to interrupt people with random things.

I also learned that night how to appropriate and weave through the sentences floating through my head.

Sometimes I want to say something but I’m not sure if it’s good enough to say, or right, or if it fits, so it just kind of sits there on my tongue.

So I listened closely to the subject my group was discussing and I had to search through all those random sentences floating in my head and tried to find one that related to whatever the hell they were talking about. I used them as practice and they didn’t even know it. They were my test subjects.

Poor fools.

light-bulb-idea-head-idea_bulbSo when they were talking about where they lived, a great idea popped into my head! Talk about the nasty ass swap that smells like rotting eggs every time it rains just three minutes from my apartment!

It might have been disgusting to think about but it was related to their conversation: it was near where I lived. I described the street I’m on and I was kind of part of the conversation and it kind of worked.

That night took a lot of energy out of me, though. Two hours of pressuring yourself not to be a complete dingus is difficult.

And I drove them in a lot of crazy directions. We went from talking about vegan food to “What’s with that weird language sign on the wall; look at that one in the corner!” in a matter of seconds.

My doing, of course.

They didn’t seem to mind. But how the fuck would I know.

The next time I tried it, one of the other girls was a psych major and happened to mention one of my favorite psych professors at my college. That sent me off on a tangent. Mention psychology and your ears are done. I’ll tell you my whole life story and link it to every possible thing I’ve learned in psychology thus far.

And I’ve been hitting the textbooks and research books and living the life style for way longer than I’ve been in college. Who needs college to learn?

So you better have your facts straight with me if you want to talk psychology. I have a tendency to be very aggressive with my knowledge.

I do try. I have to really analyze a situation and solve it like a puzzle, but at least I make attempts.

It zaps my energy just thinking about it.