Tag Archives: anxiety

On setting goals–

Do people actually think about what their life is going to be like? 5 years from now? 10? Do people actually make life plans and set goals? I’ve heard this all my life and yet I’ve failed to make any plans at all. I have zero expectations, except for maybe a few bad expectations. Planning is such a farce to me. I feel so unsupported and so incapable.

I just finished talking with my mom on the phone. We talk often enough, but every few months I feel so synonymously overwhelmed and underwhelmed with my life that I need to vent to her. Honestly? Trying to vent to her is just self-sabotaging, but I really have no one else.

Today’s stressor: Money. Finances. Moolah. And how I have none of it.

It all started 4 years ago. I think that I had maybe anticipated having high expectations moving to the city to attend post-secondary, but I was just going through the motions. You graduate high school, you take a year off to “find yourself”. You go to university, you meets someone special, you graduate, you get a real job, you get married, you make real money, you have a real life. I just couldn’t follow through. I wasn’t there yet. I’m not there now. And between being gay and dropping out of university, I’ve become my parent’s number 1 disappointment in life. They’ll never admit it to my face (actually that’s a lie, they’ve basically already admitted it in so many words), but I am disappointing. Even to myself.

They seem to think it’s appropriate to always, always respond to my fears about finances with an unsympathetic head tilt and a “well, you know what you have to do”. *Cough, cough* *wink, wink* *nudge, nudge* SCHOOL.

I can’t go back to school. Not now, maybe not ever. I can’t make myself pick a career or pick some courses out of a hat and just go for it. My heart will never be in it.

I tried communicating that to my mom on the phone today, and it didn’t work. It never does. I tried telling her that it’s hard for me to predict what my life will look like in 10 years, because my heart truly isn’t even invested in myself. I told her that it’s easiest for me to think I won’t be around in 10 years, because when I try to imagine what life would be like, I’m entirely disappointed.

All she had to say to me was that I’m just having a bad day and then asked if I watched last night’s episode of Big Brother.

She always does that, changes the subject. I try and confront her about it, tell her that I feel unloved and unsupported, and she says that I’ve ranted and there’s nothing else she can do about it. Then she swiftly changes the subject again before I can engage her at all. I mean yea, maybe she’s vastly under-equipped for my state of mind these past few years, but the fact that there’s just such a huge wall between my feelings and her is so utterly despairing to me. I feel like I have nobody. I feel like of all the people in the world, my own mother, I shouldn’t have to feel ashamed of my feelings or embarrassed that she may not take them seriously.

Now I try and put on a brave face for a few months until I need to release, only to have my feelings rejected all over again.

I’m tired of feeling like all I have to offer people are blank stares and empty smiles and remedial laughter. I’m tired of going unnoticed for who I actually am and how I actually feel.   I’m tired of people expecting me to be somebody in their lives in 10 years, in any capacity, when I already feel like I’m so immeasurably separate. I don’t want to be here in 10 years. I’ve made my first life plan.

Quiet homebody seeks LTR

About Me:

ASL?  23, male, my apartment (indefinitely)

I find myself wishing I had the nerve to pursue the dating game again.  I’ve been randomly browsing dating websites and finding myself yearning to reach through my screen to pull the geekiest, kindest looking boys right into my living room.  (Which makes me realize how much my idea of an ideal boyfriend has changed over the years)

Of course I still like a bad boy with a bod as much as anyone else, but I think I’ve come to realize that I would never be able to feel totally at ease with someone who’s going to put in the effort it takes to look like the douche that everybody envies when I’m purely running on youthful metabolism at this time (and hopefully for a long time!)

I get told time and time again that I’m “literally beautiful” “one of the best looking people [I] know” “like model pretty”.  I’ve been approached to do modeling 4 or 5 times (once was local alternative, once was a small artsy/modern kinda business, once by a Holt Renfrew rep., and a couple times online by people wanting me to do a few local runways for their aspiring fashion lines).  And I’m humble enough about this that I either reject or ignore every offer.

Beauty is honestly, truly, skin deep.  I don’t feel beautiful at all.  I don’t feel worthwhile at all.

I have a very long, slender, thin frame.  One of the things I love most about my body is my tiny waist and beautiful bone structure.  I have broad shoulders, my limbs are long, my cheekbones out of this world, but slathered all over it is this skin that I writhe under.  And that’s not to say I have bad skin, I just… I sometimes feel like I am a fat skinny person.  Like everyone who sees me sees all the things I would love about myself, but underneath my clothes I see the things that deter me (am I being literal or metaphorical?).  My chest for starters–inherited via my father, and his father before him.  The largest point of contention in my life.  I have never stood proud, shoulders back.  I have never taken my shirt off since beginning puberty.

