Diary excerpt, 1/21
Really don’t know what to say. Except that I’ve once again gone to figure that I don’t have to talk about what’s on my mind, because I’ve somehow arrived at that place where keeping it all in is ok. Is there such a place? I never realized it before, but I actually believe that if I were mature enough, or better somehow, I wouldn’t have to write about or talk about my issues. Somehow it would all get solved inside my head, I’d deal with all my emotions appropriately and in a timely manner (I don’t even know what the hell that means), and wouldn’t ever have to take it to the degree that I dislike- speaking completely openly about whatever is bothering me, big or small. And perhaps all along, that’s been my goal here. I’d talk about all the stuff I’ve already been through, see how stupid I am for worrying about any of it, then learn to keep my mouth shut. I am seriously…disappointed is too weak a word. But definitely unhappy to realize this. ‘sigh’ I know that hasn’t been my complete motivation, but now looking at it, I can’t deny that it’s been there this whole time. Even though there has been a lot of good in maintaining this diary, and giving myself a space to be honest, I still see myself as weak for needing it, for depending on it at times. ‘sigh’ I’m actually feeling very conflicted here. On the one hand, I want to keep this diary, this communication forever, and to have it as part of who I am and what I do. On the other, I want to be past needing this, past those days where, in the middle of struggles and issues, I couldn’t wait to get home to write all about it, and lay it all down. Granted, for the most part I don’t feel that clawing desperation the way I used to, and most times I can handle things as they come. But without feeling like this is still okay, it’s getting hard for me to keep this up, aside from obligation or talking about little things (yes, nail polish). I’m seeing that I felt that way about the therapist, too. That the whole point of seeing her was so that she could point out to me what a weakling I was being, because other people don’t fall apart at the ups and downs of life. Other people take traumas in stride. Only weaklings like me end up struggling with them. The worst part is that intellectually, I know none of this is true, and that most people rather pretty up and pretend than be honest, which is hard work. Emotionally, though, I completely believe it. What I hate is that despite the progress I’ve made, part of me longs to be with them. To pretty up and pretend instead of slogging through mountains. Yet when I think about where I was when this whole process began, when all I did was pretty up and pretend…things were unbearable. I couldn’t sleep, my anxiety was through the roof, suicidal fantasies (and I actually looked forward to having them; they were the highlight of my day), tears to fill an ocean, all kept inside. Through the process of working through and talking through my anxiety and depression, it’s not as if I haven’t struggled with all of those things, but it gave me a breather, a chance to hit the surface from time to time and get some air. How quickly I forget. I know, in all this, it’s because I’m still programmed to see what I need and what I do as handicaps, and to see myself as perpetually weak and damaged. I also see that I tend to quickly form beliefs about things, even if I’m unaware of it, and those beliefs will thereafter guide my actions until I bring them to light and challenge them. It’s funny. Challenging strongly held beliefs was one of the first things we worked on together, and yet I thought that by having made myself aware, I’d stop doing it. Apparently not. But I actually feel better knowing where all of this is coming from. It’s still amazing to me.