The purpose of this blog was for me to talk about the raw things, and so, it’s Friday, and I’m sharing:
- Sometimes, I get so fucking jealous of the “happy” people in relationships — it makes me insane that in all the measures I (we, the world at large, on paper, whatever) find, we are similar, equal, and yet, and yet! and yet… [It’s ugly. I know. I have not a single fuck to give about that.]
- I hate commuting by train. I hate it. Nearly every single time I do, even if it starts with a relatively comfortable seat, people squeeze in next to me or hang over me or press up against me, and I don’t like strangers touching me and it takes all of my strength to not shove someone or to not get off the train and be late (or even later to work because my train is always late) so that I can wait for another, less-crowded train.
- I’m sick of my best friend using me as her emotional dumping ground, but I’m scared of losing her by pushing back and I’m scared of hurting her by pushing back and so I take it in, I take it in, and it sucks.
- My therapist asked me why I diminish my accomplishments — I told her my truth: “People judge you for being different, whether it’s in an inferior or superior fashion. You can’t win because insecurity is a nasty taskmaster.”
- I’m as insecure as anyone else. No more, no less, just the same. I’m the same as anyone else.
- I logically understand that I need to trust people, but emotionally, I mostly want a majority of them to fuck right on off the nearest cliff because they fail you, they fail you not in the big ways, but the little ones, and it’s the “little things that keep you out of the Kingdom” as my mother always says.
- There is someone in my life who I lack faith in and I don’t know why I’m continuing the farce, save this: I want to not lack faith in her. I want to believe in her like the way you believe that gravity holds you up; like the way you believe that when you step on concrete it won’t sink in like quicksand. (She’s like quicksand).
- Some days, like today, I don’t believe this is worth it. All the work that it takes to become “wholehearted” and the work it takes to “connect” to people, to have “empathy”, to be open and loving and honest — some days, I think it’s not worth it, at all, and I’d rather go back to my life before. I know it sounds like someone recovering from an addiction — and I feel like I’m in ‘life rehab’ these days, thank you, Therapy — but my life before may not have been great, but it was mine and it was predictable and it was okay. I would be happy with okay.
- No one likes rejection, duh, and I am no different. For the person I had just started dating and who did a full-on magical disappearing act, seriously?! I’m not happy, obviously, that this didn’t work out, but what happened to basic manners to say “I’m out” or… No fade out, no hints, nothing but a rabbit in a hat and *poof*? It’s 2014 and this is fucking humanity?
- I would trade my money and my prestige without the slightest hesitation for real connection and a real relationship with a) a romantic partner and b) my family. And anyone who thinks any different about me knows me, obviously, not at all. [Sadly enough, I can count on more than two hands those people.]
Okay. I’m…I’m done. It’s Friday, it’s sunny in New York City, and I feel raw and vulnerable and tired — soul-heavy and drained.
(And I’m still reading the damn book. Don’t ask!)