the one and only truly amazing katster (katster) wrote,
the one and only truly amazing katster

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o/~ they said there'd be snow at christmas o/~

They said there'll be snow at Christmas
They said there'll be peace on earth
But instead it just kept on raining
A veil of tears for the virgin birth

It's November. Christmas and the end of the year is just around the corner. In two short weeks, I'll be 23. Not like it makes much difference, but anniversaries make me reflect. And I guess there's no bigger anniversary than the anniversary of the day I was born. I guess I'm starting early this year.

I hate the fact I have relationships I've broken so bad it'll be an impossible effort to mend. Whether it's because of something I did, or something they did, or just a combination of both. This does wonders for my sanity. I don't know why I'm attracted, like a moth to a bugzapper, to attempting to fix some of those, and one of these days, I'm gonna learn that the only thing that comes from flying too close is that I get holes in my wings.

And one of the things I wonder is if I'm really...well, it's hard to put this in words. But sometimes I wonder if it's a good thing to feel as deeply as I've somehow been cursed with. There's something going through my head right now, about wondering if this depression problem I have is a ploy to garner sympathy, and even though this was told to me with the usual lack of empathy I've grown to expect, it's got me wondering. Is this a fucking act? Am I miserable simply because I want to be noticed, to be cared for?

Maybe I should just fucking shut up about how I feel about things. Be a nobody. I'm pretty damned close as it is. Oh trust me, your comments and thoughts are nothing compared to what I think about myself. Take every bad thought you've thought about me, and multiply it by a thousand, and you'll get pretty much the picture I can get of myself, especially when I'm depressed.

I am Kat, and I hate myself.

They sold me a dream of Christmas
They sold me a Silent Night
They told me a fairy story
'Til I believed in the Israelite

The thing I'd most like for my twenty-third year of life is more self-confidence. I'd like to quit being so hard on myself for failure. That's the one thing this screwed up illness of mine has done, is tore out any self-confidence I have for anything. Because after a few screwups where you're so utterly confident walking into a test, and you walk out nearly flunking, you start to wonder.

And this is what I've grown to believe. I'm smart? That's irrevalent to the point. Being smart didn't help me when I walked in overconfident, and it doesn't help me now. I want somehow to be sold on the idea that I have some worth, I want somebody to find some way to convince me that no confidence is just as bad as overconfidence. And to pound it into the part of my brain that relys on feeling to get the point across.

Once bitten, twice shy. That's what they call somebody like me, the person afraid to go back in the water 'cause a shark once nibbled on her toes. Sometimes I'm too careful for my own good, not springing on the chance, because the chance involves me taking a risk that I'm not necesarily sure I'm ready for yet.

I want to believe in myself again. Is that too much to ask?

I wish you a hopeful Christmas
I wish you a brave New Year
All anguish pain and sadness
Leave your heart and let your road be clear

This is what I want. Can anybody come through with it?


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