Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones

Normally I don't have a problem with guys. Normally I know how to handle myself and my emotions in referance to how they treat me. Normally they're quite docile, and even a bit domestic if you will. However, there are times when even a fortress must fall.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, and words can always hurt me.

Well. Not always. Only at times when I'm vulnerable and slightly dependent.

Nine hour recap: Last night when I came home from Youth Court I checked something online. In the course of the evening, somehow things were [hopefully] communicated poorly, and feelings and pride [particularly mine] were damaged. For this reason [along with previously ignored stress] have I regressed out of manic and back into depression, I think. The reason I say "I think" is because I feel precisely how I did a few months ago when I relapsed, and also a number of years back when it hit the first time.

Needless to say, after a few tears and much thought, I finally woke up six hours later. From here I rolled into school, haven't felt the same since the event, and feel lost in my head. It's like I'm caught in a tangle of my own thoughts, to where I can't say anything to anybody, because they're all their own web, and information flies fast. In more than one way, my mind is stuck in padded, but thin, walls. Not only that, but I can hear everything out of the walls. It's like being trapped in a glass house, watching people watching you, and hearing all they say.

My thoughts weren't clear in my head today, and because of this my aloofness level was exaggerated greatly. Also because of this, more tears spilled than have in the past four months, causing a class period to be spent numbing my mind down.

I don't know anymore. I don't feel like me. I feel way more suffocated than I actually am, and like I'm stuck in this rut until I get it figured out again. Something tells me I should have just written how I got out of it down so I'd have it for notes. That would have been useful.

I suppose the other reason I feel confined to my head is because if I say what I'm thinking, because it's so contrary to popular belief, I'll just be corrected. While I'm fine with correction, I'm not entirely prone to being corrected about my own thoughts, as though someone else knows what they really should be. I guess my view of myself is warped more than I thought. That doesn't make me not feel like a monster squeezed inside this human skin. Cheers. Or something like that.