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if it weren't for the last minute, nothing would ever get done
This journal may contain adult concepts.
Paid Account [Gift] Created on 2004-09-10 18:45:26 (#4492541), last updated 2012-05-30
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| Name: | a fading green like summer into autumn |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | 1982-05-29 |
if you want to know more about me, i think you're crazy. because i'm crazy. literally. my mind is far from normal, whatever it is that normal is, and while my therapist says i'm not crazy, i politely disagree. this is a neverending, life consuming thing for me, and i'm sorry if you don't want to hear about it, but i can't be silent about who i really am anymore. i've shut up about it my entire life and cost myself so many years in which i could have had help to feel better because of it. you are here for some reason or another, and since what people usually do here is say something about themselves, here is a little bit about me. | see, what i am is mentally ill, and somehow admitting that makes me a target for people to hate. now i understand that what is really happening is that these people cannot handle the fact that someone is so comfortable with that part of themselves to admit it freely, and therefore they feel the only appropriate response is to make fun of it, but the fact of the matter is that the hate hurts. to be made fun of for something that you cannot control is like being told that your existence on the planet isn't necessary. and the thing is, i already know that. i already know that society wishes that people like me didn't exist. i already know that i contribute nothing of importance to the way the world works. i already know that there are people in this world that hate just the idea of people like me who need help from people like them. but i will never understand why the fact that i am mentally ill should be treated any differently than the fact that i am physically ill. an illness is an illness. some of them can't be cured. some things can't be fixed. stop being so hateful and deal with it. | i'm not asking anyone to solve my problems. i'm not even asking you to understand them. i'm just asking you to accept that i have them, and that they define me. no, they aren't the worst problems in the world. but they are the worst problems in my world. trust me, i wish this journal was filled with complaining about boys, and about university, and about work, and about shopping and music and movies and crushes and anything and everything else that would be considered normal. but i accepted a long time ago that i am not normal and will never be. i just want the world to accept that too. |
| Marriage is love. | |||||
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