Especially now that I live alone, this affects my life daily.  Trying to find clothes to wear that make me feel comfortable enough to brave going outside can be an hour long process.  Sometimes longer.  Sometimes I decide not to go out at all.  Even buying groceries is hard for me.  I have a lot of anxiety about people seeing me.  I’ve spent so much of my life stocking up on carbs and snack foods, frozen foods, foods with artificial ingredients and a longer shelf life.  Why?  Because it allows me to stay home for longer.  My skin feels like elastic and I’ve never had a lean tight body.  I feed myself garbage, how could I expect to have that body?  I am the skinny fat person, for as long as my metabolism allows.

I pick apart every little thing about myself and use it as fuel for being alone.  My breath reeks–cryptic tonsils.  I have awful sebaceous dermatitis–my hair gets so waxy if I’m not diligent and I shed skin cells from my scalp like my cats shed in the spring.  My teeth could be whiter, my nose could be more elegant (and it runs a lot because I broke it in kindergarten, which also makes me a mouth breather, yuck), my eyebrows never quite look like they belong.

Even non-physical things.

My mom still does my banking–I’m not frivolous I just don’t know anything about finances.  I’m pretty lazy when it comes to doing laundry.  My cats are welcome to walk, sit, or lay wherever they please (counter tops and dining tables included).  I am incredibly habitual and follow a daily routine, anything out of the ordinary is indelibly stressful.  If you’re with me for the long haul you better be prepared to re-watch my favourite movies and replay my favourite video games on a yearly (or so) basis.  I’m pretty ambitionless and am rarely motivated to do anything other than sit on my ass (my version of “homebody” for all you online dating folks).  I like to think I’d be into adventures and cute dates of laser tag or skating or going to the movies or walking through the park, but I’ll probably wind up passing because it’s too hot to wear a sweater to blanket my insecurities within.

Oh yea, and if we eat too close to bed time or I haven’t had a number 2 in a while (also thanks to my dad’s genetics), you can forget about cuddling with me much less doing ANYTHING ELSE.

So if any of this makes me your idea of a perfect partner, hit me up!

Taking care of anything but me.

It’s been about 4 months since my cat began to struggle with her mystery illness.  She and her sister turned 2 years old last week, which at one point I was honestly fearing wouldn’t happen, and things remain as mysterious as ever.

I remember before she fell ill, I was the most upset I’ve ever been in my life.  I was just in such a dark place, and when she suddenly became my priority, before even myself, I was struggling a lot.  I found myself resenting her, and myself, and my life.  Nothing was working out for me, and honestly I still feel as though nothing is.

But putting her first in my life has helped me in a few ways.  I feel as though the final nail has been hammered into the coffin that is my ex.  I’ve hardly thought of him, and when I do, it’s never really a big deal.  I can play my music, and the songs that reminded me of my sorrow regarding the issue aren’t so sorrowful anymore.  They are my songs again.  And I find myself yearning for something better.  I don’t want to succumb to this nothingness anymore.  But I just feel so helpless.

I struggle a lot with my identity.  I don’t know who I am and I feel as though I have nothing to offer.  I don’t hang out with friends because I don’t have any.  And I don’t have any because I think to myself, “what can I do to be an interesting and good friend?”

There isn’t a lot.

Even before my cat got sick, I would go to work, hate my life, come home, take a long nap, hate my life, mope and get angry at anyone who gave me the time of day, then went to bed.  And now that I want something more, I still hate my work, I still am not fond of my life (though I try!), and I just feel stuck as a caretaker right now.

I’ve never had a very durable sense of responsibility.  I’m exhausted caring for my cat.  I am emotionally and physically drained.  I have to feed her so many times a day, and each feeding is a trial.  After I finally see the last mouthful go down, I feel so much relief and yet so much anxiety.  It’s only a matter of hours before the next meal, or pill, or medication.  I have to sleep or relax or calm my nerves somehow.  I don’t have time for people or friendship or myself.  I just need to be completely alone.  I am very high-stress, and for her sake I have to try so hard not to show her how much she’s hurting me.  I can’t have an anxiety attack.  Last time I thought it was acceptable to lose my emotions in front of her, I paid for it by seeing her go through an anxiety attack herself.  Screaming, hissing, immense physical discomfort.  I just need to stay calm and she will too….

Sometimes I try and think about what my life might look like when and if I ever get her issues sorted out.  It’s hard to picture.  It’s not like I did a whole lot with my life before she got sick.  But I try and contemplate what I can do differently.  How I can work on my perception of what I have and what I really need.  And it all just feels… endless.

I don’t think I’m suicidal.  I don’t really have those kinds of thoughts very often, and when I do, they’re pretty easy to brush off.  I think it’s just my subconscious self being as dramatic as my physical self.  I do think I am incredibly lost though.

I’m sitting here just waiting.  Waiting for my sick cat to die.  Waiting for my healthy cat to die.  Waiting for myself to die.  It’s going to come.  And I’m going to wait patiently for it to come on it’s own terms on all three counts.  But it just feels like there’s nothing else going on.

