I think about being honest a lot. I think (and often over think) about what I want to say and how I should say it. I want to be sure I’m saying what I mean and meaning what I say…but I also watch out for not stepping on toes and try to be delicate when sometimes I just want to dole out the truth. Being authentic is very, very important to me. I was told just last night – “Don’t ever change.” And all I could do was throw my buzzed head back, laugh and say, “That will *never* happen.” The basic core of me will not change, I know it too well for it to go anywhere. But sometimes, without warning, I feel intensely inauthentic. Like a fraud.
I think about what other people think too much. I worry about how I will be perceived and how I will be received. I concern myself with others’ needs and wants more often than I wonder about my own. Unless, that is, I’m thinking of my own wants and needs in a selfish, immediate way. I often factor in how hungover I might feel on a given day and that, in turn makes me pick and choose what activities or events I can commit to. The weekends as of late are lost causes. All I want to do is keep to my own schedule of having no schedule so if the mood to get fucked up strikes, I have no previous obligations getting in the way.
If I take my drinking time out of the equation (usually between the hours of 6-10 each evening) and lock myself down for an evening event with friends I feel excited and hopeful initially. I think, “that’s going to be a really nice time. I haven’t seen ____ in forever.” I think about the good points in the plans I’ve made, I remember the relationships I want to nurture and foster (and realize, guiltily, that I have been neglecting a lot of them). I feel pretty good about making plans. At first.
Then the clock starts marching forward from the time I say, “yes, I definitely want to attend that party” to when the actual date of the party is a few days away. My brain starts to quietly fret. I begin to feel the pull of isolation. I begin to feel that fucking straight jacket of FEAR pulling taut against my arms and ribcage. I start to plan and then veto what I might want to wear, telling myself that I look hideous in everything I own. Then I beat myself up for not looking fabulous like my slender friends. Then I hector myself for not going to the gym or for eating those fucking pretzels at 10pm. It’s this endless, endless cycle of self loathing. It drives me to cancel plans. Being alone sometimes feels easier than putting myself out there with the attached risk of silent judgment. And that leaves my drinking time blessedly open.
I’m writing about all this shit not to complain, but to get it the fuck OUT of me. It’s the extra ‘stuff’ that I want to put in these posts in the hopes that eventually, it will remain here and only here. Never to haunt me again. I want to be rid of the circling and recycling thoughts of my Inner Judge. She is such an asshole and she’s loud. Anyone out there know where I can find a decent ball gag?