Anxiety

Recently I watched a movie called Eighth Grade. It was written and directed by Bo Burnham. Now I’m going to talk about him and nothing in relation to the movie. I first heard of Bo trying to watch his standup… which I didn’t really like. I still don’t, if I’m being honest. Sometime later, I saw him on The Green Room with Paul Provenza (which I think anyone with comic appreciation, should watch). I grew some admiration because it’s not easy holding your own in a roomful of veterans. I still didn’t think much of him. It wasn’t until I saw him onscreen in The Big Sick that I got serious about that admiration though, I still can’t explain what changed my mind.

I really enjoyed The Big Sick. I think everyone should watch it. I think Kumail Nanjiani is brilliant. This movie was probably one of the best romantic comedies I’d seen in a long time when I watched it. I still can’t believe I got a chance to tell Kumail in person how much I liked it. 

Back on track.

I have trouble coming to terms with how bad my anxiety can get and how crippling it can be. For years, I tried to hide it from myself. I think part of it was because I didn’t know what was going on with me. It was part of the trauma. Having no one around made it easy to be confused. When I started getting a sense of what was happening, it made me even more scared because I felt like it was making me less of a person than I already felt like. For years, deep down, I just desperately wanted to be cool but I felt like this was a reason even less to be it. It made me feel more like the loser I already felt. I wanted to be cool because I felt so invisible and with the life I grew up with, it made me feel so alone.

I’m only beginning to understand my own anxiety more. Every time I’ve tried to talk about it before, it was always with some sense of crafted conversation. It’s not easy talking about how bad it can get. Even when I have better control over it once I started learning more about it. But I get moments where it’s so hard to breathe. I don’t answer my calls or texts and the longer it goes on, the more I feel that loser feeling and if it goes on too long, it’s so hard to get out of. I start to not be able to function. I can’t focus and I just stay in my room. Sometimes I feel this intense feeling of panic like I’m terrified but I don’t know of what. It’s usually before bed and it’ll keep me from sleeping. I get the same feeling of panic when I try to leave my house after a few days of being too worried about people seeing my anxiety because I can see the physical signs of the weariness when I look in the mirror.

It’s been bad for a while now.

Eighth Grade explains anxiety pretty well. I can relate to that desperation and inside vs. outside and how disconnected it can be. That pressure to want to be seen as cool and the awkwardness that comes with it. The stutters of talking to people that you think are cool and those small smiles of victory when you think you feel it. It gets being a disgruntled teenager pretty well too. Some of the scenes were so painful to watch because I could feel it.

It’s the closest I’ve come to see how relatable it feels to my own anxiety. I even think she does better than me but then I think of moments where I’ve forced myself to do things. I’ve never been able to shake that uncool feeling from myself though. It’s emotionally painful to experience and I can get paralyzed by past embarrassments even though I know deep down, it’s not a big deal. It’s so awkward.

There was another seen that hurt to watch. It was the car scene. I’m going to spoil it:

When he was making her uncomfortable by trying to get her to play Truth or Dare and she didn’t really know how to go about the situation… I felt that. When she’s looking down and away but still trying to “be cool”, it’s how I feel inside when I talk to people. Even just in social situations. But where I really felt it was when she apologized for saying no and how guilty she sounded for rejecting the dare. When he tells her it was for her and how her first time is gonna be stupid or whatever… You can feel the guilt growing on her. When she is crying in her room, I felt it. For me though, I internalize it and that scene and how she’s acting in it is the turmoil I feel on the inside. 

What I felt was more shame though because sometimes I never said no.

This film was the closest thing that I’ve seen in front of me that explains how I feel inside sometimes. In a way, it’s kind of nice that it was anxiety rather than emotional disturbance that I’ve seen in other films.

It’s a lonely way of living and it gets even harder as I get older. As an adult, there’s a part of me that feels like I’m a grown woman, these are problems for teenagers. I’ve learned not to push people away which is a step up from how I used to be. I tend to isolate myself but I’m working on that. I’m still learning to accept help from the right people and being honest with them. I know I’m lucky to even have a couple of people this is possible with. I feel guilty that I have a support system but I can still feel helpless. But I’ve grown as well. I don’t long for affection anymore. Sure, I have anxiety about dying alone or being a spinster for the rest of my life but I don’t force attachment to people anymore. I’ve come to terms with how disappointed and overly anxious it makes me and that it’s best to avoid.

