It's been a while since I wrote something personal here. I've navigated away from confessional-style writing because you can get a lot of shit for being so open and vulnerable and exposing the really dark sides of yourself. And you wonder, does it even matter? Shouldn't I write about an issue of some sort? Shouldn't I start to protect myself a bit more, because exposing myself hasn't exactly quelled the deep loneliness inside? But I'm really not the secret journaling type because I draw strength from others who share their own poignant yet dark truths for the sheer fact that if they don't, the revelations will seep out anyways until the seems burst; a blueberry Violet at Willy Wonka's factory. Somehow, sharing your ugly is more relieving than just writing it down and tucking it away like a shameful secret.
And my attempts at writing impersonal pieces recently have proved fruitless. I've been grappling with how to keep up with the 24-hour mass media cycle that can quickly put out news pieces through "exchanging" information with one another, eliminating the need to do much if any investigative work. However, they get exposure, so what's the point of producing an article 2 years before them if no one reads it?
The truth is, I've been triggered recently by getting hurt by romantic rejection. The rejection is compounded with the knawing, constant pain of my current life situation, low self-esteem, and depression; dramatically exacerbating the hurt- as it always does for me. So I'm spending each day producing tears, getting paid in silence.
Low self-esteem and depression automatically yield a vulnerability to fear of rejection and exclusion, which then leads to burrowing deeper into a nest of loneliness (Leary, 1990). This means I'm pretty susceptible to having an extra difficult time dealing with rejection, isolation, and abandonment, and I often grapple with problems of co-dependency and a lack of forming an identity.
Plus I've been having these near-drowning attacks in the shame swimming pool: I'm an almost-34-year-old single mom living in her parents' basement; broke, with each day bringing less and less hope. It was really special to have an old friend show interest, take me on dates, and give me the physical affection that I had been lacking. Just the brief cortisol jolt from those interactions was a lot more satisfying than it might be for others, due to my now extended-stay in isolation and exhaustion town. He even met my daughter, which is a HUGE deal to me. Not just the rejection, but the cruel and sudden disappearing act ripped that cortisol from my brain as if taunting me for thinking that I, too, could be happy for just a little while.
Then the rolling cliches of "it's not you, it's me" and "let's still be friends," followed by dead silence- a deafening white noise still stuck on a loop in my head- just highlighted the bullshit. No feelings. Spoiler alert: That's a horrible thing to do to someone who suffers from a biological condition that causes them every day to try and find a reason to live, and who is currently in great need of social, emotional, and physical connection on a basic survival level. Like, some days I think "it would be so great to have a hug." I can't remember the last time I had a hug from someone not in my family.
My last relationship was a year and a half ago. It was so traumatic it made me flee into an intensive outpatient hospitalization program for a week where I comforted myself with Plath books and Instagram filters hoping a Tinder match could occupy my time. I never had much emotional support in person from anyone then. Not many friends live near me, so most can't offer that kind of in-person support at all anymore. Some people in my life don't even know about any of my relationships since things ended with baby daddy.
So then, you get hurt by someone you see a potential (far off, even symbolic) future with- and it's really significant- not because of them, but because it's the first time you've felt hope in a really long time. And that's precious to someone like me.
Then you are inundated with Instagram posts: "if he wanted to talk to you-he would!" "I've learned to walk away from the people that don't want to be here," and you're taught if you reach out to the person, it's because you don't have pride, instead of you just having a human reaction to someone who really messed with you while you were vulnerable. Look, have I rejected someone before? Yes. Was I a dick about it? No.
When compiled together as the current record of my life, this feels insurmountable.
And the very few people you have left, at the same time, are flowing while you ebb. Recently, the two people closest to me simultaneously got pregnant and got a new career/serious boyfriend. As my dreams deferred, they materialized for my friends. And the worst part about it was that a big part of me couldn't even feel happy for them. I couldn't-and honestly, still can't-celebrate with them. In a way, it's like I lost the last few pieces of support I had; in a way, I'm jealous; in a way, I'm angry at the universe- that I work so hard every single day yet just can't dig my way out of this hell. Angry that I can't be the type of person to be happy for others even when I'm down. That I'm still getting hurt; that being ignored is causing a reaction in me of insomnia, binge eating, crying spells, and day sleeping.
In truth, the things I really need are so simple. A hug. Someone to bring me dinner. To come to watch Violet for a few hours while I go out. To call me back.
I can't do the heavy stuff right now, the big challenges. I'm too busy working, trying to not let my depression devour me. But if I rise from the dead, sweetie, please watch out, because my glow up game is strong enough to carry Biggie Smalls on its back.
“Mostly, I could tell, I made him feel uncomfortable. He didn't understand me, and he was sort of holding it against me. I felt the urge to reassure him that I was like everybody else, just like everybody else. But really there wasn't much point, and I gave up the idea out of laziness.”
― L'Étranger
All collages are excerpts from my zine The Tao of Hate available here
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