Did Ya Miss Me?
It starts to speak. I can hear it faint, and I know it's there. Yet I am craving that release. I realized a new trigger for me is being around a bunch of new people, constantly having to participate in small talk. I felt the anxiety creeping through my body from the moment I arrived. Every little voice saying "leave while you can Hools" but knowing I had to fight it, while also wanting to go into that place like a sick, twisted, disgusting, trash monster. Hello.
It's as though all the thoughts I've been holding back from last weekend were waiting to hop onto a different roller coaster in order to scream out without fear of being capped. This time the anxiety coming from another place, but allowing that crippling acknowledgement of all the shit that went down. I kept telling the story to everyone who loves me, on repeat, embellishing for comedic effect, to help stifle the pain of reality. My final session with my therapist this week he said 'you keep saying I don't know, I think that's a true statement from your childhood, you never knew'. Well thanks for abandoning me too, Therapist Man. (Jokes, I'm not actually upset about him leaving because he gave me a long time to grieve it)
I want to run away. This isn't a new feeling. But it's so strong now that I have so much to hold me down. While stabilizing, I also feel suffocated. A world in which I ran from for so long because I feared the worst, or at least what I knew from the relationships I had seen growing up. My anxiety peeps up:
Anxiety: You know you're tricking them into loving you. You're not good enough to drag someone down in the mud with you. You're a terrible person because of it.
I hate myself so much for thinking that last sentence. I don't think I'm actually terrible, do I? Meanwhile I have so many people telling me otherwise. Yet the more I get told I'm wonderful, I'm kind, I'm good, the more I fight it because I have a stubborn sense to prove everyone wrong. I've spent so long trying to prove people wrong. My mother, that I was more than just a ticket to fame, everyone in high school who thought I was such a loser, every person who told me that I couldn't sing because I was too 'pitchy'. Now it's just in my veins to stand up and fight against it... even when it's something that's good... how fucking twisted is that?
I think what I enjoy a lot about this blog is that it's VERY unfiltered. SURE, the grammar is terrible and I know all those academics out there (because you know, my writing is definitely being studied) are cringing at my sloppy vomit, stinging their eyeballs at every other sentence. But I'm not smart, and I talk a lot so maybe it seems like I know what I'm talking about, but mostly... I just end up talking through my thoughts out loud until I come up with a point... what was I saying...? Ignore this paragraph...
I think a good cry is necessary. In fact I was talking with a partner about how I knew I was going to cry, thinking 'oh yeah, just a good ole fashioned cry', that turned into a panic attack. When I find myself trying to take a deep breath, because for some reason what I've know for my 27 years of living, I've forgotten how to. That's when the thoughts take over.
Anxiety: Literally no one wants to hear from you and you need to stop trying to force yourself is anyone's life, okay?
My phone is bad for me. It's so so bad. I shouldn't have it around me, and yet I can't let it go. It's a terrible obsession. I'VE WRITTEN AN ENTIRE SHOW ABOUT IT (please come...) I've tried turning off the notifications, deleting the apps, putting my phone in the deepest pockets of my bag. I crave it. I crave the attention. Every single message sending the dopamine in my brain a nice little sip to be activated, making my body feel good. Then without it I start to go into a withdrawal. I start to see people's post's online, their instagram stories, and I think "Okay cool, you still haven't messaged me back... cool...". And then I hate myself so very much. I watch everyone with their phones. I calculate the amount of time everyone in my life has it in their hands when I'm around them so that when we're apart I know the percentage of chance I'll cross their mind. I was a math nerd, I guess it was good for something. AND THAT SOMETHING IS DESTRUCTION OF MY MENTAL HEATLH.
When I'm lying in the foetal position, clasped around my pillow, tears feeding into my mouth until I realize the salt is now making me thirsty, I think about how much I want to be held, and how much I don't want anyone to know. I think a big part of my poly identity is realizing I'm very much a relationship anarchist. I don't want to have any sort of hierarchy, though I very much respect my partner's decisions for a primary. I really think I would drown as someone's... life... person... I can't even think about it. But a good theory behind my thinking is because I've never imagined living with someone, or in a place where nights together are almost all, (not just because I really enjoy sleeping in a bed alone) because I don't want them to be around when I break down. Even though I crave the arms of my lover, I can't let those walls down around them. I've certainly cried in a lovers arms, too many times. Actually if I haven't with a lover then I imagine maybe it's not a good fit, though it's usually after the 3rd date (it's like the asexual version of sex...??) But I've never been near anyone, aside from my best friend (the night I wrote a letter to my ex after he didn't show up to my party when I told him not to come), while having a serious breakdown. It's weird. Because that moment, in my best friend's arms, is a very nice memory I have, I was so grateful to have her there, but to think about it happening in my lover's arms... I'd rather hide.
I'm so very good at holding it back. I'm honest with my feelings, sure. I've said to many I've loved that I'm not doing great today, or expressed openly online that it was a sad day, etc... But to be near a partner (and this brings me back to being a... primary... I can't even think about it...) while in that state, I feel like it takes away my power.... which then makes me want to vomit in my hands and smear it all over my face like a toddler with finger paints BECAUSE IT'S WHAT I DESERVE. I'm such a huge candidate for emotion. I want everyone I love to feel comfortable calling me in the middle of a panic attack just so they can hear someone's voice. But I'm a hypocrite.
Hypocrite Hools... Shit Hypocrite. Shit-pro-crite... I... I'm done.