I never thought I’d genuinely stop seeking for meaning in empty places.

How I Started The Year Wrong With Guys And Ended It Right

Oh boy… This is about to get real…

I thought I kicked it off in a good way. I decided not to see the guy I had been sleeping with before he left for Australia. I thought I kicked an old habit of giving in. Instead of thinking of “one last time”, I thought about how rude he’d been to me recently. I thought about the way he told me I wouldn’t get my handholding and Christmas lights with anyone and how much that hurt me. I decided what was best for me and said fuck it to him. Though, I think I drunkenly embarrassed myself before the final nail. But I didn’t fuck him so it’s mostly okay.

Also, I know how bad this is going to sound but… I thought about how shitty his squat form was. I saw a video of it and felt disappointed for all the times we had discussions about lifting. Honestly, every video I’ve seen of him doing lifts felt like I was deceived. It put me off pretty hard. I haven’t crept in awhile so hopefully that’s changed but I’m not interested in knowing.

After him, I thought great! I’ve got this. I can do this.

That lasted until I slept with someone from my gym. He was quite younger but I got a lady boner every time I saw him lift. Unlike the previous guy, this one walked it. His form, his strength and something about him made me horny like every time. All that sexual tension finally came to a result when we had a hot makeout session in his car. Based on that, I thought it would translate in the bedroom.

It did not. Age and experience became apparent. It got even more awkward when we got into a situation where Plan B was involved. I was baffled how he didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. I didn’t know how to react when his explanation was that his ex-girlfriend ate it like candy. I made him go get it and when he came back with it, he tried to leave for the gym. I said fuck no to that and told him this shit is whack and he was going to have to sit through this with me. This was my first time ever dealing with this and I was not going to process this alone.

You’d think it’d end there but it didn’t. We slept together one more time and it was actually pretty sweet. It got weird after that because he couldn’t handle the feels he was getting. I was impatient. It ended with me writing two letters to him because I am an embarrassment to myself.

Next was a guy I met on Tinder who I ended up spending Valentines with. This date ended with him rushing out of my place because he was incapable of dealing with his own emotions. He left behind a bag containing a bunch of condoms and a brand new bottle of Astroglide. It was ambitious of him. That bottle never got used because you should only use water-based lubes. No one likes yeast infections. I threw away the condoms when I got into a relationship.

Which brings me to the next guy.

It was my first relationship since I decided to take a step back and work on myself. Like, really try to work on me. In the beginning, it seemed so promising. He seemed like such a great guy. We seemed to be on the same page, the same level. Our stories seemed similar and I thought he could relate to some of the more hidden sides of me. He had a son but it was okay.

Too bad it was mostly a lie and he turned out to be lowkey garbage. I wasn’t above the bullshit in that brief relationship either. Being with him messed me up some and I’m embarrassed by how I was when we broke up. I’m embarrassed by what my friends had to put up with and how I let my little sister down. It took me a while to stop thinking about him and how fucking deceived I was in that whole thing. I’ve even stopped being mad about the whole thing because that’s not even worth my time. Now I’m above longing for soggy sandwiches, which is what his personality was made up of. I didn’t see it because I was too caught up. It was my first relationship in a long time.

I learned from it though and I’ll never go through that again. I also got to see him for who he was when he came over knowing I wanted to bang one more time. Then he felt guilty about it because now he pretty much had a girlfriend, which he did not mention before he came over (this guy really has trouble being alone) and we did it anyway. I’m not proud of this but after that, I knew I was over him and I’d never turn back. This is still true.

I took a bit of time after this to reflect. I had regressed and it didn’t feel good. But somewhere in there was a growth that I didn’t see right away. I mean, shit still dragged on but there were moments where I established my needs and my boundaries. I was still an idiot in many other ways, don’t get me wrong, but I was also growing.

This got proven in two ways after that.

One was with a British guy I had a brief fling with a few months ago. He was a nice guy but such a dink. Not a dick, but a dink. He was flighty, scattered and had poetry arms. He talked sweetly when he would but the rest was filled with empty words. I didn’t like how he went about things. I also got uncomfortable when he did express shit when I realized how full of shit he was.

