L'Appel du Vide

'Ello friends. This blog is primarily for my venting. Find my less whiny self at standarddivyation.tumblr.com. This is just for me, and you if you choose to listen

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<p>it's weird being too exhausted to kill yourself</p>

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I'm just so fucking tired of having shitty day after shitty day shitty week after shitty week after shitty month, shitty year, shitty fucking lifetime

If it gets better, give me an end date.

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I realize I haven’t been on tumblr in 3 years but I also don’t know where else I can fully let this thought air out:

Watching Fleabag sometimes feels like watching porn, not in content but in feeling, and I mean that in the most overwhelmingly positive way

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to reiterate Flebag and the hot priest are the most important relationship in my life and that is including my own

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I realize I haven’t been on tumblr in 3 years but I also don’t know where else I can fully let this thought air out:

Watching Fleabag sometimes feels like watching porn, not in content but in feeling, and I mean that in the most overwhelmingly positive way

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This is just me ranting. It’s not the most succinct. I’m having a lot of trouble today.

I bought new underwear today.

I had some expectations for it. Nothing huge. It was a set that matched. I imagined feeling that put together or having something that fit me like a glove, being comfortable from inside out. I imagined being undressed and feeling powerful, confident, worth something.

Instead, I looked. and I wish I hadn’t. I felt so much better before I had. I could see different parts of me, falling into themselves. I could see my body touching other parts of my body no matter how much I stretched or bent or moved. I saw everything on me that was too much, and yet somehow not enough.

I can hear voices in my head now. I hear the first girl who called me chubby at age 10, before I knew there could be anything wrong with me. My body was then built for endurance, playing tag, eating ice cream after soccer games, coming back tanned and sweaty and happy. I can hear every family member who felt it was okay to comment when I gained weight and encouraged me when, after a year of depression and constant nausea, I had lost some of it.

I can hear my old college roommate telling me I shouldn’t be eating that, so I stopped eating at home. I would hoard rice and beans, burritos, chips, soup, in our common room late at night when no one could make judgments about how I got to my current state. 

I can see boys turning their heads the other way. I can see girls assessing that I’m no longer a threat. I see diet after diet after diet, turning down food that I was desperately hungry for because we were in public, feeling sick from not eating, then feeling sick because I ate and somehow what sustained me had become a sin.

I see billboard after billboard after billboard and magazine ads. I see myself floating away from everything I thought I was and thought I used to be. My creativity drops off. My friends drop off. My boyfriend doesn’t understand why I no longer want to be naked. My performance at work stilts after I can’t keep my head straight and my stomach rumbles during meetings.

I’m losing everything but the weight. And that’s why people still encourage me. “Good on you for taking charge. I wish I had your willpower.”

Smart people. Educated people. My eating habits haven’t made me thin yet. This isn’t my laziness. It’s not a lack of trying. My genetic makeup, my hormones, made me gain weight at an alarming pace when I had changed nothing. But people won’t be concerned for me. Because my eating isn’t a problem. I’m the problem that my eating is supposed to fix.

I feel like a shell of myself, but the shell is still the same size it was before. So no one can see how empty I am.

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I'm laying in my bed where my boyfriend and I laid this morning.

His clothes are in a bag next to me.

His toothbrush is in the cupholder.

His glass of water is still on the table.

And yet all I can think is that this relationship is something i fell into, that I don't deserve. And the end is inevitable

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I thought l was mad but I think I'm just hurt

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put the nail in the coffin. there’s nowhere to go from here.

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And while I'm still complaining. My best friend bought the same shirt as me. And she did it sweetly, because she liked it on me, with no malicious intent.

But she's thin. She's going to wear it better than me. Screw all your body positivity theories for one second because deep down you know that she's going to look like the online model, like someone wearing a shirt that fits, and I need to walk down the streets with the kind of brazen confidence that defies anyone who says it's not meant for me.

When you're thin a shirt is a shirt, and when your thick it's a statement. And that makes me feel like shit.

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My therapist keeps on telling me the reason it's not getting better is because I never "feel" through things and that is straight bullshit. In theory yes, it would be nice if I could stay home, with pay, for 2 weeks while I felt through things. Tell me how my depression is going to get fixed because I become unemployed from being forced to feel, from how I fully feel things and that means I can't go to work, or get meals, or talk on the phone, or clean the house.

