pulling teeth

The idea of writing anything seems ridiculously annoying tonight, so I won’t. I suppose I sort of already have, but that’s it. I swear.

t minus twenty

Gosh. Writing is hard and there is little to no reward outside of intrinsic value. That sucks.

I felt better today. I wonder if it is because I let myself feel upset last night. Could therapy actually work? Go figure.I don’t know if that light sarcasm qualifies as self-effacing. I’m going to let myself have it this time though.

Just this once.

I have been trying to honor my fullness signals. I’m trying not to roll my eyes as I type that. It is tough for me to take my disordered eating patterns seriously, but improving my body image is very important to me. I have been fixated on trying to rebel against judgement from others by eating things that I wasn’t previously allowed to eat.

This was great and fun for a long time, but now I mostly deal with stomach aches. I have been judged for my weight gain and it made me resentful and feel like I had something to prove. However, now, eating more than I want to prove a point feels self-destructive.

I felt embarrassed about talking about all of this in therapy, but now feel relieved that I did. I was reminded that I can be patient with myself. That’s a tough one for me even though I tend to demonstrate an often excessive degree of patience with others. Life is full of contradictions, I suppose.

Right now, I am very full because I returned to the kitchen after dinner to eat more. I was anxious about having to trust myself. My anxiety spiked. I ate some more and then worried that I would give myself another stomach ache. However, I decided to finish what I wanted and come back upstairs. I feel more full than I would like, but it is manageable now. My anxiety is spiking again as I write this though.

Learning to trust myself is hard work. So is writing this. I feel quite vulnerable. It is hard not to judge myself for (1) using a word like vulnerability - barf; (2) vulnerability itself; (3) admitting how hard vulnerability is for me. I suppose it is hard for everyone and that’s what unites us and blah, blah, blah. I just can’t stand those vulnerability spiels. Spare me!

Eek. Is that me avoiding it again? Not a rhetorical question. I genuinely cannot tell.

I wonder if I would read my own blog. Would I find any of this interesting if I read it in someone else’s voice? I’m not sure. I guess I shouldn’t judge myself so negatively. I’m learning how to write a blog. It’s self-education. The more mistakes the better, right?

Gosh. Learning from mistakes sounds a lot more interesting than it is in actuality. Mistakes suck. Judging myself for mistakes sucks too.

I feel curious about the world today. I don’t know how long it will last. I suppose that fearing that I will not feel curious soon is the fastest way to kill my own curiosity. Like, let a girl live, you know? I tend to jump to analyzing every thought in my head and every word I type like it is the scripture on Moses’ tablets.

I always think I’ll have so much to say and then I shrivel up once I sit here to write. I’m scared that I don’t know how to execute any of my ideas and that my self-judgement is right. I suppose I have to let it happen anyway. Trying sucks.

I’m tempted to check my phone to see if the twenty minutes are up. (Spoiler alert: it isn’t!) I’m trying to live in the moment, but you guessed it… Living in the moment sucks. Declaring that everything sucks also sucks. I’m trying to hold back on my hyper-self-aware statements about how I’m probably coming across right about now because I have no clue how I’m actually coming across right about now to a hypothetical reader I nicknamed Wishbone.

I guess that means that I’m not coming across any which way at all. I guess that means that whatever I feel writing this is what exists. No other reactions exist. Gosh. That doesn’t suck at all.

can we get 20 minutes on the clock?

I had to try a new hairstylist tonight. God forced my hand on that one. I had an appointment on Tuesday morning, which I had made over a month in advanced. I was all prepared to go when I received a call from the salon saying that Natalie wasn’t available, but they could offer me someone else. No worries, I replied, I can come back when she’s available. How about next week?

That’s when the receptionist became a bit shaky. Well, I couldn’t come back another time because Natalie wouldn’t be there any time. I was surprised and said that I didn’t want to come in after all, but she wound up talking me into an appointment for tonight, which is how we landed here.

