collapse

This is going to be a tough one.

I’m turning to this because I don’t know where, or who else to turn to, as I’m certain most of my confidants have been exhausted by the situation I’m in.  It’s impossible to feel like they aren’t sick of hearing about it, even if they are completely open and welcome.  I feel sick to death of hearing myself think about it, much less explain to others what it really means-and how this, this thing, seems to have lodged itself into my chest, and is slowly cracking my torso into burning pieces.

I don’t really have any leads for work.  Every day I wake up, feeling optimistic, propelling myself forward, trying to be productive.  I have projects underway, but are still incomplete.  The concern for my future grows daily, and it’s hard to think about making plans.  I feel the pressure from the people around me, I can hear the gears of criticism turning red under the heat of their scrutiny, and the nausea in my stomach growing every second.  What is this, even, why is it that I have been so trained to feel like a failure, because I can’t find a job?  Or I don’t make enough money?  How is it, that my value has been dictated by my yearly income?

I suppose this has been bound to happen.  Eventually, I was going to fall, eventually, things were going to fall apart.  I’ve been putting it off for so long, and I guess some thoughtless criticism from someone nearby triggered the fall.  I’ve always known and been attacked for being “too sensitive”, and for most of my life it was considered a weakness by those around me.  The only solution for me, in these cases, is to simply withdraw.  Withdraw into myself to avoid the criticism, stay in the comfort of my own cave and circle of friends where I could feel safe and give the assholes a wide berth.  Recently, this idea of “too sensitive” has started to become idealized, praised, and I found many of those who criticized me before jumping on the bandwagon.

I don’t really feel infuriated by this, perhaps they really are too sensitive, perhaps they really feel ostracized, but it’s difficult to believe since I was shoved aside or my feelings were dismissed for such a long, long, agonizing and lonely time.

I noticed on a few job descriptions that one of the qualifications was a “thick skin”.   If you know me, you’ll know I’m highly emotional.  Of course, outwardly I am able to behave in a polite and composed way, but the people closest to me are definitely going to hear about this later, dammit.  It’s probably going to eat me up for the rest of the week, and there are few things I can do to stop it.  Can I even say I have a “thick skin” after knowing this about myself?

It’s hard for me not to lose sleep over the harshness of a person’s words.  It’s hard for me to regain any respect I may have had for them, and it’s very hard for me to forget.  A person will always tread lightly around a dozing lion if they’ve already been struck, and some days it feels like there are lions around every corner, prepared to assault.

I’m talking, of course, of deeply personal assault, not too serious to be considered abuse, but enough to mess up your day.  I’m talking about words that prey on the weakness you already punish yourself for every day, on the doubts that ring around the caverns of your mind at night, and the words whispered by demons that crouch around your shoulders.

Why would you feed my demons?  How can I let you?  What armor, what strategy can I give myself to protect myself from your thoughtless and dismissive words?

Now, this is my test.  To temper the steel of my mind, and somehow preserve the naive innocence of childhood, so that I, too, will not become the feeder of demons and the envoy of the thoughtless.  I assumed I had strengthened my resolve in Taiwan, but I am discovering that my return has brought back many pains not yet unraveled.  I find myself overreacting to things, on the point of suffocating tears, gazing into the distance and wondering why it was such a big deal?  Have I so failed to give myself an opportunity to recover, but it hasn’t been enough?

Thinking of whatever pains me used to give me a dull ache.  Today, it is a sharp stabbing through my heart, and the stagnant rot of a stomachache that cannot be fought with food nor water.  Perhaps it’s not so much the act itself, as much as a puncture into the reservoir of feelings I had been holding back-sorrows and pains and upset that I felt I never deserved to feel.  I am a fortunate person, loved and supported by so many people, and it’s hard to think I’ve let them down, because it really feels that way.  How can I show my gratitude to them with a face of tears and slouched shoulders?

Nothing helps, these days.  It’s hard to find a solution, and it often reminds me of the darkness that so clouded my mind when I first arrived in Taiwan.  So I simply keep my head down, step around the lions quietly, and hope they don’t wake to fire words at me, words that I am currently unable to deflect.

The only way to exact vengeance on those who have wronged you is to be successful.  I have believed this since I was young.  It’s not exacting vengeance entirely, but rather, proving those chumps wrong, and showing them that I came out to be better than you thought, better than they said I was, and more successful in ways that can’t be bought with money.

The sorrow rises and fades, and I sit on the shore of my own mind as it washes over me.  What am I even doing?  It’s hard not to become lost in the fog of thought, disappearing without really disappearing, and wondering where I am.  Isn’t this still a dream?  Maybe I will wake up, and I’ll be back in my apartment in Taiwan, with Yo around the corner, and the kindness of strangers.

I don’t even know if I miss Taiwan.  I don’t know if I want to go back.  I know I want to see Yo, and that’s really about it.  Examining these things has become effort-consuming, and work has been able to distract me only for so long, just until I’ve exhausted my energy.  In the silence, when I lay in bed, looking at the ceiling, the  clutch of failure wraps around the lump in my throat, and I wonder how can I take everything I have for granted.  How can I neglect the kindness done to me, and fail to thank the people who are responsible?

The pleasant things in my life are somehow laced with sinister self-sabotage, with the anxiety that rises with me in the morning.  Even staying at home has lost its appeal, which is hard to swallow.  I used love coming home, laying in my bed, and sinking in the silent solitude.  But as soon as I enter this phase, the trickle of thoughts creeps through my mind, and lifts my mind into chaos.  Channeling this energy is so difficult, it’s so hard, because I realize how important it is to have my thoughts organized right now, at what seems like a critical juncture in my life.  Just being alone with myself is a misery, and sometimes being with others makes me feel like I need to be at 100%, I can’t show them that I’m unhappy, how would they know I love them?  How would they know I’m grateful for them, if I only reward them with my sorrow?  Where do you go, when you can’t tolerate yourself?

God, Millie, you’re just too sensitive.  You should just get over it.