I've come to a decision.
I'm going to be wholly honest in this journal. My last psych eval at College said I was too "introverted" and was more of an "INTJ" than someone who lets out their feelings. "Rational Mastermind" which sounds awesome, but really isn't. It means that I, in the eyes of others and myself, can never reach my full potential. Because INTJ's hate anything less than utter perfection and humans are fallible.
So fuck it. I'm not going to let some prick in a stupid granny jumper tell me that I don't show emotions. I do. I just think that people in jumpers with bobbles and reindeer in January don't deserve to get anything other than curt sarcasm.
I was treating this journal as something to be glanced at with disdain really and just somewhere to write when I'm feeling sleep-deprived and lonely.
And now I'm going to take it seriously. I'm going to spill out what I really am. How I really act.
I actually fell asleep at some point last night. I say "night," I mean "4AM." So...yeah. I woke up about an hour and a half later and Mum had obviously been in because the fucking door was wide open.
Last night, I was in the front room all day and night because my room has some kind of leak in the ceiling and I can't sleep in a slowly flooding room now can I?
I know it had to be Mum, because I had my quilt over me when I woke up and like hell I brought that into the front room. But I saw the door wide open, fully open, and freaked the flaming fuck out.
And I hid under the quilt like a five-year-old. Like if I couldn't see the open door, I'd be perfectly fine. Of course, I'm nearly 18 and there's only so long you can hyperventilate under a quilt for while your mind is screaming at you to get a grip, it's just a fucking door. So I did what I always do when I feel the paranoia trying to strangle me: I sang really loudly while getting up to close the door. I don't know if I can sing very well, I doubt it, but I don't know...I started it as a counter-thing when I was 13 after Mum's first stalker tried to break into our house in Twickenham. I sang loudly so that if he came back, my silence would be noticed and Mum could phone the police again. It wasn't anything about warding him off with my singing, hell, I could have been talking loudly but there's only so much I can ad-lib before I tail off. I just thought that I'd rather have a sort of circuit-breaker. Singsingsingsingsing---she's silent, something's up---singsingsingsing.
Of course, now I'm in the latter months of my 17th year and Mum has had her other stalkers either jailed or restraining ordered since we moved and I'm nowhere near as overly paranoid. I still hate having my back exposed though, I have to have something against it, wall, cushion, soft-toy, dog ect. I have such a thing about literal and emotional backstabbing that I physically can't watch it play out in a movie or TV show XD I have to change the channel because I think that's the worst thing you could ever do to anyone.
So I closed the door, but it got jammed halfway and now it's slightly ajar, there's just this little crack and I can see through to the hallway with the fairy lights still up along the walls and it's horrible. Fully open doors petrify me. Slightly ajar doors make me feel nauseous and freaked out.
I can't really pinpoint on where exactly in my life I began to feel terrified of doors. I can pin it down with the singing or the backstabbing, but the doors are such a prevalent thing in my life that it completely overshadows any real memories as to why. I just know that it was probably one of the weirdoes doing something door-related. More than one has tried to break down out door.
My Mum dated some real fucknuts.
So. There we go my lovely non-existence audience, my first from-the-heart journal entry.
Oh god it's like therapy.