Ryan's Tumblr

I am in the most fantastically creative mood right now. I am literally bursting with things to write and say and draw. I’m also bursting with the inability to focus on any one thing so it’s all useless.

Sometimes, I really want to be a genuine dick to people, but it’s just not who I am.

I am not invincible, but I’m trying to be, and it’s going to catch up with me. I lie to myself everyday, telling myself that I don’t need therapy because I’m stronger than other people. I don’t need help because I’ve fought this war for years and I’m not losing, and if I’m not losing, I must be winning. I don’t need a therapist, or my mother, to tell me how to handle my problems because I’m a survivor. I lie to myself until I believe myself.

I am not invincible, and trying to be is destroying me from the inside out. Normal people feel something when their fathers die. All I felt was a burning irritation at these people in my home for mourning. At the time, I didn’t understand why, but it’s clear now that I hated my family for mourning because I was incapable of allowing myself to feel true pain over the loss of dear ol’ pops. 

(This paragraph is subconscious) I feel this burning desire to be so strong that other people can barely stand to look at me. I want to be rock solid. I want to be Superman. I want to be Iron Man. I don’t have to mourn because I’m made of iron, sweat, blood, experience, tears, cuts, countless nights spent making friends with shadows on my wall, and the wars I face in my own mind daily. I cannot be weak. I cannot fail. I cannot fall down. I cannot fall down. I cannot fall down.

I can fall down.

[My lunesta kicked in about right now]

I’m going to therapy. I’ve accepted that I’m a wounded animal, desperately trying to hide its wounds from predators but I’m leaving a blood trail a mile wide. The harder I try to hide it, the faster my heart pumps, and the faster my blood flows out of my veins.

I have to go to therapy. I have to give someone a chance to take a pickaxe and drive it straight into the crack in my self constructed and self destructive armor that I’m whispering this through, break it open, yank me out by my earlobes, slap me, give me a hug, and tell me to stop being such a little bitch and face my fears.

This is why I need therapy.

1) I repress emotional trauma.

2) I’m incapable of handling rejection correctly.

3) I may have PTSD.

4) I subconsciously, and I know it isn’t true, believe all women are lying whores who want to break my heart.

5) I don’t know how to act when people close to me are in emotional pain.

6) I’m incapable of expressing negative emotions face to face.

7) Even when I’m capable of explaining my emotions, I don’t explain how it FEELS. I explain it from a third person point of view. I sound like a therapist describing a patients symptoms instead of a patient.

I will pay a price for my invincibility later.

I dunno how reblogging all these pictures of couples doesn’t make y’all want to kill yourselves.

…feel like an artist with no art.

Cleaning is catharsis. I’m not certain why, but for some reason, obsessively cleaning my house makes me feel much better about myself and life in general. It relieves my stress and grants me a temporary reprieve from my depression. It gives me time to breathe and enjoy something. The feeling of a clean house, clean sheets, a clean floor..it gives me an hour or two of time to just enjoy a movie, or Xbox, or anything.

Could it be that cleaning is a stand-in for healing, and my house is a stand-in for my mind? Possibly. metaphorically scrubbing the depression away while getting the spaghettios out of my carpet with a fork? Maybe I have OCD tendencies that cause disorganization to contribute to my depression and instability. 

Or maybe it just takes my mind off things and gives me a feeling of control. I, RYAN MICK, KING OF THIS HOUSE, can control how clean it is. Maybe that’s all it really is. I can control whether I clean or not, and it gives me a feeling of power when I feel otherwise powerless. 

Who knows.

Am I the vindictive guy who lets you ruin your friendship and backs off out of anger? You don’t want to be my friend anymore, or maybe you just don’t know how. Maybe you’re angry at me or maybe I’ve changed.

Am I the angry guy who decides that I won’t put effort into fixing things? If you don’t want to be in my life, then don’t.

Am I the forgiving guy who refuses to give up on people who give up on me? Don’t want to be my friend? You’ll have to wear me down until I stop trying.

I have no idea. One of my biggest problems in life is that I don’t know who I am.

I’m supposed to write a three page paper over anti-psychotic medications in young children and give my opinion on them, three advantages, and three disadvantages.

The only advantage I can come up with is, if they work for the child, that they work for the child. 

Yep. That’s about it.