Sometimes I try and think about dating again to have a chance at passing the time with a human being.  I’m certainly not hung up on my ex anymore.  So why not try?  I am definitely still pretty damaged, is why.  The thought of me being somebody’s “person” actually makes me uncomfortable.  I think about who I am and what I do with my time, and I just cant imagine the kind of person who would go out of there way to spend the rest of their life with me.

I just don’t have a single thing to offer.

I mean, right now I’m actually okay with being alone anyways.  But sometimes I just wish I had someone else to share my burden with.  As in share my cat with.  Just someone to take turns with feeding her so I can space apart my anxiety a little.  Someone to come to the emergency vet with me and keep me company so I don’t fall asleep waiting in the exam room.  Someone to be the strong one so I can just… cry.

I just want to cry.

And for what?

It is July 2nd, 2013.  Or thereabouts.  Maybe it will be a new day by the time this is posted.  Maybe it already is a new day for some who will read this.

It is 11:28, at present.  In the evening.

It is calm.  Or more so than it was a few hours earlier.  The day was tragically humid.  It quickly enveloped my world in rain and thunder and fierce winds.

And for what do these things matter?

It is July.  This month will see my beloved dog through what would have been his 15th year.  I will see my best friend towards the end of the month, and I will quickly learn that time has given us a beautiful friendship that will last for forever, but has also come to lead us in new paths.  Separate paths.

It is the 2nd.  Of no particular importance.  Though I’m not of the beautifully minded who intricately remember such a specific day on a yearly basis, it is easy for me to recall some things.  This day, 2008 I would have been intermittently playing Okami and grieving my realization of self to be something of a disappointment.  2009 I would have been replaying Okami and mourning my year that was lost to my earlier realizations.  2010 I was hiding in my house and avoiding knocks at the door from concerned friends who couldn’t get ahold of me to join them for the previous night’s Canada Day fireworks.  2011 I would have been sleeping all day to compensate for the last 9 months of working night shifts before quitting the morning of the 2nd.  2012 I was holed up at my parents spending hours debating on how I should respond to messages from my ex in regards to his missing me, but having no interest in getting back together.

I guess the 2nd of July in 2013 will forever mean something new to me.  I am still the same lost child with a deprived sense of self as I have always been, but this time around I’m trapped in a lonely city away from home.  Even my “firsts” are redundant.

And it is the 23rd hour.  An hour that has forever been my time of self-reflection.  Too late in the evening to be bothered by social nuisances.  Too early in the evening to be distracted by reading or videogames.

It is calm amidst a storm.

I am calm amidst a storm.  A storm of emotions I just don’t know how to cope with.  I am anxious and I am lost.  I trust no one.  I have faith in nothing.  I am broken beyond repair.  I don’t have the means to recover before the next storm rolls over me.

And for what do these things matter?

They serve to show me that I am entirely too involved in my depression.

What have I become?  Why am I so ashamed when I look at the person who I was 5 years ago?  4 years ago?  3 years, 2 years, 1 year ago?  Because I see that I have become nothing?  That I am the same?  That I “deal” the same way that I always have?

I don’t want this to be my reality anymore.  Maybe if I play Okami again, my life will appear differently afterwards.

Reasons for my rhyme.

What are they?  This poetic, dramatic life of mine–for what reason does it persist?

I am depressed.  I am longing and broken and have nothing short of no will at all.  But I’m still here.  Life keeps going.

I’m just a cog.  I just fit into my little nook and keep the world rotating for as long as I should not break.  I am expendable.  I am replaceable.  I serve the axels their coffee and wish them well in their endeavours.  Life keeps going.

I sit alone.  I am anxious and I am lost.  I speak my heart, but I am not validated.  I am not acknowledged.  I am not mature, I do not know feeling, I am not sentient.  I’m still just that silly cog feigning stress.  All I need is some oil.  Life keeps going.

Life just keeps going.  I’m of no consequence.  I’m not a problem so much as an inconvenience.

This is the way I live.  I do not feel excitement.  My joy is menial and rehearsed.  I do not know the life you know.  I do not know the strides and the success and growth you have achieved.  I do not recognize them.  I do not understand them.  I fear them.

My life began the day I met you.  And I’ve been living my life as moments since I met you.  I wonder if there’s even been one day I have not thought of you.

How can it be that the closest I’ve felt to being alive was being with you?  What did you really offer me?  What was it about you that has made me so aware of my vulnerability to myself?  Life just keeps going and I can’t make it stop.  Every day you fade further and further away.  My life is fading.

Maybe you have nothing at all to do with this.  Maybe I have nothing at all to do with this.  I don’t even care.  I just want to know myself.  I want to know what you know.  I want to not be afraid anymore, of who I am and what I am capable of, and what I am incapable of.  I just want to know that my place in this world is warranted.  I don’t want to continue living if only for the few who would be sad.  I want to know more than that.