My last name, Problems sleeping, self-analysis
Thursday, Jun. 27, 2002 10:08

I'm writing for a couple reasons, all of them selfish, all of them pretty dumb. But it's my diary, right?

My biggest complaint about being at home: The water is so damn hard! My scalp is flaking off and hurting and itching every second. yuck. I think that's got to be one of the most disgusting, repulsive things ever. It creates the illusion that I'm a really dirty person. Fuckin' psoriasis. I SWEAR I shower quite frequently! You'd know it if I didn't. THIS, my friends is why I want a new body. As for the water, well, hard water irritates my skin a lot. And it makes my hair feel like poo. I had been spoiled while I was in Boston because the water is really really soft there. But not in good ole Lisbon Falls. Bleh.

I just had a thought. I think I've probably given anyone enough info over the year that I've been writing here to come to my house and kill me if they wanted to. I'm a stalker's dream. I'm not sure if I've given my last name but I'm sure I've mentioned where I live, who my friends are, my town, where I work etc etc. hmm. Good thing I'm not really all that worried. I probably should be though, huh? Nah.

As far as my last name, here are my thoughts. It's not mine. I hate it. I've always wondered if people feel a certain affinity for their last names. Are people proud of their last names? Do they mean a great deal to people? I've heard a lot about names and upholding them, and being proud of them and such. But I hate my last name. I hereby denounce it as my own. Maybe someday I'll change it. All it is is a connection to a group of relatives that I'm most definitely not related to in any way other than the inescapable genetic way. I don't consider them my family. I feel no support from them. I feel nothing from them. I dread their company and since I was young, they always dreaded mine as well. They've never been there when I've needed support. I'm nothing like them. I don't ever ever want to be anything like them. They are tolerable. And there are moments when my grandparents are even somewhat loveable. But there's no way that I will EVER be a ______ (insert my last name here). I belong to the other side of the family. Maggie said that to me. She said that she can look at me and see that I'm a ______. It's pretty clear. I look like one, I act like one, I have the talents and abilities of one, I AM a _______. This sparked a conversation with my cousins about that, and about how my last name is different. And that's what got me thinking. But they all told me that I'm a ______ and that it doesn't matter that my Dad's last name is different. Well, that's pretty obvious, but I'm still not happy about it.

Perhaps I shouldn't care this much? It really doesn't matter. It's not like they don't accept me as part of the family because I have a different last name. I think it has more to do with hating my Dad's family and wishing I didn't have to be marked. I feel like I'm marked with my last name as a reminder that in the end, I really do belong to them. Bah. Let Jackson be one of them. He fits in alright, but not me. Please. Just thinking back to that part of my childhood hurts. Ouch. They are such fucking bastards.

On another note, my mom said something interesting last night. I was talking about how when I sleep anywhere other than in my own bed, I wake up early in the morning very very anxious. I get really nauseous and it sometimes takes a lot to calm myself down. Sometimes I just have to vomit to make it better. She thinks that dates back to when I used to have to go to the hospital for tests. I was in a sleep study, so i was supposed to sleep as they came in to take blood through my IV, but I could never sleep. I was always on high alert, sizing up whomever came in to take blood. I just couldn't relax enough to sleep. The end result was that I never actually got any sleep while I was in the hospital, and I was one cranky, scared, sick child. The sick part was because I was so scared the whole time I was there. It was terrible. And when I knew it was time to go back, I'd be sick on the way there too. I've always been the type of person to get sick when I'm nervous. And it happens less now, actually. But anyway...whenever I was sleeping somewhere unfamiliar (well, most of the time), I couldn't trust the people around me to leave me alone. I had to be on high alert because I didn't know who was going to come in and do unpleasant things to me. I couldn't sleep then in an unfamiliar place, and I can't sleep now. It made me nervous, and it makes me nervous now. This ALSO might be why I can't sleep in front of people. I can't sleep when other people are around unless they are already sleeping.

I think a lot of who I am today can be traced back to those days in the hospital, but I tend to overlook them a lot. I forget. I rarely ever think about it at all. I almost sort of forget that any of it happened. And maybe I shouldn't do that. Maybe it's important for me to think about sometimes to understand who I am.

Someday, when I have enough money, I'm going to go to a shrink and get help figuring out all of this stuff.