out in daylight, my potential

I have this horrible restless feeling tonight. I need to write something - anything, all the things - but I'm also so terrified of writing right now that I can't even bring myself to open a notebook or a document. I feel like something's trying to claw its way out of my chest but I just can't let it out and I don't know why.

A few days ago, I had one of my recurring dreams (or actually a couple recurring dreams mashed together) - the creepy house with the yellow room in the attic, and a touch of the hotel that's also a labyrinth. It's not worth explaining, they're just parts of my normal dream landscape that never bode well; there are monsters in those places I don't know and can't fight.

But this time there was an aspect to the house that was never there before: a room on the ground floor, close to the front door (and the entrance to the labyrinth :\), warm and bright even though it didn't have any windows. And the monsters were coming and there was nowhere to run, but I knew I'd be safe anyway if I covered the walls of that room in words, and I did, and I was.

That's how I feel now, just like in that dream, except I don't know the words that will save me, and I'm too paralyzed with irrational terror to even start looking. I just don't know what to do.

I don't even know how to start this post. "So I am intentionally turning my life upside down for reasons I'm not comfortable talking about. :D" ...yeah, that works.

Um... in summary, I'm hopefully, theoretically, at some point whenever I can figure out how the hell to manage it, moving out of the house and into an apartment of my own - probably in Syracuse, if I can manage it, because the cost of living is lower than in Ithaca. Mat and I are okay, I just need some space to myself and to take care of myself, and both of those are things I am never going to get here.

I have no fucking idea how I am going to do this in practice. I have no money of my own, I've never had a job in my life (and physically can't work any job that involves being on my feet), and I dropped out of school for mental health reasons and never managed to go back. And I've never lived by myself in my entire life, and I have no idea what I'm doing.

In short, I don't even know if I have any business trying to survive on my own. I feel like I'm going to fail miserably. I feel like this is going to crash and burn before I even leave the house.

But damn it, I am an adult. I deserve to live like one and be treated like one and be my own goddamn person. I want this so badly, even though it terrifies me.

I was going to lock this - mostly out of habit - but screw that. I switched journals so I could feel safe posting publicly again, and if my parents can find this to read it... I'm screwed already, and I'll probably know about it very soon.

My dad emailed me today. And as there was no weird passive aggressiveness this time, and as that really is my preferred method of communication with him, I probably should respond.

At the same time... there's a reason I'm avoiding my parents at the moment. It's because no matter what I say or do, they won't accept that I'm not okay. And then they make it worse. In their world, I quit school rather than being forced to be hospitalized and take a medical leave I didn't want with requirements for my return I couldn't possibly meet, and I haven't finished and sold any books yet because I am lazy and unmotivated, and I can't possibly be really sick or depressed, I am just an overdramatic hypochondriac who apparently enjoys wasting my life.

He asks how I am and I just don't know how to answer. Telling him the truth has never worked out well for me in the past, and I can't begin to understand why. I've been trying, especially this past few weeks, and I can't understand how a parent - both of them, actually - could look at me in this hole I can't climb out of, and not offer me a hand.

( I am processing. Depression and self-harm and suicidal ideation and shit behind the cut. )

I haven't tried to talk to them about my mental health since. I don't like to talk to anyone about it anymore, out of this fear they're going to do something horrible to me and then pretend nothing was ever wrong, and I can't believe I am making this post at all, to be honest. I will probably regret it before very long.

But I still don't know how to respond to that email. I don't trust enough to tell the truth, and I'm too angry for a lie. Am I okay? No. Not even a little bit, and maybe it's not his fault, but he could have offered me a hand years ago and never did.