tell me something

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I’m doing much better, in terms of focusing my energy on

work

school

me

significant others

people who have potential to become significant.

Hopefully not in that order.

I had a counseling appointment and my mind was kind of blown. She knew me for like 70 minutes before pointing out to me that I am incredibly uncomfortable with my emotional mind (wise mind = emotional mind + logical mind in harmony, that whole thing). And holy fuck, I’ve been analyzing my own mind since birth, and occasionally on the internet over the last 9 years, and somehow never put the pieces together. OF COURSE I AM UNCOMFORTABLE WITH EMOTIONS.

If you had asked me if I were good with emotions I would have said YES I LOVE THEM! I’m emotionally intelligent! I’m in touch with my feelings!

Sure, I’m in touch with my feelings as far as knowing exactly what they are every second and as far as enjoying a good cry. And I just LOVE other people’s feelings because it makes me feel useful and competent helping them with them. I criticized (not wrongly) my ex for not being able to a) be in touch with his feelings and b) communicate them to me without panic and shutting down.

Meanwhile, I hate my feelings. I think I’m ok with them but every internal conflict, every insecurity I’ve ever had can be reduced to my fear of being vulnerable and my distrust of my emotions. The disconnect between what I believed I should feel and what I naturally as a human beingĀ did feel. I would have described myself asĀ emotional and not because I am irrational or led by my emotions but because I think of that side of myself as completely ridiculous, shameful, and embarrassing. That’s not being ok with my emotions, that’s being a perfectionist robot.

(Look my ex was a robot, still. But, hmm.)

I guess the point is, I don’t have all the insight. Having someone to bounce my thoughts off of is going to be helpful and kinda fun. I’m not feeling so raw anyway at the moment. But. I wouldn’t perhaps have the tendency to break into tears nearly as much if all of the tension (IE FEELINGS!) I unconsciously build up inside myself was allowed to escape a little more often.

Truly, I’ve lived my life inside my own head. Where it is safe and comforting and everyone agrees with me. So the fellow I’m dating and trying to sleep with, albeit, without trying trying is quite possibly in his head also. Both of us sitting on the couch trying to find a good, but rejection-proof, method to get into the other’s pants. I am meant, I think, to learn some goddamn emotional bravery.

There’s no guarantee that it will really happen with this fellow, but there never is. I can’t keep dating him if he never initiates and never starts acting incredibly smitten with me. I just think it’s well worth trying to break through this awkwardness. I can cure my inhibitions, if not his.

 

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cheer

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I took some time off after Christmas and returned to work today to find my job as grating as I left it. (I’m trying to plan an actual vacation and god forbid anybody I work with volunteering to give me coverage I must get before getting any time off approved. I do a lot of shit that nobody else does so I’m integral, as I keep reminding myself someone said once, but being integral means apparently that I’m the only person who can do any aspect of my job description, ever.) But blahblahblah I help people for a living and isn’t that just so rewarding and fun. Whatever.

I don’t really know what I’m doing with this space anymore. You missed me at Christmas, I was really very jolly. I was focused on the stuff that matters – friends, family – and I got a piece of furniture I needed and cash money so that was pretty sweet. I was pretty content.

So of course 12/27 I went and had sex with someone who doesn’t care about me. And that’s no real bummer on its own, sex with someone who doesn’t care, but this person I care about and the onesidedness coupled with my absolute refusal to learn from history made for a great day of shame 12/29.

I am starting therapy again. It’s been a long time and I need to figure out primarily how to take better care of myself. I’m just not doing it on my own despite my stubborn belief that I HAS ALL THE INSIGHT*. I don’t know what really triggers all of my sadness/insecurity/anxiety, that is, what makes it worse some times than others. Lately, let’s say since I last wrote if not longer, I have been raw. Just walking around like an exposed nerve. I hate the idea that anyone else, especially at work, could pick up on me not being…together/confident/normal/happy. I hate the idea that it could have made me a less effective worker for my clients. So, therapy.

Seriously, for the better part of a week I really thought I nailed this seasonal joy thing. Maybe next year I will get it right.**

 

* My favorite new insight into myself is that I undermine most things I do or any accomplishment I might have with this nagging, irrational belief that it just doesn’t really count because I’m not the best. I’m not a genius. Everything could be better, so who cares if I do well. Except I care so hard that failing or making a mistake is essentially THE WORST THING THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN.

** See, I made a bad choice and it led to me being sad after Christmas so I failed at Christmas/winter/life.

 

disconnect

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Recently, I was perturbed at work about the way my overzealous supervisor was behaving. It was a legitimate perturbation (perturbance is not a word, it should be) but today, in a larger discussion, it was brought to my attention again that I’m a little bit hard on myself. There are some ways that this affects my perspective on things and I am always working on taking in others’ feedback through my oversensitive filter.

The thing is, I’m very competent at my job. I know that, I feel that, and everyone at works validates that. And so, why is the idea of making a mistake so threatening to my sense of self. Because it is. Logically, I know that I’m not perfect and don’t need to be. My impulse somehow, my tiny inner aggressive instinct, is to believe that it’s all or nothing. I’m the best or the worst. And I think I’m the best more often than not so then I think, yeah, I’m someone with good self esteem. I’m the best at self esteem!

