Untitled: written Aug 24 2017

Document9 was a little brain dump I finally got the balls to write the other day. The central theme in my life as of late seems to be this little mantra: don’t lie to yourself. I would like to say it’s been liberating, but really it’s just been painful. Maybe the liberation lies beneath all the shame I have yet to dig through. And that is precisely what Document9 entails. In it, I describe what I consider to be my most shameful secret, something that has caused me a lot of pain over the last few years but has increased a hundredfold over the past few months. It’s become a daily source of humiliation, a reason for me to feel sudden pangs of embarrassment when I’m alone at night wondering how pitiful people must find me. How silly and stupid. I’ve tried opening up to a few people about it, scratched the surface but didn’t tell them everything. I felt like even that was too much and just made me feel worse. I feel they must look at me differently now. Realized I wasn’t as strong as they thought I was.

And so it’s become my daily mission to chip away at the inadequacies that fuel this shame. This seems like it would be a noble cause, one that should bring a sense of pride, but it’s just a constant reminder and it hurts.

I’m not sure if this shame is related to the horrific shyness I have been experiencing lately. Sometimes I cannot speak without blushing, and it seems to be getting worse. Things that shouldn’t embarrass me do embarrass me. I feel myself stumble over words as I try to seem casual. I wince at my attempts at humor. I try to push through, to say the things I need to say and ask the things I need to ask. But I’m horrified as blood rushes to my face and I have to look them in the eye, have to see if they can see the shame underneath. The shame of feeling ashamed, the shame of knowing your place when you’ve attempted to step out of it. Silly girl. I feel like they know. They know how pathetic I am. And of course they don’t care, of course they don’t spend much time thinking about me at all. I find relief in knowing that.

I just want to run off to a place where people don’t know me and I can remain nameless and move unseen through crowds. I feel I’ve done too much damage here, let the wrong people get too close, built my identity upon lies I told myself and tore myself down again and again when I was drinking for relief. The only option is to trudge forward. I just wish I had someone that would hold my hand through it and still look at me like they liked me all the same.