The way to sum him up is how he told me he wanted to understand people and not fuck up in relationships anymore. He wanted to “get it”. He knows about The 5 Languages of Love. He has both the hard copy and the Kindle version. He doesn’t know what his language of love is because he’s never even taken the test. He didn’t even tell me this. I called it out of him when he kept avoiding answering when I asked him what it was.

The last time I saw him I was really drunk. I was trying to accommodate his wanting to be a “nice guy”. Except I couldn’t because I’m an idiot when I drink. I haven’t learned how to control my tendency to get overly affectionate and handsy with guys that I’ve been or am attracted to. I still haven’t. It can get so awkward when it happens. I’ve definitely progressed from embarrassing drunk calls but this is still not chill. It’s happened a few times and when I’ve sobered up, I am put off by myself. With this guy, I text him that I didn’t want to be friends and we should just leave this done. Then I blocked him. His accent wasn’t even sexy, ugh. That day I realized I am done forever with Tinder and casually hooking up with strangers.

To control myself from my drunk idiot self, I stay away from guys I have or would have this tendency with. I still haven’t learned to not be dumb about this. 

The other, at my very sad birthday gathering, where only two (three counting my friend who worked there) showed up, I got to experience something new. One of the people who showed up was someone I was happy to see but wasn’t expecting to show up. I had invited him a couple of days before just casually. He stayed during the whole thing and even paid for me because it was my birthday. At the end of the night, he became the target of my drunk tendency and we held hands. I showed him the powerpoint presentation I made for myself. I ended up inviting him back to my place where I showed him my gratitude journal entry that I wrote every time I see his smile, it brightens my day.

I think there was like a second of intention of hooking up. Instead, what happened was a lot of talking, getting to know each other and cuddling. It was super chill. The next morning was more talking and cuddles. He didn’t just get up and leave. Instead, we went for brunch. That night, he text me that he had a good time and liked hanging out with me. It made me smile.

It got weird after that. I think we were both into each other but not sure what to do about it because I think we both knew it wasn’t going to become anything. I liked how we hung out and I wanted to keep it going the way it did that night. I think he wasn’t used to it even though he pretended to be. I think he wanted something like that too but got in his own head and then got earnest about it. It showed the last time we hung out and so did my drunken tendency.

I wasn’t disappointed though. I didn’t want to be either. He’s a genuinely lovely guy but I realized we should just leave it at how we originally know each other. He’s a few years younger and still trying to figure things out for himself. He’s a sweet guy but we’re not at the same point to handle the same situation. I know it might sound mean but, I didn’t want to be just friends who hang out once in a while. I had no interest in that. I haven’t seen him since that night but I wouldn’t treat things any differently when I see him again at our mutual spot. I hope he doesn’t either. It’s nice to realize in the end, I prefer our harmless flirting and we handled it maturely in a weird way.

Which brings me to where I ended right.

During the last two guys, I started sleeping with a guy I’ve been familiar with for months. I never knew if he was single or not. When I found out he was and even before, I kept trying to get the courage to exchange numbers. I never did get the courage. I chickened out every time or when I did find the nerves, it’d be weeks before we’d bump into each other again.

Call the stars aligned because we ended up matching on Tinder shortly before I decided to delete it forever. I’m actually glad it worked out this way because it takes away the awkwardness of what was happening before. He ended up staying over that night, which I liked. He’s more affectionate than I thought. The cuddles are super great. We get on pretty well.

I almost ended things to see what would happen with the British guy. Actually, I did. Two days later, I had a feeling in my gut that I was making a mistake so I went with it. I realized it would be way more fun with this guy. When I went to undo it, he was down. He was even nice enough to make sure I was actually okay with this because he didn’t want to wreck no homes. I was sure. I was definitely sure.

It’s lasting longer than I thought it would. It’s the most sound anything I’ve been involved with. Not just this year, but in a long, long time. For how casual it is, there’s an appropriate amount of respect and what I get from it is enough. We’re mostly on the same page. It’s not always one-sided. There’s a level of honesty that I appreciate and I think it comes from somewhat knowing each other. We’re both detached in our own ways but we’re not dicks about it and I’m into that.

