CHEERIOS & PROZAC

Mood: Unhappy
Listening to: The voices in my head

Insomnia is a motherfucker

My brain has been going all night long and I thought perhaps if I made some use out of the thoughts by putting them here instead of dwelling on them that they'd go away. It's a crazy theory, but it might just work.

When I was about 8 or 9 years old I would tell my mom that I had lots of thoughts and words just swirling around my head and I couldn't get them out. I didn't know what any of it was, but there was just so much trapped up there. I think what I was really doing, was somehow asking for help. Maybe for someone to talk to - maybe someone that wasn't my mom or dad. I was so scared of the future because the future was looking pretty rough. The divorce, or what caused it, was in full swing and as I witnessed everything that was happening I didn't have anywhere to put my feelings about the whole thing. I was terrified of making my mom cry because that was what I seemed to do best at the time. I was terrified of seeing my dad cry, because little girls can't handle seeing their daddy in tears. I was guilt ridden because I was good at making the people around me feel worse than they were feeling already. The last thing I needed to do was tell them how I felt or what I thought.

I had this keyboard/organ type thing that I would compose songs with. I would hit keys and try to get the same pitch with my voice while singing horrible lyrics about pain and crying and fighting. It was the only outlet I had and I would put on "concerts" for my mom every once in awhile. It was the only way I could tell her what I was really feeling. I don't know if any of it helped, but I'm sure it didn't open up a dialoge about what was going on in our house. It only made mom cry. It really made me feel worse.

I decided to utilize our school counselor when I was in 3rd grade. Mr. Ray was a pretty nice guy (with a kickass flat-top haircut) and I was in need of someone to listen. I had used most of my "show and tell" time at school to update my classmates on the situation at home - something that would ordinarily embarass most kids, but for some reason it was cathartic to me. Someone to talk to. I think it was after one of these times that I did go to the counselor to explain my situation. Just another plea for help. Another set of ears - and someone that wouldn't cry. I don't remember what came out of it other than my mom getting really upset that she wasn't notified of this. It's partly what makes me think going to see him was my decision.

When I look back at the first 9 years of my life, I see a little girl who almost had to grow up a lot sooner than she really did. It all happened so fast compared to how I remember the years that came afterwards - but that small wrinkle in time created alot of what makes me the person I am today. The person who still can't stand to see her parents cry or upset. The "guilty" child - no matter what I do.

And once again I'm feeling somewhat witness to something I feel I cannot discuss. My questions won't be answered by the ones who can answer them and all the thoughts I've got swirling around in my head will have to be dealt with by means other than just sitting down and talking about them. I don't want to make anybody feel bad and I don't want to see anybody cry. I don't want to know the answers, really... but not knowing has been more painful.

It's absolutely terrifying to feel 9 years old again.