3:36 p.m. - 2004-09-22
Every time today I have tried to write something interesting, it meanders, rambles, and is generally not interesting and sure as hell not funny. I'm not in a funny mood, I guess. Is it a lack of sleep, or a lack of anything interesting happening in my life? I suppose I could go off on the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad drivers I encountered yesterday…but please. Everyone's heard that shit a hundred times and it never changes.
Maybe that's what is causing my writer's block. The more diaries I read, the more I feel like I have nothing unique to contribute. Nothing intriguing has happened to me personally lately. I could describe the events in the lives of my friends, but they all seem to be having bad luck. Not the funny kind of bad luck either (where you do some stupid shit that really pisses you off at the time), but the kind that just makes you wish you could go kick the asses of those causing the problem.
I know, I know. They need to adjust my medication. I've tried that, though. Didn't work. I've taken Prozac for years, and even though I kind of feel like it's not working anymore, when I tried Effexor, it really didn't work. Sure, there are others. But that would involve taking sick/personal time from work (and I have none)…plus paying for the office visits with money I don't have.
I read this poem in an old "Dear Abby" column:
To laugh is to risk appearing a fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out for another is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk rejection.
To place your dreams before the crowd is to risk ridicule.
To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To go forward in the face of overwhelming odds is to risk failure,
but risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing and does nothing
has nothing and is nothing.
He may avoid suffering and sorrow,
but he cannot learn, feel, change, grow, or love.
Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave.
He has forfeited his freedom.
Only a person who dares to risk is free.
I think that really puts the finger on my problem. When was the last time I really risked anything? Maybe my friends would disagree, but I don't see that I've really put very much of myself out there anywhere. Minor risks, "safe" risks, but not something I could point to as a source of personal growth and change.
Maybe working out counts. But I've hit a plateau, weight-loss wise…and while sure, they happen, I am quite sure I have something to do with it as well. I have somewhat rediscovered food. I haven't gained anything, but I haven't lost more than 2 pounds in a month. It's just so hard to stay with the program. Am I trying to sabotage myself? Am I afraid of what will happen if I lose the rest of it?
Even though I have tried very hard not to chunk all my eggs (i.e., career, love of my life, etc.) into the "after I lose weight" basket, reading this cheeseball inspirational poem has made me wonder if I am doing exactly that. When I started out on this "journey" or whatever the fuck you want to call it, I told myself that it wasn't about what I looked like, it was about improving my health. That was complete bullshit. It's not about health. If I looked like BFRB (who is about as close to the fashion-model ideal as anyone I know), I would not fucking be doing this working out shit. Why I'm really doing this, bottom line, is that I'm tired of being looked down on. I'm tired of having my options limited because I have to overcome negative first impressions.
But now that I've admitted to myself that it IS about looks and it IS about appearances, if I really want to be out there and risking things, why am I trying so hard to hold on to my security blanket of fat? Am I afraid that I won't have an excuse anymore for not doing more with my life? That my built-in excuse for not putting myself really out there will disappear, and I will have to admit to everyone that I'm not as brave as I pretend to be?
I wish I couldn't act. I wish I was incapable of pretending. But I am Oscar-worthy. People think I'm self-confident and unafraid. Whatever. My fears are not of the usual things…public speaking, death, spiders, etc. I am afraid of the negative judgment of others. In an attempt to stave off said judgment…that is, not be judged on things that really matter, like my intellect and talents, I've designed a package that enables people to judge me as lazy and stupid. Therefore, anything I do that shows something besides lazy and stupid seems that much better by comparison to the bad first impression. Deep down, I guess I'm afraid that my "potential" is not enough to be successful.
Gee, and I thought 8 years of Prozac and 4 years of therapy would help me get over some of this shit, but lately I feel like what I've done is buried it even deeper…and since the metaphorical ground is being swept away from the burial site, my instinct is almost to try and bury it deeper. How completely fucked up is that? And why couldn't I have discovered this at 20 instead of 30?
I'm going to wind this up, since I'm getting nowhere. Thought for the day, from "Dancer with Bruised Knees" by Lynne McFall:
"Out of such long and dangerous exercises in self-mastery, Nietzsche says, one emerges a different person. The trust in life is gone. Life itself has become the problem…..I have never been a religious person….and even though there was no one there to hear it, I said it aloud: 'Amen.'"