He has no interest in me as a girlfriend but he’s not rude about it. There was a moment of awkwardness when he invited me to a party of his and I ended up blacking out. I didn’t understand what was weird about it until he started being weird after. Eventually, it came out that I got into my drunk tendency at the party. I took it one step further apparently because I told him I wanted to date him; which is not true. I felt like a twit when he told me and it was even more embarrassing because I went along to dim sum with him and his roommates and their friend without knowing I did this. I also tried to tell him where I was at about the whole thing when he dropped me off (and it had nothing to do with us dating). But we talked about, in person, and it was weird but we clarified things with each other. I also decided that it’s best to leave our hangouts by ourselves.

I like how chill it is though. I like that if I have an issue, I can talk about it. I don’t have that general anxiety I usually have and I don’t find myself overly fussing. I also don’t feel like I have to pretend anything which is a really nice change of pace. He makes time when he can and I can be honest about when I’m in a bad mood and want to be alone. There are also times when I’m not straight up about it but it’s super obvious and he understands and laughs about it. The sleepovers don’t happen as often as I’d like but it doesn’t bother me. I just like when they do. I like that we had brunch once. I like that when he comes over, either I have a beer ready for him or he brings one to share. I also like that it doesn’t get weird when we see each other at our mutual spot and it’s like how it’s always been.

Honestly, I just like how lowkey mature this situation is even though we’re not very mature people. He’s also got good vibes so I don’t question his character. I think there’d be no hard feelings when it ends though there might be disappointment from my end if it happened. He’s easy going and I’m crusty but it still works. For what it is, it’s more grown-up than the other shit I’ve dealt with. If this wasn’t still going on, I’d be content with nothing going on.

 

 

I’m Not Gonna Lessen Myself So That You Can Live Some Fake Reality

 

Keep an open energy and your answer comes. It’s real. Get at it.

I was talking to a friend just before I started this episode. I’ve been having trouble writing properly. My words were coming out in jots. I couldn’t piece everything together to make it coherent. I was on the phone trying to figure out solutions with my friend. Even when I was trying to explain it to him it wasn’t coming out right. He understood because we’re good friends like that but for writing, it doesn’t help.

Then Miss Bruce gave it to me.

Those two panels made me realize that’s what I’d been doing. That’s what I’ve grown from. I’ve spent a long ass time learning to love myself. I’ve loved others more than I’d love myself. I took away love for myself to love someone else. I lessened myself to give someone a fake ass reality of theirs. But it’s not like that no more. And these are the words I’ve been trying to find.

I’ve been figuring out a way to express that it’s safe to say that I no longer have a penchant for douchebags. I don’t embarrass myself for someone who makes me feel embarrassed anymore. I’m firm in the attitude I have about it. I’ve become more self-orientated and it doesn’t falter like it used to. I’m also totally okay with throwing up that thanks to many of the guys I’ve dealt with this year… I’ve learned not all bitches are women.

Fake realities. That’s what I kept lessening myself for. I did this even though I wasn’t getting much. So people could feel better about themselves. I told myself I could fill in the blanks so it’d be easier. I’ve learned I shouldn’t have to do that in the first place. I look back on this shit with embarrassment and I think it’s a good thing. It means I recognize bullshit now and it means I’ll catch it in the future without getting too far into things like I used to. I don’t want people who live like this to be a part of my life.

What do I mean by this exactly? The guys who oversell and painfully under deliver and expected me to buy their bullshit. The ones who can talk a lot of shit but barely be able to take it. The ones who thought dangling affection in front of me like I was supposed to beg for it. Who expected patience from me while rushing me when they felt like it. The ones who refused to change their shitty attitudes because “that’s just the way they are”. The ones who felt entitled to fuck me while playing it cute or going straight vulgar. They’ll do anything to keep their fake ass realities so that they don’t to put in the efforts.

It’s gross and it’s lazy. I can’t believe I catered to this bullshit so many times. I wasted my time. It’s embarrassing. But it’s over. I’m not here to hype up soggy ass people anymore. Stay in your own lane and I’ll happily stay in mine.

Those two panels is the promise I’m making to myself to keep in 2019.

 

18 vs 30 No Make-Up

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Ha, one of the rare evidence of me with my lip piercing. Sometimes I miss it, but only in memory. I gave it another go when I was like, 23 and took it out after a day or two. I also had a nose piercing during that time and it was just too much for me. I didn’t (and still don’t) have the attitude to pull it off and it didn’t really fit my personal aesthetics. Even now I think here and there about putting back in my nose ring; it’s not fitting for who I am. Same goes for blonde hair – but that has more to do with laziness and the unwillingness to personally maintain it.

