Monday, July 07, 2014

love/sad/instagram.

For a long time I've felt as though being attracted to someone or wanting to be in a relationship with someone is a sign of weakness. I guess there are probably a couple of different reasons for that warped view of love. Maybe it's the failed adolescent- and college-relationships. Maybe it's a defence/offence mechanism: stay away from me and neither of us will get hurt. Maybe it's the fact that more than one boy, after reading my blog, has accused me, in a tone of slight revulsion, of needing a boyfriend. 

I cried in the psychiatrist's office a couple of weeks ago and among my many confessions was the fact that I am embarrassed about wanting a relationship, wanting to be liked, wanting to be loved. I'm a feminist and I want to be a self-sufficient, modern woman. And it's not as though the offers are rolling in these days. So it helps to pretend that I don't want love anyway. Except lately, amid all my other anxieties, I've developed a strong conviction that I will never find anyone to spend (at least part of) my life with. I'll be alone forever. And I hate myself for worrying about that kind of thing. If that's my biggest fear in life, what does that say about me? I'm defined by my relationships with boys? I'm validated by these relationships? I want to accept myself for who I am. I want to not need another person to do that for me. But I love love. And I love sharing my bed and my thoughts and my life with another person. And I'm so ashamed of that. (All these conflicting feelings!) But the psychiatrist said, “It's okay to want those things, Emma.” And that really fucking helped.

I've been pretty depressed for the past couple of months and my self-esteem is at an all time low. I'm moving to a different country (and time zone and climate) in five weeks. A relationship will not blossom this week or next week or any time soon. And I don't need it to. What I need is self-love. But I don't love anyone right now, least of all myself. I don't even fancy anyone. (And I think that's a first.) In fact, lately I hate the whole wide world. There's very few people who have escaped my criticism in the past few weeks. I suspect that all my self-hatred is leaking out into the atmosphere and attaching itself, parasitic, to the closest organism (i.e. my friends and family). So now my life is void of love. (And yet love is a shout into the void?)

I have my first appointment appointment with a new psychologist tomorrow and while I don't expect to achieve much in the hour-long session, I hope it helps to talk. I think it will. Lately I feel like no one listens when I talk. Maybe it's mostly my imagination but, regardless, it feels awful. I am irrelevant, unimportant, worthless. Cool. I guess blogging is good and cathartic because it's uninterrupted. Flow.

I recently finished the 100 Happy Days challenge on Instagram. It was a challenge. I started a couple of weeks before I finished college when my stress levels were at an all time high. I continued into the summer when my depression was at an all time high. How do you find happiness among all that misery? My photo feed consisted mainly of my two year old nephew, tasty food, painted nails, and one or two pictures of my friends. Usually the happy moments were fleeting – just long enough to make it to Instagram. I guess it's easy to construct a good life. Maybe my < 200 followers thought I was happy. Truly happy. (Is there such a thing?) Truthfully, spending time with my nephew, painting my nails and eating healthy meals does make me happy, but underneath it all I still actively dislike myself. And that's the clincher, right?

I spend my days watching The (US) Office and hating myself. Tomorrow will be different.  Maybe I won't watch The Office

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