I didn’t want to change stylists. I don’t know what happened with Natalie. I assume she quit because she seemed to have a strong work ethic and was very creative. I assume it was quite dramatic because the salon had confirmed my appointment as recently as Sunday.

I struggle with haircuts because it triggers my body image issues. Pretty much anything that involves mirrors, clothes, advertisements, and other people triggers my body image issues. It would be quirky if it didn’t feel so oppressive.

Haircuts are tough because you basically stare at yourself in the mirror and make small talk with someone that you see once every few months. Plus, there’s the added layer of how that person is working for you, so you want to be cordial and respectful. It is a social conundrum.

I don’t understand how some people can vent to hairstylists for the better part of an hour about their personal lives. I don’t get it. Is that some form of compulsive oversharing? What about a person holding a scissor near your neck makes you feel compelled to dramatize the details of your divorce?

I was bothered in part because this new stylist recognized that I knew someone whose hair she already cuts. I resented this because this other person only started going to that salon because I started going to that salon first. Before you judge me, hear me out. This other person and I had been going to two totally different salons and both spoke about trying this salon out. I suggested that we both go together and try it out. She refused and I wound up trying it myself. Once it was working out for me, she agonized about whether to switch. I had to listen to her constantly bemoan that her old hair stylist might see that she switched. I listened to this for several months!

Then, when she switched, she asked me multiple times for the name of my stylist only to use a different stylist. That bothered me less, but struck me as strange. Then, she wanted me to switch to her stylist, which struck me as very strange.

That’s why I was so bothered when this stylist started talking to me about this other person and telling me how funny she is. It was frankly annoying. I don’t need to hear about how great someone else is, especially when that person treats me poorly. No thanks. Obviously, the stylist wouldn’t know all these details, so I had to repress it.

As though I’m not upset enough at this point, I find out that this person who had committed to going somewhere with me next week went today without telling me. I didn’t even want to go out with her! I was going to do her a favor! And, she had the nerve to go without me and act like she would have told me, but I was too short with her! How do certain people get away with that? With flipping the script on me every damn day. It is beyond frustrating. I want out of this whole city most of the time. My life is too interconnected with this place and it makes me miserable and triggered and hopeless. I know you’re not supposed to run away from your problems, but I really want to sometimes.

old battles

I’m overwhelmed. I’m fixated over whether I’ll do enough work in enough time. I don’t care about what I’m doing and I also want to do it perfectly and receive praise. I also won’t accept or believe any of the praise, but I want it anyway. This job was meant to help with my mental health, but I find myself fighting the same old battles. Maybe, this time I will fight those battles differently though.

I feel a deep distrust for others, which felt profound and distressing today. When I told someone that I did not have the energy to listen to that person complain, she snapped at me. She doesn’t listen to me though. It is unbalanced and it stings.

I guess the stinging will be temporary though.

disillusioned & trying

I don’t know what to write. I am trying to be kind to myself. I’m also trying to not judge myself for trying to be kind to myself. I’m very tempted to write something self-effacing here, but will not.

I have ideas, but I’m unsure of how to approach them. My motivation is low and my emotional state is sad. I’m actually proud of myself for writing this much today.

x

brighter

Today is brighter than yesterday. I have limited hope and no inspiration to speak of, but I feel lighter nonetheless. I do not know why I’m still struggling so much. Maybe, I will never know why. Maybe, I’ll just follow this train as far as it can take me and walk the rest of the way.

Maybe, none of this matters because the individual brushstrokes don’t make the painting on their own. Maybe, I just keep painting and see what happens. Maybe, the base coat is a bit dark and uneven. Maybe, that will help me with the next layer or the layers after that.

I’m struggling. No shame in that.

x

walled cities

I felt very emotionally attacked and subsequently dismissed by someone yesterday, which is why I didn’t post. I told that person I do not want to communicate with her for a couple of weeks. I’m not sure what will happen.

