Something has been weighing on my shoulders as of late. It doesn't really have a name, but it has feelings. For ease of understanding, lets call it bricks, each one with a label. Regret. Shame. Embarrassed. Unworthy. Disgusting. To name a few. Some of them are plenty - regret probably has the most bricks, along with disgusting. These bricks on my shoulders hurts, and they've made their homes inside my muscles and I feel the weight of their squeeze daily. Some days, I just know they are there. Other days, they are so heavy, that getting out of bed is excruciating.

I don't know what to do most of the time but ignore them, for fear of engaging is terrifying. I just feel so heavy with sadness that I wonder if I will drown in my own tears. What are humans supposed to do with such grief and regret? To say goodnight is always whispering in my ear, the alternative of continual carrying of this weight doesn't seem all that inviting. When my brain just replays all the "could-have-been's" and the "you are just too disgusting for anyone to want you", it takes a god damn toll.

So, here I am writing, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure in my shoulders. I try and remember the words my friends have given me about "hope" and other things that feel like utter nonsense. One day, one hour, one moment at at time.. one brick...

raw

These days have been hard. I spend most of my free time in bed, with the darkness covering me. I was asked recently two questions that caused me pause. "When was the last time you felt happy? What do you do for fun?" I haven't felt happy in a long time. However, I have grown increasingly better at faking it, and perhaps that is why I am so tired at 5pm.

I have lost 14 pounds so far this year. My self worth is directly tied to my body. Many of you have read about my disdain for the body in which I live. I cringe upon passing mirrors, I tug at the clothing the covers it, uncomfortable and annoyed at how they feel on my skin. I just want to shrink away to nothingness. With these few pounds of weight loss has come even more self destructive behavior. With every bite, the hate grows deeper. The roots continue to tangle in my veins. I can almost feel it strangling my very essence of self. While my close friends know of this weight loss, many don't until now. And it doesn't even matter. There is so far to go, and it just feels pointless and never ending. But I am starting to enjoy that emptiness feeling.

The self destruction is easy. The abusive relationships I engage in are a way to punish myself for all the wrong. I took Psych 101, I know what I am doing. To punish myself for how disgusting I have let myself become. Fat, alone, childless, and damaged. I allow these physical and emotional blows. I crave them now, I can't stand who I have become. So when he shows up, I allow it all to unfold however it will. So, don't tell me to stop, for it is clearly what I want and deserve. I detach from myself and live somewhere else, up on the ceiling, covering my eyes, at least until he leaves, where I reenter, and just weep for what I allow, for what hurts, and for how I know I will allow it again.

On this Valentines day, I am reminded, once again, of the touchless life in which I live. I was told about "cuddle con". A convention in Portland about platonic touch and how people were going to cuddle one another. My first thought was "that sounds kinda cool", and only a fraction of a moment later did I think "I would hate to make someone feel like they have to touch me". The touch that comes towards me now is only one of power and aggression. It is a strange dichotomy that I long to be held, and loved, and kissed, and desired, and at the very same time, I shrink away at the thought. There is not one cell in my body that believes anyone would ever want to do any of those things. If for a moment, they did, the thought of someone touching this body disgusts me. The touch that occurs now is not love, I know this. It is abusive, tragic, dark, and wrong. All the things I feel about myself manifested into.

Dear reader or friend, I apologize for the endless misery that I carry around with me. I just needed to or wanted to get some things out into the universe.

Enslaved

The questions was posed today, "What enslaves you?"

At first I really couldn't think of anything. As a white woman, with a pretty substantial amount of privilege, I don't usually think of myself as being enslaved by anything. But she pressed on, "Are you enslaved by fear? What about food?"

"HEY! was she talking to just me?" I asked myself.

She continued with her list, "Lust? Social media? Fear of past failure?..." She listed many things, but all those are the ones the stuck out for me, because I think they are the things that trap me.

My biggest enslavement is fear. I am constantly fearing rejection. This started at a very young age, and while I won't bore you with the common details of it all, fear of rejection runs deep. After my divorce, this fear is something I deal with on a daily basis. It is sometimes all consuming. Even listening to her speak, the anxiety was rising in my body. I squirmed and reached for my phone - the ultimate distraction, right in the palm of your hand!

I decided "No." I decided to stay with the feeling of being uncomfortable. I had to tell myself I was still safe, and everything is OK. My mind flashed to a variety of scenes from my marriage. I view my failed marriage as the ultimate of failures. The ultimate rejection. I just cannot seem to let this go. My mind, my body, my heart hold on so tightly to this failure - like a reminder that I am, in fact, a failure. Someone unworthy of love.

It is extremely painful. Dear reader, I write this as only a means of self expression, not looking to you to "fix" me, but for you to maybe understand that deep and profound depression exists in your midst.

Out of all the things I feel enslaved by, fear consumes me. Fear eats me alive. Fear has destroyed me. Sure, there are moments when I can fake it. I can play the part of a "successful woman who has her shit together". When I sit alone, however, I am back at the baseline of someone who truly hates herself.

I am enslaved by the fear and the hate. Perhaps just acknowledging is a good place to start, but I do not see this abhorrent view of myself subsiding any time soon.

Fulfilled and Unfulfilled

I had a realization today that I am becoming more and more fulfilled with my career. Two years ago, I never would have thought I'd have that feeling! But, here I am, really really happy at work! I adore the people I work with. They are smart, savvy, respectful, and overall loving people. They are nice to me, they think my ideas are good, they think I am funny. I find that I am now my happiest while I am at work.

While this is not the worst thing in the world, I mean, most people, I assume, would like to have a job they love and work with people they adore. So, I am not complaining about all that. I am however, noticing that I really am, only happy, when I am at my job. I am, truly grateful for this fact, but I just want more. Is it wrong to want more?

I noticed tonight, as I pulled into my driveway, that I started to cry. I feel super sad and bummed out. All my colleagues are busy tonight... with their family, friends, lovers, etc... So I sit at home, night after night, alone, and am extremely sad.

I am so far off balance, which for a Libra, is a HUGE deal. My only real piece of identity now is my job. I am so disconnected from love, sex, activities, hobbies, anything. All I do is work. Work, home, cry, repeat.

This sucks. This is depression.

I Loved Him

Maybe it is the holiday's. Maybe the darkness of the season. Maybe it is seeing the depth of my Grandparents love since my Grandfather had a stroke. Yeah, that's probably it. Whatever the reason, I have been thinking about how much I loved Andrew, and just how hurt I am upon reflecting that I do not think that love was returned, at least not in the same way.

I remember one of the last interactions I had with him was finding a spiral notebook and flipping for a clear sheet of paper, I came across what appeared to be a list of some sort. After reading it, it was the most heart-wrenching list I had ever read in my life. He had made a list of things he wanted in a woman - these are the things I remember: someone younger, thinner, into more activities, more fun... Those are just what I remember, the list was much longer.

As you can imagine, then, as well as now, I just cried. The kind of tears that come from a dark and broken place.  He didn't love me. How long ago was it that he fell out of love with me? Why didn't he talk to me about what he wanted? Instead, alone, I found his list of wants. I am not getting any younger, I am certainly not thin, I didn't understand what he meant about activities, since I always asked him to do things and he was never interested in doing them - did he offer ideas? no. I guess I am no fun either. Reading these things felt like a punch in the tummy, the face. I felt beat up.

You are probably wondering if I confronted him. I did. I tearfully handed him the list, and simply walked away. He said he was so sorry that I had read it, and that he never intended for me to find it.

I did find it. Even though it was a year and a half ago, the wound is still fresh. It still oozes. It has infected my sense of self and overall worth as a woman, as a partner.