Skip to main content

Dysmorphia (and Overcoming Objections)

Dear Friend-

When I get like this... it's not that I don't want to see you.  I want more than anything to come see you, and talk to you, and smile, and feel better, because I know seeing you will help... I know this, but when I look in the mirror, I see something so grotesque and unlikable that I can't imagine being close to someone so radiant as you.  To bask in your regard wearing a fake skin of makeup and carefully selected clothing... it feels so fake.
I'm scared because at some point I may feel compelled to take off that clothing, and... what then? 

I cannot really quite place what is wrong about my appearance.  It's infuriating, because if I could find the imperfection, I could fix it.  It's what I do, and do quite convincingly for others... but alas, no that is just my face... I've become used to it.

What matters is that you find me beautiful.  That for a while, I can bask in your regard, and smile, and laugh, because you see something in me that shines beneath the surface, no matter how many layers I have to put on, to feel acceptable in your presence.

I am getting to the point where I can feel vulnerable with you.  But please, slowly.
We're both learning this as we go.

... and my learning patterns are old and well-graven in the stone of my core beliefs.


375 days sober was a pretty good run.  It hurts, to type that.
I gave it up for a man, of course.  A new paramour, an interesting gentleman, and one with interests I myself would like to partake in.  Can I say it was worth it...?  We'll see how the gamble pays out.

I have no inclination to continue to drink.
But seeing the counter go back to 0 has psychologically impacted me, somehow.

Popular posts from this blog

Optimism (with Frozen Needs)

Some days I want to write and write and write, and then there are others... the days where I feel as though I physically would choke and die if I attempted to open my journal and put ink on page. I remember that choke .  I used to feel it tighten my throat whenever I cracked open a box of cheap wine and realized I had drank more than intended the night before and could not make it through an entire day with the remaining contents of the sloshing, poisonous bag.  I used to feel it whenever I attempted stepping out of the house, and unless it was for another box of wine, I often let it defeat me. "The Gift of Fear" I thought, priding myself on being so good and so gentle with the mental illnesses that trapped me in that apartment for five slippery sloshing years. Mental illness does not deserve my kind regard. Recently, I've been feeling pretty down on myself, because at 235 days, I am not a saint.  The miraculous transformation I expected to continue in...
Read more

Partnership (with Benefits)

A Thought from last night... Usually, I have very nebulous reasons for staying in a partnership.  It was something I placed more on myself: "I like the way I feel when he..." or "He makes me..." and the longevity was usually based on my perception of their capacity to put up with my bullshit. Small fights breaking out isn't new for me, but not feeling more secure in the relationship bonds after a tit (or alternatively, breaking things off completely) is strange territory. E. is not afraid to walk away after a fight.  He makes it very clear that he stays here so long as he chooses to, and I respect that so long as it's benefiting him, he will find it easier to choose my company.  I am very much the same way.  Thank god we both prefer to talk over conflicts (after a healthy cooling-off period) and find compromises within those conflicts. I find it somewhat important that a partnership doesn't crumble the first time voices are raised. And I'm ve...
Read more

Thankstaking (with Hunger Pangs)

 I should know better by now, than to give into the solitude.  The familiarity of self-destruction, but once more I choose to celebrate only Me.  Another holiday where I stay indoors, where things never change, where I stay in control of my environment in the same way a fish can move pebbles around its bowl. I know better than to smoke, but I bought another pack today.  One last hurrah , except this time its Cowboy Killers, red on white, an exciting stranger in my home.  I take the world in 5 minute, burning breaks, lungs tense and aching, and I suffocate the bright sunshine, the riotously colored trees, and the unseasonable weather, which somehow helps me disconnect myself from the experience outside of my front porch. My head aches.  I am sick, but I am too disassociated to care.  It is a Feeling , and like many others, it can be suppressed if I smoke until I'm dizzy and drink lukewarming coffee until I'm jittery.  It's the closest thing to bein...
Read more