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« on: December 06, 2023, 11:03:06 pm »
Not seeking advice. The good news is, I start therapy next week. The below is ranting.
I wish people didn't default to thinking of me in the negative because it's easy to do. I wish my descriptors today weren't 'cranky' and 'paranoid' and 'hates the outdoors.' I wish the answers to things that I have psychological blocks to doing weren't just 'well, just do it.' I wish I wasn't sitting in my 'grampa pajamas' at my 'screen I spend my life behind' with my 'dogs I don't spend enough time with' with my 'drinks too much' shitty seltzer water. And maybe I'm just being 'thin-skinned' about it all, but dammit, it hurts and hurts and hurts again and who the fuck do I tell because if I speak up about my hurt to my partner she's going to get an anxiety attack or get mad and ask me why we're dating if I'm so hurt like it's my FUCKING fault that I'm hurt and it's something I need to deal with, not her. And when we've brought it up in a healthier fashion, she tells me she feels like she has to walk on eggshells in order to avoid upsetting me and the anxiety of it is literally ruining her. I'd cry about it, but she's called me out for not crying already too. And who else am I going to talk to? I'm already 'bad at talking to people.' It's hard to find time to reach out when you're working a seven to four, keeping two young dogs happy, running errands, doing most of the driving, and keeping house.
She talks to me like I need to be put in my place, like retribution for everyone that's suffered under the patriarchy. I need to be corrected and criticized. She's made jabs at the fact that I grew up in a middle class nuclear family like that's something I could choose.
I wish she didn't say 'I love you' in place of 'thank you' when she's asking me to do something, since that's about the only time she says it besides when we end a phone call.
I wish my parents didn't spit in my hand when I offer kindness or explanation about holiday scheduling.
I wish I could be mean. I WANT to be mean. I want to be mean and miserable and tell my parents to fuck off and my partner to stuff it and the world in general that my patience has ended. There's only muck and pestilence left in the well and draw from it carefully, i goddamn dare you.
I've been a soft target for twenty nine goddamn years of my life and I'd really, really like to explode. Just full on knives out angry old man at everyone trying to get their digs in. Yes, I fucking know there's a lot to dig into- I'm a fucking mess in the head with no shortage of idiosyncrasies and low tolerance for overstimulation. Fuck, I didn't know wanting the bedroom and closet doors shut at night when we go to bed was something worth being critical about enough to call me paranoid for. Why should anyone give a shit? It's fucking doors! Yes I have a preference! Why? Why!? It's DOORS!
I may not stop being a soft target, but I could put up hard walls. Just up and fuck off from people I know. There's delicate people out there elsewhere, right?
I'm so fucking tired. One must imagine Sisyphus happy, as they say. Does Sisyphus have temper tantrums? Here's my temper tantrum. What's he do with the knot in his soul?
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They're not even incorrect criticisms, though- yes I'm cranky, yes perhaps I'm paranoid, I did turn a block after a car parked on the street pulled out right after we did. Yes, I struggle to communicate events and happenings to people, specifically my family, but the less they know, the less anxiety comes back to me. Yes, I could be thicker-skinned, yes, she gets critical and needly when she's had a difficult day, and yes, I don't take criticism well, particularly when I've had a difficult day. Yes, finding a better job would remove some of my day-to-day anxiety. Yes, I spend too much time behind a screen and sometimes fail to focus my attention appropriately. Yes, I have attention deficit issues and it's really hard to deal with when she wants my attention every other minute. No, cursing around my apartment when I drop a food toy for my dogs doesn't make me feel better, it makes me feel sick.
Yes, being this sensitive is bad for our relationship. I don't know how I stop feeling hurt, though. Should it hurt to be called 'predictable' about, say, what I'm playing, or what I suggest for dinner?