When I feel like this, I shut down and obsess over the situation. That is what has been happening for a couple of days. This behavior is labelled everything from immature to dysfunctional, but it has often been the only workable way that I can avoid social danger.

I do not have anyone to turn to on an average day. If I talk about politics, current events, pop culture, or the weather, I have a never-ending contact list. However, if I struggle emotionally, there is no one to call. This hurts tremendously.

I’m quick to block out people who offend me. It is easy to call that a flaw, but I have stuck out situations for far too long out of necessity and endured lengthy periods of humiliation. It is difficult to go through that without a deep distrust for others.

I survived the hurricane because I built strong walls. I’ll venture outside once in a while, but I’m not looking to break down my walls. Those walls are the reason that I’m walking around today.

not better

I don’t know the point of writing anything at all. I’m worse, not better. I feel terrible. I hope this post sucks. At least, that would mean something went according to plan.

all I’ve got

Today felt impossible. It was a truly difficult day for me emotionally. This is all I can handle writing. It is all I want to say. It is more than enough.

x

exhaust

I’m more than tired. I feel as though I’ve been exhausted for a year. My mind is heavy. I struggle every day. Hope is taunting me.

I’m struggling to write anything here at all. This isn’t interesting and that makes me embarrassed.

I don’t know how to write anything of substance.

I don’t like anything I read.

This whole exercise is exhausting me.

I’m done for now.

three wishes

I wish I could be a writer, but I can’t.

I wish I could fall in love, but I can’t.

I wish I could believe in myself, but I can’t.

Are these ideas my own or imposed onto me? I genuinely do not know.

I wish I could be a writer.

I wish I could fall in love.

I wish I could believe in myself.

cc: your soul // subject: we regret to inform you

I do not believe that I could ever be in a relationship unless I pretend to be someone else. I don’t like admitting that even to myself, but that is what I have long believed.

I have known many people to build relationships on lies. I have been told that being single is the worst possible outcome and to avoid it at all costs. I am single. I am unsure what that means about me. Lately, I’m wondering if it means anything at all.

I’ve been told that you have to secure a good man before age 30 because no one will be left after that. And, if you find anyone after that, he will be awful.

I’ve been told that I’m unloveable.

I’ve been told that I will annoy and bother any man with my terrible personality.

I’ve been told that I would only be chosen as a default by a man after all the pretty, thin girls rejected him.

I’ve been told that I’ll always be alone and that I deserve it because of my appearance.

I’ve been told that I’m am embarrassment because I could lose more weight and don’t.

To write that I have been rejected doesn’t quite do it justice. I have had my teeth kicked in before I could even apply myself to be rejected. Even rejection seems lofty because I’ve been told that I’m not even considered.

How do I recover from these lies? How do I manage today with these memories floating in my mind?

There might not be a lesson here. This is all very painful. Society is very tortured. Many of us are misunderstood and wounded.

How could a weight loss program ever address this sorrow? I don’t need a revenge body, I need a healed soul. Telling the truth as best I can is one way to start.

sorry I asked

Sorry that I asked for an adjustment.
Sorry that I do not want to live with avoidable discomfort.

Sorry that I made myself visible.
Sorry that I didn’t measure up.

Sorry that I made mistakes.

Sorry that I failed.

Sorry that I didn’t pick myself back up fast enough.

Sorry that I’m having a hard time.

Sorry that you don’t care about my feelings.

Sorry that it is hard for me.

Sorry that I struggle as others do.

Sorry that you’re a jerk.

in fondo in fondo

I’m in it. Let me just tell you: I’m in it. I am trying this crazy thing out where I do not set clear goals and I exist. It feels ridiculous and I have to remind myself about every 20 minutes that I do not need a goal this minute.

I walked for about two miles today. I used to walk so much further every day. Before last July, I probably walked at least five miles a day on average. Walking helped me clear my head. Now, walking the two miles feels difficult. There have been many weeks during this pandemic where I did not leave the house, except to drive in my car. I suppose it makes sense that my world has felt smaller and smaller during the same time.

