Anxiety

I'm awake. I've been eating cauliflower. The only unhealthy thing that's gone into my body today was a Monster Energy Drink, and that's only because I was already awake and wanted to stay that way. It's only been a couple months but I'm violently shoving myself in the right direction...I think. I mean everyone is cheering me on, so why not? It's probably good. I'm happy. I've got an A so I'm doing well. I don't like to SAY that I'm doing well because it always sounds like I'm saying “LOOK AT ME. LOOK HOW WELL I'M DOING. LOOK AT IT.” There's proof though. I'm actually doing well in my classes.

I'm sitting here in a chair that is only a couple months away from being thrown out for the garbage man and in-between writing this thing and being angrily aware of how cold I am, I stare up at my Hyacinths in the window just behind my desk. Now I'm angrily aware of how top heavy these stupid flowers are. They are currently tied together by a USB cord that may or may not work and they're still falling over. They were way too eager to stretch up towards the sun and they can't get back up now. I can relate, Hyacinths.

I just ate five pizza rolls. Shut up.

As far as I can tell, I'm headed in the right direction. While I'm sure that matters a whole lot when you look at the whole picture, I can't help but have an inner monologue during everything I do whose favorite words are offense to the part of the society that is over the age of 30. I'm not moving very fast. I mean I'm not moving at all right now. I'm sitting in a chair.

Oh hey. Markiplier is on. I like his face.

I am so COLD. I want to not be cold. I want to go over there and lay in my bed but the fact that I have to carry a bunch of crap over to my bed makes me internally angry. I don't want to go over there. I'm word vomiting quite effectively and I don't want anything to mess up my word flow. Womiting? Vom...ting. That's one word shy of vomiting that won't work.

I'm always acutely aware of how much I want a boyfriend. I'm always acutely aware of men in general. I don't want a boyfriend. But I do. I want a boyfriend I've created for myself. I want a boyfriend that I know won't leave me or that I won't have to leave myself. I fall madly and shamefully in love with men I could never meet because either they're already dead or they're famous and on the other side of the country. I'm 100% of this. I'm also aware of how unhealthy it is. I'm not the only girl to get hurt in a relationship. I know I'm not. I know I'm not the only girl or person in general whose been madly in love with someone who was so horrible for them.

I miss him really bad. It's been over two years and I still think about him all the time. I hope he falls in a volcano. I hope a volcano opens up and only hurts him when it erupts like some kind of weird magma creature that likes to answer prayers. I find myself overly attracted to men who look a lot like him. That's just the type of guy I like I guess.

I want to be famous. I want to be famous but I want people to not look at me. That could be why I became a writer. I like making stories. I like making stories and I know they're good stories because I like them. That sounded stupid and s****y. I just mean I know they're good because I know that I share interests with other people. There are no odds anywhere that would suggest that if I wrote something that I would be the only person on this planet that would like it.

I have a heard time with depression. I don't want to be a therapist and I don't want to be on pills again. I feel like being on medication was one of the best things to happen and one of the worst mistakes of my life. I still cry when I think about how much I thought I needed them. I hang onto things that hurt me all the time and I need to stop. It's not like I get a piece of glass stuck in my foot and then I keep it after I yank it out.

My mother said I should look into being a minimalist. I would love that. My house wouldn't be so messy and my life probably wouldn't be so crazy. I just don't think I can mentally do that. I don't think my mind is minimalist. I mean... if you were walk through a door with a sign above it that said, “Mackenzie's Think Space” it wouldn't be minimalist. There would be one of those swinging light bulbs in the middle of a room so large that you can't even see all the walls. You're acutely aware of how many things are hidden away in the rest of this room and you're not entirely certain of how many things the owner of this room still remembers because the rest of the room is so dark. Near the only exit, which is the door you just came through, is a giant cork board with about 1,400 post it notes with something completely different written on each one. Not one post it note topic has to do with the other but they're all linked together with a red piece of yarn like a conspiracy theorist's board. On the floor there are pieces of paper everywhere and judging by the random sounds hear and there, you're pretty sure there's a wild animal running around that occasionally hibernates, only to come back and tear up every hopeful idea written on those pieces of paper. There's a small table next to the cork board with a small cardboard box on it. On the side of the cardboard box it says, “Personal.” Digging through the box, you discover that there is a plethora of pictures of things that the owner of this room never got a chance to take a picture of. There are a couple pictures of her with people she always wanted to meet and pictures of her doing things that she's always wanted to do. They're all tied up with a rubber band. Upon picking up the lid of the box that was propped up next to the box itself, you take note of the big, red “VOID” stamp covering most of the lid. As you turn to leave, no doubt because you would rather not tangle with the wild animal, you notice a clear glass emergency box set into the wall just big enough to hold a laptop, a picture of my daughter, and all the pictures of my dad that I've been consciously taking because I have fewer pictures of him than I do anyone else in my family and if I were to lose him I don't know what I would do with myself. No amount of pills can give me a minimalist mind.