The Coping Mechanism

     So, not that it's much a surprise, but I tend to use sarcasm or humor to hide how I really feel. People constantly hear that joke "Oh, you just think I'm funny but I'm actually just being a dick." But with me, it's kind of the truth.

     I didn't always make people laugh by being rude, or mean, or condensing, it just kind of evolved once we started dating. Him and his friends are super mean to each other, which is apparently funny, so it kind of slowly turned into how I told jokes and dealt with my anxiety or uncomfort. If I started feeling super uncomfortable about what someone was saying about me or what someone was doing, I would always make some dumb-ass joke. One friend, I'd make fun of the fact that he likes Nickleback (true story), or how cheap someone is being, or how they did that one thing that one time. I guess it's kind of a public coping mechanism. That, and tearing apart paper coasters, Sorry Vu : / If I'm at home, my coping mechanism is either to cry, drink, or clean. Cleaning is usually my go to, or I cry AND clean. Or I cry AND clean AND drink, but I usually don't end up cleaning as well as it should have. When my sister was in labor, though, my apartment was spotless.

     However, I cope with things because of my anxiety, not my depression. In order for me to deal with what was happening or to make myself feel better, I cut, which started around 12-13. A friend of mine started doing it because people were making fun of her, so I told her that if she kept doing it, then I would, too. Not only that, but it was an excuse to do it anyway. People openly favored my sisters because they were athletic and pretty. I was fat, had glasses, braces, and pretty much had no redeeming quality. Besides the fact that I was one bad ass clarinet player. After a while, I ended up doing it because it made me feel better. It also didn't help that my parents were going through a divorce. Once I got to high school, it got a lot worse. I would go from doing it once or twice a month to every week. Band was just really stressful, especially my sophomore year when my freaking French teacher failed me by TWO EFFING POINTS. I had a tutor AND stayed afterwards, but she believed "i didn't deserve to pass." She was a ho. Seriously, her last name was Ho. Whatever, /rant.

     Luckily, college really wasn't that bad. I realized it was a terrible way to deal with my anxiety and depression and that's when I  started ripping things up or cleaning. However,I still do it once and a while, I'll admit to that. It sucks it has to come to that sometimes, but I'm really proud that I could go from doing it every week to only once a a year. The most recent time I won't get into because it involves a friend. He knows who he is...