Take off the mask, throw it away…


November 12, 2011 :: 10:24 PM

So…

I’m actually having fun playing with Tumblr.

I didn’t think I would - it’s the home of tweenyboppers who ship fictional characters and reblog the same stuff everyone else is reblogging.

Whelp, guess who decided she’s actually a tweenybopper?

Here’s the thing, I don’t feel bad about this return to my tweenage years at all. Or my teenage years, for that matter.

Teenage me was full of angst, self-loathing, and had a chip on her shoulder the size of Canada. Life for that girl sucked… A lot. When I go back and look at all my journals from that time period, I sob. Hysterically. That girl was so fucked and she knew it. There was really nothing that could have made her life any better.

Don’t get me wrong, she had good friends, and she loved her father.

But.

Even if she knew she was bipolar, it wouldn’t have been treated back then. That would have been weak, and her father wouldn’t have thought that there was anything seriously wrong anyway. Shit like that didn’t exist - it was all in her head. (Ha ha ha.)

When life was bad, when the depression took over, she looked for a way out. Obviously, she never did anything about it, but the thoughts were there. Powerful. Intoxicating. A non-stop chorus of voices in her head, telling her to just do it. End this shit and move on.

When life was good, and the mania took over, she bounced all over the place. She did a lot of things she’ll never be proud of during manic periods. Hurt a lot of people, too. But, damn, she felt good when she was doing it. She can’t regret doing those things - it’s not really how she was built, anyway.

It feels like that girl managed to miss out on a lot of teenaged magic. (Either that or she lived it and mental illness turned her brain to swiss cheese. That happens, too.)

Being able to go back (emotionally) twenty something years and ship Violate like I used to love New Kids on the Block feels good. It also makes me feel like a dirty pervert, but that’s OK. (Evan Peters is ALMOST young enough to be my kid. What? He’s over 18 and that’s all that matters! )

Lately, I’ve been reminded of Spring Heeled Jack, Frogboy and BiG MiSTAKE - the soundtrack to some of my worst years - and thinking about how it does get better. I hate saying that because it’s turned into such a cliche. But it’s the truth. My life did get better… not the version of better that I always wanted, but it’s better.

I have good friends, a lot of freedom, a guy that can tolerate just about any amount of crap I throw at him living in my house, furry children that love me even when I can’t love myself…

I still struggle with the bipolar, still make decisions that I should regret but don’t, and I still know that, in a lot of different ways, I’m completely fucked.

The only difference now is that I take meds that make the voices STFU.


She was walking through the park. She wore her hair long.

Pushing it aside, she said, “i don’t want to live anymore.”

Went home to her mom and her dad.

They did not understand her, and they only got mad.

They did not like the way she acted, they did not like the way she looked,

didn’t like the color of her friends, the way she wore her hair.

So she went into her room and she looked into the mirror.

She did not like what she saw. She did not like what she saw.

She wanted to tear it all off. She wanted to see her real self.

She wanted to tear it all off. She wanted to see her real self.

Take off the mask, throw it away.

She don’t care, she don’t care, what the other ones say.

Take off the mask, throw it away.

She don’t care, she don’t care, what the other ones say.

And now it’s summer and it’s a new day rising.

She feels heat and aspiration.

She feels the sun explode. Time is bliss and bliss is time.

She sees god in everything.

She loves you - she loves me

—“Take Off The Mask” - BiG MiSTAKE

 

 

If you want to find me on Tumblr, read my crappy fiction and overdose on American Horror Story / Violate, let me know -I’ll give you the URL (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).

BTW - The movie “Kick-Ass” has entirely too much violence and not enough Evan Peters.