My name is Irma. I write when I don't feel too shitty about it, I like to paint and I try to still do the things I once liked to do when Olive Garden doesn't have a monopoly on my lifestyle.
Ask me anything
No matter what perspective you have of anyone’s feelings, thoughts, or beliefs, no one can understand. I don’t understand, you don’t understand, they don’t understand. It’s a weird and beautiful part of the human experience to keep questioning things without fear of being ridiculed for it. Why not? If it was wrong, why do we have the capability to do so? I think that a lot. I’ve questioned different religions and I still don’t understand. I never will and I don’t expect to. I love it, though. If there was a society where everyone was just like me or thought the same way I did, I wouldn’t want to live. There would be no point in living because nothing is being challenged to make me think contrary to what I’ve believed in my whole life. There seems to be a negative connotation to the word “cult”. Cult comes from culture. Is it that bad? Without a set of traditions or culture, we wouldn’t even speak or read. We’d have no language. There’d be no passion. There wouldn’t even be art. Any art, even for those who oppose it. This is being human.
I think it’s safe to say that I panic easily…and always. I noticed how bad I am with my anxiety the other day when I was cleaning my bathroom. I have a box of tissues sitting on the window sill and I was standing right next to it when I was organizing the towel shelves. From my peripheral vision, I thought I was about to get attacked by some unworldly thing or ghost and I flinched so hard my heart started beating fast…it was the tissue sticking out of the box moving from the wind. The other night I kept one of my closest friends up almost all night because I started panicking about Stevie’s and his family’s safe return home from Vegas. I was already on the couch trying to sleep when it all started. Not only that, but about heart failures and what will become of my conscious after death. I started worrying so hard that I felt pressure on my chest and couldn’t breathe well. I got up in hopes I’d snap out of it, but it didn’t work. I got so desperate for comfort, I woke my friend up. I was so scared I needed someone around to see me pass out on the floor and call 911 before I die.
I feel bad for my dad. His insurance doesn’t cover dental anymore…right when his false tooth chips off and needs new adhesive for it. I’m scared to be like him in the future. Always depressed and scared of not being loved or being lied to constantly. He lives in fear. He’s always lived in fear. And as if he’s not already feeling shitty, his insurance dwindles. It’s embarrassing. I hate it. I wish I could give him everything. I wish I could give him comfort. He’s so fucking lonely in his own world.
When we fight I just want to sleep. I want to forget everything and fall prey to ignorance. I hate it. Sometimes I feel a sense of uselessness. I get discouraged by the slightest in-differences we have and I feel anger from you. Impatience. I feel forgotten and it hurts so much that I sleep it away and push everyone out. I’m scared of maybe one day, someone will be better than me, and better for you…and I’ll be swept away by my fears. I’ll break myself up.
I have class in exactly 4 hours…I live 40 minutes away from campus and it takes me 45 minutes to get ready. Fuck sleeping.
Yesterday, while at work, I saw you for the first time in what seems forever. I’ve seen you recently through pictures and heard your name like maybe once or twice since I’ve graduated. I knew you since the seventh grade. It’s odd how we all change. Sometimes for the better…what seems for most of us, for the worst.
How’ve you been? You know, I used to actually have a huge crush on you in high school. You were so sweet and child-like, mainly for your physique, but your humor was as well. All the band girls liked you and I’m sure you liked them back. We had Shakespeare and English together. You were a lot of fun. You seemed innocent and thoughtful in my eyes. It’s nice just to reminisce about what we were all like back then. I saw you yesterday and couldn’t believe it. Your appearance and words are lazy. I could only think of one thing…FUCKING SHAVE. You looked like a gnome.
