elseiyabev's Journal (replies welcome)

Hello, this is my first post on this website. I'll just jump from topic to topic and get things of my chest:

I don't really have anyone to talk to, rather I don't want to talk to my family cause since my mother was schizophrenic I always felt like I had to show my strong side and not frighten them by raising any issues. My mother kill herself the day of my grandfather birthday, idk why she did that, I hate the fact that she did that.

I'm able to feel people. I've met a few that are worthy but I contempt most of them. When I talk to people whether it's family, friends, coworkers or strangers I fake my interest because it's less annoying. I both understand people, and don't want to understand.
Conscious of that, the younger me tried to lighten up others saying something like "even the most boring person, when pushed can surprise me and bring joy around".
My inner world is mostly a constant fight between these two forces: the one that despise others and the one that thinks everyone can be wonderful. Right now I'm in the middle, and I makes me feel empty somehow. I've lost interest in going forward others, I let them come, judge them and then fake something or joke around. I have to say, it's kinda lonely but I just can't fake friendship anymore.

Yeah that's it for today thanks for reading

When I was eleven, I went to psychologist. She asked me how I felt about my mom, since I didn't know I told her what my grandma' told me "I'm sad but she did it because she loved me and she didn't wanted me to see her destroyed like this." The psychologist then rushed to say that it wasn't my fault. I haven't thought of that. But the exact opposite of want she wanted happened: I blame myself for it...
Ever since I've hated psychology as a whole. Which is probably unfair because when my psychologist at the time, I'm sure, didn't meant anything wrong and was surely following her teaching.

Memory work in a strange way. I remember that when my mom was at the hospital, she kept on getting mad at the doctors for putting her in a cell with bars cause it use to make her felt like a prisoner. But she ended up jumping from the third floor a few months later. So maybe I should put the blame on the doctors... Truly I don't blame anyone, its sad but my mom probably planned her death for a long time. If I had to blame someone I'll probably blame my mom... and I regret that I thought of that. Blame is meaningless, it won't change the facts, so maybe I should rather focus on doing something useful...