I see my actions flow into me. They are extremities, and I can only let them pass over me. Why do I offer no resistance? Do I enjoy making myself suffer in so many ways? Case in points:: -Obsessing over whether a girl is interested in me or not, worrying that she might think me too clingy, me hating myself for thinking I'm being too nice, or not the ideal partner. -Knowing how bad alcohol is for my mood, yet still persisting in drinking (a lot) of booze. It's recommended one shouldn't consume more than one drink an hour, and yet, I seem to think it's preferrable to triple that amount. I'm not as bad as I was, but I'm still averaging 8-10 drinks a day. -Hating myself for eating, purging, and not doing what I should be doing (exercising). -Being terrified of just sitting in my own feelings so much I am driven to drink
While the week felt rather hopeful, it's taken a downward spiral. While I am still maintaining, I am still, to myself, living a shitty existence, dependent on externalities, and not my own resolve. Sure, there is the fleeting thought: "I hate my life, I wish I were dead." Fortunately it isn't as strong as it has been. I feel trapped, not entirely hopeless. But it's what I crave that bothers me.
Why do I become consumed by what I think someone else thinks of me? Why does it matter so much that I have low body-fat? Why must I feel driven to compete with people in classes, create dramatic tension where there probably isn't any? It seems I create this drama, create this external pressure and these expectations so I feel motivated to do anything. When left to my own devices, without external influence, I am often at a loss as to what I should do. I wish, honestly, that I could just "be." I wish I didn't eat my brother's food and create incredible conflict and guilt thereby. I wish I wasn't worried whether someone I went on a few dates with really liked me or not. I wish I could act, and accept whatever happens. I wish, really, to be someone else, almost. All I know is drama, drama, drama, preceded by a short respite. Have I struggled to create the sensations my home-life evoked? Have I merely carried these perceptions into a different situation and shaped an artifice of pressure? If I had no expectations, no "image" or concept of what I "should" be, I'd be so much less stressed. If I knew what I felt comfortable doing, and WANTED to do those things for myself, the motivation would definitely be shifted. Yet, yet, I hate myself. Hate how I waste time on getting intoxicated, or on sleeping in because I'm afraid to get out of bed, or of the person next to me I long to kiss but second-guess myself constantly. Why am I so uncomfortable with grey areas? I wish I knew, I wish I had true peace of mind, or I had the strength to commit to it, but I feel so lack-luster, so separated from anything I do. At times I wish I was more than a fatalist; I wish I had a positive outlook; I don't. Joy is something that's so rare to me, and I am only sad, sad, sad.
-Obsessing over whether a girl is interested in me or not, worrying that she might think me too clingy, me hating myself for thinking I'm being too nice, or not the ideal partner.
-Knowing how bad alcohol is for my mood, yet still persisting in drinking (a lot) of booze. It's recommended one shouldn't consume more than one drink an hour, and yet, I seem to think it's preferrable to triple that amount. I'm not as bad as I was, but I'm still averaging 8-10 drinks a day.
-Hating myself for eating, purging, and not doing what I should be doing (exercising).
-Being terrified of just sitting in my own feelings so much I am driven to drink
While the week felt rather hopeful, it's taken a downward spiral. While I am still maintaining, I am still, to myself, living a shitty existence, dependent on externalities, and not my own resolve. Sure, there is the fleeting thought: "I hate my life, I wish I were dead." Fortunately it isn't as strong as it has been. I feel trapped, not entirely hopeless. But it's what I crave that bothers me.
Why do I become consumed by what I think someone else thinks of me? Why does it matter so much that I have low body-fat? Why must I feel driven to compete with people in classes, create dramatic tension where there probably isn't any? It seems I create this drama, create this external pressure and these expectations so I feel motivated to do anything. When left to my own devices, without external influence, I am often at a loss as to what I should do. I wish, honestly, that I could just "be." I wish I didn't eat my brother's food and create incredible conflict and guilt thereby. I wish I wasn't worried whether someone I went on a few dates with really liked me or not. I wish I could act, and accept whatever happens. I wish, really, to be someone else, almost. All I know is drama, drama, drama, preceded by a short respite. Have I struggled to create the sensations my home-life evoked? Have I merely carried these perceptions into a different situation and shaped an artifice of pressure? If I had no expectations, no "image" or concept of what I "should" be, I'd be so much less stressed. If I knew what I felt comfortable doing, and WANTED to do those things for myself, the motivation would definitely be shifted. Yet, yet, I hate myself. Hate how I waste time on getting intoxicated, or on sleeping in because I'm afraid to get out of bed, or of the person next to me I long to kiss but second-guess myself constantly. Why am I so uncomfortable with grey areas? I wish I knew, I wish I had true peace of mind, or I had the strength to commit to it, but I feel so lack-luster, so separated from anything I do. At times I wish I was more than a fatalist; I wish I had a positive outlook; I don't. Joy is something that's so rare to me, and I am only sad, sad, sad.
-Mt