I wish I took better care of my skin back then, or at the very least, wore sunscreen on my face. I didn’t know how to take care of myself back then and it felt like so much work based on what I saw of my mum. I took my skin for granted and wore foundation when I didn’t really need it because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. Ha, I did this even though I didn’t know how to properly do my make up. I also did it because it’s like, part of the package and I haaated how I looked without makeup. It’s not like I had to wear makeup every time I left my house or anything. I just didn’t feel pretty and was lowkey self-conscious.

Confession: I didn’t really know how to do my make up until like my mid-20’s, if not even later. I mean, it gradually got better but it was never like, consistently good. I still don’t actually know how to but I don’t wear as much as I used to. 

Side note: Tattooing my eyebrows was seriously one of the best decisions I’ve made and I wish I had done it sooner. That, a super simple skin routine and growing out my eyelashes rather than putting on fake ones (strip or individuals) is the reason I don’t care for putting on makeup unless I have a reason to.

These days my skin has cleared up a lot and stays mostly clear. The acne scars (cus I’m a picker) and sunspots are there. Occasionally people think they’re freckles (which I don’t agree with). The years in between these two photos were full of phases, experimenting with looks, and so so much insecurity and low self-esteem. I can say the me on the right is confident with a bare face (unless I’ve gained weight, but that’s not as big of an issue anymore). I’ve come along ways from the left photo, inside and out.

 

Loyalty Through Cruelty

I wrote and posted this during the summer. I ended up deleting it during a writing cleanse but I think it’s an experience of mine that I need to be honest and open about. It was a dark time in my life and it took me a long time to genuinely forgive myself for the shame I felt. When I wrote this, it was because I thought I was taking it out on my relationship at the time for the damage I got from it. Except I wasn’t because that relationship turned out to the start of an emotionally abusive relationship. Which is why, after some consideration, I decided to put it back up here.


 

I recently read this phrase and it’s been in the back of my mind since.

It’s another phrase that’s best described what some of my past experiences and thoughts were.

It gives me horrible flashbacks to the brief period where I gave my life to someone who I’m still convinced to this day is a sociopath. The twistedness of that relationship still gives me anxiety when I think too much about it. I try and brush it off but at the same time, I feel like if I don’t own the story, it’ll never stop haunting the way that it still does. And I hate that it does. When I talk about it, I come off as moved on from it but deep down, I’m not sure that’s true and I think it’s something I have to be honest with myself about.

I have to be honest that it wasn’t just him. I played a part in letting it last the four miserable months. He may have been a sociopath but I was also really fucked up at the time too. I didn’t like how he treated me but I think I found comfort in how accepting of my love he was and how available he seemed. It was enough to keep me hanging on and ignore the constant red flags. I knew better, absolutely. I knew how cruel he really was but I was so loyal to him because there were times he held me when I was breaking down about my life. Those hugs were comforting when I fell apart. They made me feel… safe. That false sense of security made me tolerate the way he treated me like property and eventually like a sex doll. He was also very smart and I thought I could benefit from that.

In a way, that was true but in hindsight, not for the price that I emotionally paid. Not for the scars it left. It was only four months but it left me a shell of a person after. I didn’t really deal with it when it was over. I just tried to move on with my life and pretended I did. I tried to survive it without working through it because it didn’t last long and I was ashamed and a part of me still is. I didn’t think much of it until the thought occurred to me that maybe I still feel the repercussions of how it left me when my mind thinks it’s going through the same experience again with someone else. That would explain the chest tightness I sometimes feel.

I had trouble dressing confidently for a while because I was scared of my own body. There were times he would try to have sex with me when I wasn’t feeling it and told me that maybe I shouldn’t be dressing so attractive as to not make him horny. What’s sad is that this type of thing would be repeated in my next relationship. I felt confused about my own body. I felt it when I would feel proud of it and he would nod in agreement and then tell me all the areas that could “definitely use improvement”. My body was my body but it didn’t feel like I fully owned it when I was with him. There were times I felt dirty for the way he was talking to me.