It’s interesting that I hardly actually write about the pandemic here. I think about it all the time, but I only vaguely reference it. I actually lost a close relative to the pandemic and it has made this year even more difficult and awful. The strange thing is that I hear about the pandemic so often that I almost feel like talking or writing about it adds unnecessary noise to a chaotic situation. That seems awfully critical though. The pandemic has directly impacted my life after all.

The pandemic has been difficult. Entering into the pandemic was particularly surreal to me because I was in the process of lifting myself out of several months of depression. I was actually making tangible progress and my mood was improving. When the news starting circulating in February that we would be at risk, I immediately panicked. Then, I told myself that I would take things day by day instead of throwing myself back into my depression. I kept going about my self-care activities with the added caution of washing my hands. Then, of course, the news became more serious. The outrageous headlines teasing about the end of the world turned into health officials pleading for caution. What was most surreal for me was that I had felt like the world was ending due to my depression and, then, suddenly, the world felt like the world was ending.

in vino veritas

I just want to try! You know what I mean? I just want to earnestly try a whole bunch of things. I miss that. Before all the bullying, I used to try all the time. It was one of things so many peers and adults mocked me for: my earnesty.

I’m so bored with everything having to look perfect before attempting anything at all. Boring! I’m so over it.

I want to write whatever on my blog. Who cares anyway? Why the hell not?

Why does everything have to look so polished and aesthetically pleasing all the time? Why does every facet of my life have to be so presentable? I’m rejected even when I people-please anyway.

I have tried so damn hard to be someone else, hoping that once I became another person that I would be liked for who I already am. Huh? It makes no sense, but so many people are doing the same thing. Obviously, I did not make this all up on my own.

I’m going to be an average amateur writer who probably never gets paid for her work. How do you like me now?

So, let’s do it, Wishbone! You and me. Let’s be open and free and earnest. I miss it. Do you?

for when you meet Saint Peter

I’m not going to talk you out of hurting yourself today. I keep a long list of motivational quotes in a journal, but those won’t do you any good right now. If all living required was a motivational quote now and again, we wouldn’t face so much loss and destruction.

I’m also not going to tell you that you have options. I don’t know if you do. Maybe, the pain is too much this time and you are too weak. If this is the last thing you ever read, I wish you well on your journey to the great unknown.

I’m a Catholic, albeit a very conflicted one. I believe in heaven and hell. Catholics generally believe that those who die by suicide are sent to hell or at least purgatory. I don’t buy it.

Jesus Christ is obviously a central figure to Catholicism. He was our Messiah who had divine power, but choose to live as a mostly broke preacher in the desert. As the story goes, he was publicly executed alongside petty criminals. According to Catholic theology, he could have saved himself, but instead accepted his death.

I bring this up because Jesus had more fight in him; i.e., he was divine. However, he carried his own cross to his crucifixion, which was orchestrated by those who betrayed him.

You might have more fight in you too, but maybe your cross is too heavy to bear and your fate has been determined by those who have betrayed you. Who am I to tell you that you can walk another mile? Maybe, this is where your suffering ends.

I cannot blame you for opting out as it has crossed my mind before. I’m what you might consider an idealistic cynic or a cynical idealist, depending on how you look at it. I see so much beauty in the world that I’m constantly disappointed. I hold so much love that I’m constantly humiliated. I haven’t met many people like me. I suspect many of them are already dead.

I won’t tempt you with fanciful ideas about the world. What even would I say? Think of all the friends you could make? Eh, they would probably stab you in the back. What about all the foods you could try? Probably all tastes like chicken anyway. Imagine falling in love! I’ll believe that one when you give me a name, location, and date.

I have no idea if your life will get any better. For reference, mine seems to get worse every month. I do not believe that my life will improve in any practical sense. I’m more curious than anything else at this point.

