I had a conversation with these two guys over break and for the first time, I picked up on the pervading insanity in the male species. Guys are nuts. But I know girls are nuts too.
I don’t know. I’ve been feeling bitter; really fucking bitter about the existence of relationship dynamics and the fact that having one is important to me at all. I hate all the heartache I’ve felt and caused myself in pursuit of attaining one and losing.
Sometimes it sucks to have this nonchalant attitude masking this potent sensitivity. But it would make sense that my character developed precisely to mask what I perceived to be my most glaring flaw.
I wish I had a place to run to or close friends to rely on. But I have really shitty things to say, and I don’t trust people to understand or sympathize with this pain I feel as a result of over-indulging in what I thought at the time to be glamour.
Maybe it started before that, and the mistakes I’ve made in adolescence just give me an excuse to be sad. But when a boy misreads my overtly flirtatious humor and tries to convince me I led him on, it makes me want to starve myself. It makes me resent the presentation of self I’ve developed, and though I have control over how I act, certain mechanisms are so engrained without them I feel naked.
At one time starving myself was my defense mechanism and because distracting myself from hunger pangs was always on my mind, I never felt naked. Maybe that’s what a relationship is for me in some ways; just a constant, something or someone I know will always be there. It’s sick. I was sick. But we’re all sick in some ways. We all find self destructive coping mechanisms and I’m often afraid to talk about mine because well: I don’t care for the skeptical glares that come when I mention drugs, or the ambiguity people offer when talking about sex and relationships, or the fucking eye roles when talking about eating disorders. Just in general, I fear to face apathy when sharing shitty experiences and I don’t want to have to defend my intentions.
The worst part is all three of those, though they stem from deep rooted insecurities and complex psychological agendas, are also tied to very vein and superficial motivations. I can’t help but be disgusted with myself when I think about all the stages of self-destruction I consented to take part in.
I wish I could rest. Find a place to drop my baggage off and a person that made me feel wonderful and valuable. But looking for that safe haven seems to add to the desperation to find one. It’s just another self-destructive project to keep me company in the empty moments. But what isn’t? What is the right balance of self-care and social intrigue that will illuminate the bitterness and let me feel all warm and fuzzy?
No one has the answer. Because everyone on this planet is equally confused they are just more or less delusional in their reductionist theories. And I know I have not been adhering to anything close to what I understand to be a good balance. But I am better than I was last semester, I am building strength. It’s just frustrating sometimes to not be as strong and unaffected as I want to be, and then feel the consequences of the action I take in moments of weakness.
Nothing major, just times I elected to play instead of work take a toll on my self-worth. But writing helps. I hope you understand. I hope you care.
I have a hard time trusting people to actually give a *** when they have nothing to gain from caring. Compassion is submission of self, and who want to take off their armor in this crazy cut-throat world. I don’t. And I project my feelings and philosophies which I have come to understand, onto the entire human race. I hate my own sadness so I assume everyone else must hate my sadness too. But I think there is tremendous potential for growth in challenging that error in thinking. Because it’s not the sadness that drove me to act against my health, it was the refusal to sit with it and the great lengths I was willing to go to in order to deny it.
So there it is my break in an emotional hologram of a nutshell.