Boring. in Like No One Is Reading

I feel so bored with myself. I’m boring. I’m painfully aware of how boring I am.

Time slows down. Nothing matters. It’s like I’m outside, looking in at my boring self, being critical of her. I pick and poke at all of her flaws. I think, about her, “Not good enough. Not smart enough. Not exciting enough. Boring, boring, boring. Childish. Insecure. Stupid. So. Fucking. Boring.”

The timer goes off. It’s time to take my meds. The timer means it’s 8pm. No, that can’t be right, surely it’s almost midnight, isn’t it? But also… where has the day gone? What did I do?

I went through motions. I did human things. I ate oatmeal and a piece of toast. I turned some leftover mushroom rice into vegetable rice soup and ate too much of it. Then I ate 6 mini peanut butter cups like my life depended on it, hating myself all the while.

I think, “Paint something. Put color on the paper that’s ready for color, it’s right there, just do it,” and I freeze. No, I’d need to get a jar of water, and I’d want to use my new brushes, of course, so I’d have to clean them, get them ready. And the bright light, have to plug that in, and… frozen. And nauseous. It all makes me literally sick. Physically ill with myself.

I know why it all feels like it’s gotten so much worse. Before, I existed on caffeine, nicotine, carbs, and mania. I quit smoking and I’ve cut back my caffeine intake. I’m binge eating more, which is such a vicious cycle of self loathing. I convince myself to just wallow in the misery, who cares, no one cares, nothing matters in the end. Just eat the things until I think I’ll die and then hate myself some more. Eventually I’ll hate myself enough to just stop eating every fucking thing, back to one (shitty) meal a day and a bowl of cereal at midnight and obsession with weight and not being able to look myself in the eye.

I’m so sick of these vicious cycles. I’m going to argue with myself and have anxiety attacks about it and cry and be mad and then I’m going to call the number that I need to call to get the kind of help I need to get to maybe stop all this horseshit. Because I’m just so sick of it all. I’m sick of anxiety and I’m sick of feeling paralyzed and I’m sick of being afraid.

I’m sick of feeling like everything is spinning out of control when nothing, absolutely nothing, is actually spinning out of control.

I’m sick of arguing with myself over whether or not I’m worthy, whether or not I have value.