I find it a lot easier to be passively curious. It hurts a lot to hope and dream. It hurts a lot to care. I live in a time and place where making a lot of money is the single most important quality a person could have - if you could even call that a quality. If you don’t make a lot of money, then you should try to convince a lot of people to have sex with you. That will make you cool somehow and being cool matters for some reason. I don’t know the reason, but I’ve been told it just does. That’s my entire culture wrapped up for you: fuck bitches and get money. It’s not exactly a nurturing environment for hoping and dreaming.

So, I understand why you want out. Who would pick life for herself?

Imagine trying to sell your own life on an informercial:

Are you ready to feel a consistent dread of inadequacy?

Is loneliness your favorite emotion?

Do you ever vacillate between depression and anxiety on a daily loop?

If so, then life on Earth is for you! Give us a call at 1-800-SAD-SACK and we’ll set you up with a body that will be heavily criticized, a family that judges you, and superficial, unreliable friends. It only costs $1 million for a home, $250,000 for an education, and $100,000 for plastic junk you won’t remember buying. But, if you call now, we will offer you a package deal for $400,000! Don’t have $400,000 lying around? Don’t worry! Just sign all your rights away to a nondescript Wall Street executive and you’ll be on the hook for 30% interest until you die. Call now because this offer won’t last long!

Who would ever sign up for this? Certainly not an idealistic cynic or a cynical idealist. It’s a scam! We’ve been duped! We live in a culture that tells us cars with doors that flip upwards instead of swing outwards are the ultimate achievement. We are expected to condemn anyone who disagrees with us over which politicians are corrupt. Here’s a hint: it’s all of them! We are the carcass and the vultures eating the carcass. This isn’t the circle of life; this is the cannibalization of life.

You want out. How could I blame you? Frankly, it would be more alarming to love this planet than to loathe it. I just have one quick favor to ask. When you meet Saint Peter, could you put in a good word for me? I’ve covered most of my bases, but a referral couldn’t hurt. I know we haven’t met, but I’d like to meet you up there. I’d like to meet you because you read my words this far and considered my point of view this far and that’s more than most people have offered to me in terms of time and patience. So, when we meet in heaven, I’d like to repay the favor and listen to your story to learn why you couldn’t walk that mile with your cross. I would have liked to listen to that story here on Earth, but I respect that you already made up your mind.

Unless, you’re curious too. Not hopeful - no, no, no, sir, not hopeful at all. But, curious? I’m certainly curious about you. Curious about why you’re still reading when you already made up your mind. There’s no inspirational message here; I already told you that. Curious about why you have to get to the end of this message when it won’t matter soon anyway. Unless, of course, it does matter to you and we’re just two idealistic cynics (or is it cynical idealists?) adjusting our crosses so that we can walk a little lighter. Either way, I’ll see you when I see you. And, don’t forget about that referral!

xo

let’s make a deal

What are you looking at me for?

Do you want sympathy or commiseration?

Are you looking for a witty comment?

Want to hear a light-hearted story?

Oh, dear, I am not offering any of that today or anytime in the near future. The kitchen is closed and the cooks have all gone home.

I will be civil. I will be polite. Or, at least I plan to be these things.

I will not be listening to your problems though. I will not be sympathetic to your neuroses. I won’t even tell you any of this.

Why?

Because you insult me when I’m depressed and scrambling for a bit of self-worth. Because you see that I’m struggling and kick me in the teeth.

Enjoy your diet.

Enjoy your sarcasm.

I certainly don’t.

she called me fat

A close relative of mine expressed concern to another close relative of mine about how apparently my weight gain is out of control. This obviously circled back to me as I’m writing it here today.

I am dealing with depression and an eating disorder as well as related body image issues. I’m also dealing with outcome of a few traumatic events in the span of one year.

But, I guess the bad news is that I’m fat. Wow, gosh, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry you have to look at me. I’m sorry that I’m not physically attractive enough for you. I’m sorry that you are not impressed with my appearance as of late. I’m sorry that you are not interested in looking at me.

