White Knuckle Diaries: Entry 1

The whole enneagram thing has shed a lot of light on why I do some the things I do, why some of my urges exist, and why I sometimes get stuck in my head. One extremely valuable insight I’ve learned is that I tend to isolate in order to preserve my sense of self and to continue whatever fantasy is playing out in my head. This is as true as it gets on a spiritual fucking level. But nights like tonight I feel like I isolate to defend others against my bad behavior, it feels like the responsible thing to do. There’s no sense in calling up anyone and telling them the crazy things I feel because the things I’m feeling are irrational. I already talk too much about myself, I don’t see why subjecting someone to more of it would be helpful. I’m tired of my shit and the people that know me best cannot be expected to bear witness every time it explodes out of me and not be tired of it, too.

I get pissed on days like today because I try to do everything right, I try to fix my head so I can do what needs to be done, but sometimes it just doesn’t work. It’s nights like these I drink and I don’t give a fuck anymore. It feels life-affirming and familiar. Damn right I’m having a beer, fuck off. Giving up gives me a renewed sense of purpose, tomorrow is a new day and I will be reborn in my feeble state of detox from whatever I cram into my body tonight. Maybe I’ll drink myself stupid, maybe I’ll get high on too much Adderall, maybe I’ll eat an entire pizza and not throw it up because I’m too tired for that shit nowadays. I know I’ll be stronger again tomorrow because I allowed myself to be weak tonight, right?

Tomorrow I’ll begin the process of rebuilding, and I’ll hide from the world while I do it. Why would I allow anyone to see me in the ugly state of wreckage I’ve brought upon myself? I feel it would only lead me to drink more. So I stay quiet, tiptoe through the world and avoid people until I’m back in a state that feels acceptable enough for presentation.

What would it feel like to stay strong? I already know, because I do it every damn day and I’m tired of it. I’m tired of trying. I’ll give in tonight, relaxing with the booze as I gather more information about how to fix myself. The self-improvement has become its own drug, promising me I could be better and maybe one day even enough. But I need the mellow of this drink to sit long enough to listen.

peeled

I have thirty-two days. The first few weeks were tough to get through without booze but my body felt better every day so that kept me going. But something has changed. I can’t stand to be in my body when I’m working, or around anyone. I see girls so freely sharing themselves, so comfortable. I just want to run away. I don’t want anyone to look at me but at the same time, I so desperately need them to. No wonder I’m not making any money. I don’t know if they handle it because they’re more comfortable with themselves or if they have something fucked up about them that allows them to be so careless, so giving of their bodies. Maybe we’re just cut from a different cloth. Maybe all of the above. I remember from a young age feeling very naked at times. I feel naked now anytime I go out in public. I’ve fantasized about wearing a fucking hijab. I’m not kidding. I’m so tired of men looking at me, assessing me and judging me. I’m tired of people thinking about fucking me when I feel so broken, their lust feels cruel. I feel preyed upon and it makes me so angry. But the anger just makes me tired because I know I’d be too ashamed to express it. I wish I could walk through the world unnoticed, I wish I could just be left alone. Being alone is probably hurting me too but I just can’t bring myself to be around people. And it doesn’t help that I just can’t stand anyone. I can’t stand this culture I’m in, I can’t stand the posturing and the way some people just all seem to talk the same. I can’t stand the contrived earnestness people try to speak to me with at work. I feel like they’re trying to pry me apart. I want to run but I can’t run. I have to sit there and play the game with them. My stomach recoils as I watch their eyes bore into mine, ready to be entertained, enjoying themselves. I’ve always been this way. I cannot stand for people to try and pull out my inner workings so they can examine them. I don’t understand why people feel entitled to that. Why do people try to crack me open? It’s not from a place of benevolence, it’s perverse curiosity. Or perhaps sometimes it’s just an unexamined impulse they have. A man asked me last night “What makes you smile?”. I suppose some would find this question sweet, but I wanted to smash his head onto the table. I knew he just wanted a fun little anecdote he could put in his pocket and walk away with. He would smirk and give himself a pat on the back for being what he thought was original in a place steeped in cliche. But I refuse to let people think they can take pieces of me.

I’m not totally ignorant, here. I know I’m supposed to play the part, I know I’m supposed to have routine answers ready for this type of bullshit. After all, these interactions aren’t real, they’re designed to not be real. But I’m just so fucking raw right now. The armor I used for so long to shield myself from my sensitivities has been stripped, and for good reason. These used to be the moments where I would load up, take another shot, a way of saying “fuck you, I don’t feel any of this” while I essentially buried my head in the sand.

Now I have to build armor that’s real. I have to feel my feelings blah blah, I have to do a lot of fucking things. And I’m tired. I just cannot do what needs to be done right now and at the same time, I can’t afford to be like this. I can’t afford to lay in bed all day just because the world hurts too much right now. I don’t know what to do. I pray this will pass if I just let myself rest, but at what point does self-preservation become self-indulgence? Everything demands something of me, everything is screaming at me to get up, get up. But I just won’t. I can’t push anymore. Being at home alone in this hole feels like shit but at least I’m safe here.