He never told me how to dress; he was never possessive that way, but he would make comments about certain stuff I wore. He would tell me he liked something on me but preferred me in something else. Most compliments came with a criticism. He didn’t tell me what to do but he would always try to direct me and be pushy about it. When he asked me to do something, it was almost like a command rather than a request. It was like he was almost trying to instruct me and expected me to obey. He took his time at his leisure when he felt like it but always rushed me about things. It drove me crazy. I used to get nauseous when I remembered the times I got so fed up that I snapped because I would freak the fuck out and yell and he would just stare at me until I calmed down. Looking back, it was almost like he was holding back a smile.

He didn’t keep me from my friends or my life but he manipulated me enough that I kept myself out of my own life. I was scared to have it because being with him was almost like a full-time job. By the time I was fully committed in the relationship, I felt like if I wasn’t around, he’d be up to some shady shit. That should’ve been a sign for me to come to better senses but when you’re emotionally weak as shit, you don’t have that. I was constantly worried about what I knew was the truth but at the same time doing what I could to avoid coming to terms with it. He had my loyalty even though he was so emotionally cruel to me.

I think another part of the twistedness was that he made me feel like I was a part of his life. He got me to participate in his interests. He bought tickets to things for us to do. He introduced me to his friends as his girlfriend and made me feel like so around them. We even spent time at his parents’ place where he was absolutely affectionate with me. It seemed like he wanted me as a part of his life and that was something I hadn’t felt in a long time so I closed my eyes and tried to lie to myself. I thought it meant something even after I found out he was trying to bring another girl into this country to live and also trying to fuck his ex-girlfriend. I tried to make it mean something even though his future plans had nothing to do with me and he would’ve left me abruptly for any of it had I stayed. We acted as a we but it was almost always about him.

For all the times he comforted me, there were more where he left me crying. He stifled laughs a few times during my tears. He would make me cry and then instead of owning up to it, he would pretend he didn’t do anything and try to comfort me with hugs. I would try repeatedly to leave but somehow always found my way back. He rarely said sorry so the times he did, I readily accepted it. Except for the time he shoved me against the wall, he never physically hurt me in any way. I almost wished he did because I would have been smart enough to leave sooner. Bruises on my body would’ve made more sense to me than the bruises I was getting inside of me. Instead, I stayed through the times he made me question whether my right to speak up against him was valid or just me being either overly sensitive or crazy.

I’m ashamed of how fucked up I let myself get in that relationship. I’m ashamed that instead of leaving him, I stayed. I’m ashamed for all the times I gave him to him when I should’ve said no. I’m ashamed to admit that I took my IUD out so that I could give myself a reason to say no to sex with him. I mean, it worked but that’s pretty fucked up. I’m ashamed because recalling this relationship and realizing maybe I’m not quite over the damages and I only got worse with the relationship after that makes me feel pretty sick to my stomach. It makes me feel like damaged goods.

Life after him was a sweep under the carpet. I’ve talked about how damaging it was but never really acknowledged the actual extent of it. I didn’t want to admit to myself the extent of the manipulation that I allowed and enabled. I still don’t but I have to. The relationship was lowkey so I kept the break up that way. He never wanted to participate in my life so when he was out of it, I thought there was no need to acknowledge what happened because no one really knew about him anyway. I buried it away inside me but I didn’t accept that it still messed with me. I’m only realizing this now because I realized the fear and effects from it are still there. I dealt with everything else in my life but I never dealt with or spoke about this. Not even in therapy or counseling.

My relationship with this guy was four and a half years ago. It was a really dark time for me and it’s probably time to stop hiding it and shine some light on it. If I learned anything about facing all the bad shit that’s happened to me and I let happen, it’s that when you share it, it doesn’t have as tight of a hold on you anymore. I’m hoping this is what’s going to happen now that it’s out there.