I assume that I should go on a restrictive diet now to make up for such a disgrace that I have made of myself. Gosh. Really let myself go, haven’t I?

I am absolutely repulsed by the pettiness that I’m experiencing. It is outrageous and I am incensed. No one deserves to be degraded for their appearance on a good day. Doing so when that person is dealing with what I’m dealing with simply adds an entire layer of horror.

It is pathetic. You can call me fat all you want. Forget that I spent today helping you. Forget the fact that I cover for your outbursts. Forget that I pretend that I have not caught you in a million lies. Forget all that because I’m fat, so nothing else matters. I’m a loser, so nothing you have done to hurt me matters. That’s how it goes, right? That’s how you want to play this one, right? I know the drill.

You have degraded me as long as you have known me and that is a long time. I have catered to you because of it. Now, I see that you are pathetic and cannot help yourself. No problemo.

Keep calling me fat and see how that makes your life so much better. Good luck with that plan. Sounds solid. Sounds workable. Not pointless at all.

I have been taught that my sensitivity was such a negative quality, but now I’m starting to think that it must be really confusing to be such a self-centered, repetitive liar.

I helped you. You can thank me for that.

You don’t know how to though. You only know how to stab me in the back every time I step out for myself.

One day, I’m going to get myself so far out of your reach that you’ll be left standing awkwardly holding the butter knife, wondering who to abuse next.

color me disappointed

I agreed to a simple plan on Friday: spend some time outside this weekend to prevent depressive thoughts. Simple enough, right? My tentative idea was to go to the park. I could even drive to the park. What did I do? Well, I hardly left the house.

It is now Monday morning and the depressive thoughts have been surrounding me. Is that any surprise? It is like clockwork.

Why is it so hard for my to go to a damn park for 20 minutes? Why does that feel insurmountable? I have an endless list of reasons: I’ll be too warm or too cold, I’ll have to use the bathroom and won’t be able to, I will feel lonely, it might be too crowded for my taste, I might become hungry, my shoes might become uncomfortable, I might be bored or overwhelmed - you get the point. I can’t even address the individual concerns because my anxiety then just flips to the opposite concern. It is hot today. Maybe it will cool off. Or, maybe it will rain and I won’t have an umbrella because it is hot right now?!

The pattern is right there and it bugs the hell out of me, but I feel hopeless to stop it or change it. I don’t really believe anyone can change this pattern as I have never seen anyone do it. Hypothetically, it makes sense that one could, but I don’t believe I’m that person even if it is possible. I feel so tempted to tear myself apart for this past weekend. Maybe, it can be something I learn about myself, but I’m upset and angry because I fear that this type of behavior is laziness, not depression, and that it makes me unloveable.

That’s all I can handle writing right now because now I’m crying and hurt by all of this.

x

perhaps, perhaps not

Now, maybe, I’ve been looking at this all backwards. I have been wracking my brain trying to figure out how to fit in amongst other people and now feel confronted with the startling possibility that my fear of being different might be the precise glue that links me to all these other people who seem so distant.

My ego has been damaged, the shards swept under the carpet. I’m looking to a crowd of lost souls, mumbling questions into their ears. What do you want from me? How can I make myself better? Will you love me? Will you help me?

I keep forgetting that the ones quickest to give quick fixes are the con artists among us. Simple answers make for complicated errors.

My best option might be to listen to the voice in my own head. Between you and me, she can be a real nuisance. She is biased and quite sad. I feel sorry for her most of the time and frustrated with her when I’m tired of feeling sorry for her. However, I fear that she might be my best chance. She can be quite resourceful and patient and kind or so I’ve heard.

There are patterns playing out here, again and again. I am mistreated, made to feel bad about myself, and I subsequently apologize those who mistreated me in the first place because I believe that they treated me according to fatal character flaws that I have been born with. This is the same story playing out every day of my life and it is a real downer.