Tell me how forgiving my roommates, and my boss, and my friends who are coping better are going to be when I use feeling as an excuse. And beyond approval or support, tell me how I'm going to support myself financially.

I'm not being ridiculous. We all do things to keep going at whatever cost it is to us because it's still less than the cost of not doing them. Especially when you're supporting yourself and especially when you're in it yourself. It's not in the machine for me to do what's best for me when the consequences will be far worse.

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People try and tell me I don't "share" enough or that I should feel more okay asking for help or I get called emotionally withholding.

Do you want to know the real reason why I'm withholding? Every time I try and express something I feel so genuinely not listened to that it leaves me open and hurting and I think why bother.

I'm not going to share something or put myself in a position of vulnerability specifically to absolve someone else's guilt about talking too much, so that they can spend the whole time waiting for me to finish until it's their turn again, or so they can check off a box that says "I asked and that makes me a good friend."

If you can prove you'll listen, I'll talk, but so far I've found that people only listen if you hit rock bottom and they worry for what your loss would mean for their lives. Everything's shitry. Everyone's selfish. Including me. So why bother

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If the earth should dry May your dreams never die.

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Reasons I'm upset

it's been a long week. I needed to put this somewhere.

1. I wasted a weekend on being sad. Those matter when you work full time and have a commute

2. I wasted a weekend on being sad when I had two of my lovely friends visiting

3. I was rude to my boyfriend and snippy with my best friend-- two immense sources of support that deserved better from me

4. I tried to hide that I was feeling crappy, but somehow, EVERYONE knew

There's more, I'm just tired from a long day of being garbage

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No one worries about me

I worry about everyone. All the time. I have friends who worry about everyone. All the time. But not about me.

I'm expected to take care of myself and usually I can do it.

But not when I feel like I give 10x the amount of care and compassion and it's met with something like... Apathy

That's all I am to you all. People I thought I could trust. But it's not about me.

I'm dependable. I take care of myself. And no one worries about me.

Sometimes I need someone to worry about me.

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i use this blog pretty modestly these days, and I don’t want to degrade it because it was an instrumental part on me growing up, protecting myself, and analyzing myself. I think it’s largely the reason I feel especially retrospective now.

But I do want to note my progress in that I haven’t NEEDED this blog in a long time. I seem to be making strides with my body image. I’m not a cute, tiny, quirky tumblr girl anymore but I think the real world has enough appreciation for me.

I finally have a steady group of friends, even if there is some turmoil in it now because we’re all finding our ways, I don’t feel like I’ll be abandoned imminently and I feel understood, and listened to.

Love it. Love them. And when I get discouraged, remember that I’m loved too.

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I seriously, when my self esteem is highest, I feel like I do everything for everyone all the time with no gratitude

I feel like my mom sometimes. And I feel like I'm always getting the worst of a lot.

Idk it's late and I feel like everything is bullshit why try being a good person

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unhealthy.

trusting someone is such a precarious situation. and I think a year and a half in might be too late to realize I'm just not cut out for these sorts of things.

it's all so black and white in my head. I know it's not but this is different than with friends. I don't know why the threat of losing feels so imminent all the time.

I can't let go and I lash out.

it's so easy to be angry with your significant other. much easier than it is to like them even. if you're angry you're still in power. you call the shots.

I can't stop treating this like a balance of power. I can't stop playing games. and it comes from an unfounded fear that I refuse to recognize.

I will never NEVER let myself admit I'm attached enough that this would be a loss for me. I would cut him out of my life in a minute if it meant I could maintain that I still call the shots.

I will let myself be unhappy but I refuse to let myself need anyone.

so at times like these, 2 am, he was unresponsive first, I was unresponsive second, he was unresponsive again. it's been a text every 3 hours back and forth. a stalemate.

and I'm irritated with him. and I've already shut it down in my head. of course I'll be sad but I'll get over it. it's a miracle we made it this long anyways.

at this moment in time, I would rather seppuku myself, and I would do it in an instant, if it meant that I never had to show so much as an ounce of vulnerability.