Things That Have Been On My Mind

  • I don’t know why but for a while now, every couple of weeks, I think about Jane Fonda in interviews and how she’s mentioned that she’s older than the age her own father passed away (and he lived to be 77). I can’t remember what she says after that though. I can’t relate to this but it makes me think of my friends who have died. How young they were. I think about the years that have gone by since their deaths and how far along life keeps going and where they could’ve been if they were still alive. I think about a friend of mine who committed suicide and how his life could’ve been if he didn’t go through with that decision. I think about all the years that have gone by since my own attempt. How I’ve lived and the things I’ve done. It fucks me up some when I go down this thought hole. Sometimes during, I’m grateful my parents never owned guns and I’m grateful I don’t have access to any currently. I know with my impulse, I’d pull the trigger. Even now, I think I would if I were in the situation to do it.
  • I think the nightmares are starting to stop. I’m not suddenly waking up in the middle of the night as much anymore. I can never remember them but there’s always a panic that I feel. Sometimes it feels like I’m waking up in the alleyway again. I’m annoyed that my last job set this off because this isn’t something I want to be dealing with and it’s not even close to what happened in May but I can’t control the trauma response. I can only cope and I wasn’t doing a very good job.
  • I found myself on the verge of tears when a friend of mine checked up on me the other day. Instead of fighting it, I went full-on vulnerable and cried my eyes out. It felt good. I realized I haven’t been able to cry because I think of the guys that have cried in front of me this year. I have nothing against grown men crying. I don’t support toxic masculinity because I think feelings are okay. But I think about how self-involved their tears were and how dismissive they were on dealing with their emotions. They straight up bitch-moved their own feelings and didn’t know how to handle it. In hindsight, it was always a waste of my empathy because I’d get the repercussions of vulnerability like it was a bad thing. I think of that when I’m about to cry and it’d put me off to the point where I couldn’t do it.
  • I’m appreciative that I currently don’t have any dating or guy headaches. I understand my own emotional capacity, interest, and patience… which are usually pretty low these days. I also understand my priorities. I’m surprised that the situation I’ve got is still happening and how long it’s been. It’s mutually detached but respectful, which I think has been why it works as well as it does. It’s enough. I’ve been thinking about it because, in the past, it always felt like I was asking for more than I should but in reality that’s not the case… at all. This has been proved to me by this.
  • BTS. I’m pretty obsessed right now. I can’t watch their older stuff because it weirds me out at how young they are but I’m so so so intrigued by their dynamic. I’m also fascinated by Suga and think about his well-being. Please don’t ask why. I don’t have a proper answer.
  • 2018 felt really long. Some of the shit I dealt with, some of the people. It felt like ages ago but when I reflect, I’m like oh, it was this year. I haven’t entirely decided how I feel about that.
  • What this decade has in store for me. What I can make of it. It’s not that I can’t believe I’m 30. I feel 30. I feel like it’s appropriate but at the same time, I’m like, damn. Already? I think it’ll pass once I deal more on my level. I’ve got some pretty big blocks right now.
  • I honestly have the bestest friend in the world. I can’t even begin to say how grateful I am for him. Our friendship is so genuine and real even though we’re pretty opposite. In the past, it’s caused us tension but we found a way to work with it and together and we’ve come out stronger than ever.
  • Do I continue with a powerlifting interest? Am I good enough? I don’t know. I wish I knew. I’m pretty harsh on myself about it when I stumble. I’m the slowest progressor because I hold myself back so much but I’m still pretty strong. I know I’ve built myself from nothing with it and my old man strength is there. I never worry about that but I do wish I invested more in my growth with it. I wish I could accept my abilities with it instead of feeling like I’m being bigheaded about it.
  • The dramatic rain has been harshing my mellow lately. I prefer it in the Korean dramas. Why is there always a scene with SO much rain? Keep it there though. This downpour has been a buzzkill and I refuse to step foot in it and it makes me depressed.

Trying To Get Comfortable With Myself

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I’ve gained back my original weight from recluse weight and just being shut-in for the past couple of weeks. It was pretty dark. I was kind of a wreck. I wasn’t being very kind to myself.

Confession: I’m not very comfortable with my face. Or my body. Or both at the same time. It’s not that I hate it. I know objectively, I’m not ugly. But I hate when I’m past a certain weight. I can get pretty down on myself. I’ll never be my ideal because my frame just simple isn’t cut out for it. I also don’t have the tits size for the other ideal. Maybe one day.

In an attempt to accept myself as myself, I took a bunch of pictures topless. It’s not even a comfort thing. It’s more of, I wish I could do this all the time and for a reason other than my own, ya know? I like being clothes-less. I like recognition. I like compliments. I just wish I was okay with my own beauty.

But I’m not… entirely. Especially with the weight gain.