Well fuck in The Devil Beneath My Feet

Well sheeeit. Been a while since I’ve written anything. Color me shocked I even remembered my password to this thing. Well whatever lets get into the shamefully needed brain dump. Trigger warning - this is gonna be real fuckin stupid and probably boring to the point of catatonia but im mostly gonna talk about some spicy sadness type crap so if that does something bad for you then I guess fuck off or something.

I had kind of hoped my mental health would improve with age, like wine. At first its nasty but after a while you start to develop a taste for it, gets easier. Instead it would appear its aging like spilled milk in a hot car so thats kinda lame im not gonna lie.

I’ve never gotten any kind of formal diagnosis, partly because I just cant be bothered, partly because i cant even force myself to think its worth it, partly because im a fucking coward. Mostly because im a fucking coward, lets be real, shall we? Last fucking thing I need is a mandatory 72 hour grippy sock vacation so we’re just gonna white knuckle it to the finish line for now, folks, and hopefully writing some of this shit out helps. It used to, but then most of the things I used to find helpful or cathartic just make me want to throw up, now.

Thats part of the fear, I guess. Something is wrong with me, idk what but if I want to get any kind of real answer it would require brutal honesty, and im really not prepared to do that in the foreseeable future. So, splitting white knuckles it is.

I dunno why. I do, but i don’t. Its like the cruelest irony that I wound up with everything important I wanted and still can’t get my head out of my ass long enough to really enjoy it. I appreciate it, all of it, no doubt, but its hard to enjoy anything when your brain sounds like a never ending car crash.

Self loathing / possible imposter syndrome? is a thing that I’ve always dealt with but the past couple years its gotten considerably harder to see past, which sucks. Past couple months have been nigh impossible to see past if I’m honest. Hard to focus on anything else when you’re constantly on high alert for any kind of reflective surface, lest ye be reminded of yourself. Which, in turn, ensures you cant stop thinking about how much you hate yourself and how badly you don’t want to see yourself lest ye be reminded of yourself. This 100% sounds like a fucking crazy person wrote it already. Great. Anyway to cap that off im the sole heir to 4 old people who are only getting older, who only need more and more from me by the day. I deliver, always. I always come through, not because I can, really, but because I have to. Theres no other option, I’m GI Jane. I am the backup. And whenever I do come through, with whatever request or need met, all four of them shower me in praise. They tell me how great I am and how they’d be lost without me, what a great person I am, how helpful I am, how kind I am, how much they love me.

It’d be nice if hearing any of that didn’t make me want to lock all the doors and burn the house down.

I don’t know what its called when you want to break every mirror you come across into a million little pieces, and then eat the pieces. I don’t know what its called when compliments or god forbid sympathy of any kind make you physically recoil. All I know is im getting real fuckin tired of learning every day that seemingly everything I do and say can and would be quantified as a “trauma response,” by mental health professionals, and not being able to tell if its just idiots on the Internet being idiots or if this is actually based in some kind of science. And of course this knowledge pushes me ever farther from seeking professional help, and round and round we go.

Oh, I stopped eating, too, about a month ago. Isn’t this fun? What a fun thing to read. Its not an eating disorder, at least i don’t think it is. Its not like im starving myself to look better. I dunno, honestly, I can force myself to eat when I need to but i don’t enjoy food anymore, the idea of the act of eating repulses me so thats a fun new development.

Im just fucking tired man, all the fucking time. Pretending to be fine and happy and funny, so funny, Sam you’re so fucking funny, you should do stand up, I wish I was as witty as you, Sam, I’m so glad when you’re around, you’re the funniest person I know, huehuehue Sam the fucking comedian - its fucking exhausting, and it makes me angry, resentful. Its easy to be funny when you feel like your life depends on it, people shut the fuck up around funny people. They don’t ask you questions like “how are you,” “how’ve you been,” “hows work,” when they’re too busy catching their breath from laughing. Incredibly quickly, they don’t care how you are they just know that you make them laugh, everyone likes to laugh, keep the laughter coming.

I actually used to like that about myself, being able to make people laugh, and thinking back on it that thought makes me sick. Another cycle i simply cant be bothered to break. Keep them laughing for your own safety, only to hear them laughing and feel that warm, crackly, electric hatred start to rise up like bile.

So I dunno, I dunno what I expect to get outta this. This already doesn’t feel like it used to, writing out the shit that bothers me. But, its not really making me feel WORSE yet so I guess I’ll try and stick at it for a bit.

Oh, one…kind of, nice thing. I started drawing again. Im shit at it now. I used to be…honestly, I used to be damn good. But after a while, simply hating yourself isn’t enough, so you start to deprive yourself of things you genuinely love simply because you don’t feel you deserve them. Sketching was that for me. I stopped, because I stopped allowing myself to find joy in it. Unfortunately, this is a perishable skill, and now I’m starting over which is….incredibly frustrating. So many things took me so long to learn and develop a hand for drawing and now its just…gone. But, im trying.