Heh. I actually think I have a good sense of what I’m good at and not so good at. I’m just competing with this emotional, irrational, and insidious other…thing. The trance of unworthiness in mindfulness speak. Sometimes I’m not even aware of it, but it’s there. Enough that a caring and insightful person could tell me that she thinks there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe I’m good enough and be right.

My supervisor was still being a dick.

and all is right with the world

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I’ve reached a level of frustration with the new person I met and was so excited about so that feels very comfortable and familiar!

I was confident that we both wanted to get! to! know! each! other! and spend time together and just see. Then the last two weekends have put a damper on that idea. Being busy is something I understand, having obligations, yeah. But don’t find pockets of time (e.g., a weeknight, after your child is asleep – I never felt compelled to sneak into someone’s bedroom as a teenager and don’t now – or an hour or two that we can meet up someone) where you are available and would like to see me just so we can fuck. It very well might be my problem. I very much wanted to have sex with this person again and do all manner of things and he is not wrong on the face of it to suggest that we do that.

 

But like, GOD. DAMN. IT. If that’s the best I have to offer or all you can make time for then, yes, I will feel let down. I will be nervous about engaging anymore and developing feelings to find out later that sexually things are amazing and that is the extent of your interest. I will be hurt by that. I’m a little hurt now.

 

Am I crazy and ridiculous to feel slighted? We are just maybe not on the same page. I am so great at being fatalistic but, maybe this was a few fantastic dates that never would become anything.

 

I don’t think I have to play stupid games about how soon after meeting I “let” someone get into my pants. I don’t want to. I don’t have any interest in the kind of man that buys into those rules. I want to do what feels natural and I also want to know that there’s serious sexual chemistry before I’m invested. But if I am sexual, it’s like there’s this other fucking set of confusing expectations. I don’t/didn’t know this guy well enough to feel secure in the idea that he is interested in me in any other way than sexually, so for me, that creates this specific nagging fear that (like so many past sexual partners have indicated) I’m a great lay and that’s the best part of me.

 

The more I try to articulate this the more I can see it is my fucking baggage. I don’t care. I know what I need to feel comfortable, during the beginnings of things, and if I’m not getting it then I guess that’s that.

me me me me

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Apparently no one wants to get sober just prior to July 4, so work is a bit slow at the moment.

I have scheduled my own brand of fun (sex marathon) for July 4 eve. I have been very distracted anticipating it.

Otherwise, not much to report.

I should have heard about grad school at the end of last week but haven’t. (I DIDN’T GET IN AND I’M SO UNDESIRABLE THAT THEY CAN’T BE BOTHERED TO TELL ME, obviously. Or I’ll just get something in the mail soon.)

I have made some progress cleaning and organizing my stuff, especially clothes but I still live in a den of dust and dirty laundry. I’m starting to think that living with that and procrastinating and being lazy makes it easier for me to stay lazy and unmotivated in every other area. I feel energized when things are neat. I need to keep this routine so that i don’t sink back into the Land of Blah.

Because, objectively, my life is pretty awesome right now. I’m getting recognition at work. I think my sleep issues are improving. I am doing ok balancing bills and fun things. I really like living with my brother. I really like my friends.

I can’t complain. I just don’t always feel as joyful as I think I should.

Coming home to a cluttered apartment where I had yucky chores to do made life feel disproportionately unfun. It’s always little things that I let pile up and become overwhelming. No more! I’m continuing my organization rampage.

I’m going to buy a bigger bed and some sort of furniture and start enjoying my giant bedroom.

I have been single long enough that this should have been accomplished, but I’m really going to Do Me. Which means not just being boring and watching television to relieve stress, but actually, actively taking care of myself.

bedtime cell phone blogging II: electric bugaloo

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It’s been quiet around here. I went on two very nice dates these past two weekends. I’m hopeful again that some one person out there could be perfect for me and since I’m not insane I’m not saying this is that person but there is enough potential that I’m having fun again with dating. I think I met a good one.

In a week I’ll be 27.

I’m comforted by the idea that I’m not a year closer to death, but instead am regularly a day/hour/minute/second closer to death and never even notice. Sometimes never.

solitary

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I’m isolating myself this weekend. Broomy (my brother/roomy that is, get it?) is having to stay at my dad’s and dog-sit so I’ve had the apartment to myself a lot in the past month. I did entertain, and by entertain I mean have premarital sex with, someone here Thursday but no sleepovers. I like being alone and I probably won’t forever ignore texts from friends who are showering and getting dressed and seeing the sun at some point during their weekends but…I’m good with it for today.

The holiday was great but I think this is me recharging after a week of houseguests that ran right into my work week. It’s introvert recovery hour.

This is the most alone I’ve ever actually felt in my life. It’s not that sad, longing, empty alone feeling that I used to have. I’m content. I love my people so much, but it’s nice to spend time with me.

And though I will almost certainly premarital sex my Thursday date again at the first opportunity, it seems like it won’t be leading anywhere else. I would like it to, but I very realistically think it won’t. So it’s a bummer but here I am, without a permanent cuddle buddy, and it’s good.

Except in the case of spiders or secret killers lurking behind my shower curtain, living alone is pretty ok.