Toying with ideas

Ugh, what a weekend.

I did nothing. Absolutely nothing. That triggered me. On top of that I keep looking in the mirror and seeing fat. That triggered me too. And I was irritable and isolating. I think what I feel is overwhelmed, for some reason, and it’s taking a toll on me.

In addition, this weekend was exceptional in that I was only noticing the “bad” in my parents and the things about them that annoy me. My mom was completely disconnected from us, distant and keeping to herself. Whenever she gets like that and you try to interact with her it’s like poking a sleeping bear. Then my dad made me feel desperate because 80% of the conversations he had with me revolved around food. I’ve always thought of my dad as a sort of martyr, and he also tries to guilt trip you all the time. It pisses me off, but I know it’s his way of getting our attention.

Needless to say, there was a very palpable negative energy in the house. More than usual.

So, with that in mind, last night I had a very strange thing happen to me. I have moments all the time when the constant feelings of emptiness feel even stronger and I just live every day on autopilot, not stopping to think about anything and not making a conscious effort to interact and appreciate my surroundings. Lately I’ve been feeling like that. There’s always something missing. However, last night I felt something like that, but more extreme. And it scared me. So, here’s what I wrote in my diary during that time:

I was thinking about M just now. Everything I lived with her feels so far away. Like it never happened, and that hurts. I know that to avoid those thoughts and feelings I should think about all I gained, learned, and changed thanks to her.

The truth is, I don’t feel very good. I feel quiet, like I’m hibernating, unreal, far from me and from everything, zombie. Maybe I’m falling in depression again? Maybe. I want to feel and I don’t know how. 

I want to hug M and ask her to come back, but now there’s no going back. Does she remember me?

No, I’m not fine. I have a lot of pain inside that I don’t know how to deal with. M’s gone, I’m feeling like a zombie, mom is distant these days, I’m worried about dad’s health…and finally, medical school. I feel so far away from med school that it scares me. Actually, I feel far away from everything, even from myself, right now, that it scares me. It scares me because I ask myself what is this life’s destiny?

I’m really scared right now that I actually understand what I feel, or better said, don’t feel. It’s like my mind and my essence are trapped inside this body, and so, this body has to be eliminated somehow. My mind is an entity, and my body is another. They do not act in unison, but rather each one has its own agenda. This body is not me. But what is “me”? I’m trying to defend something I don’t even know.

There’s moments when I know myself, but there’s other moments, like now, that “me” is such a fleeting concept that I feel it doesn’t even exist. I don’t know who was the responsible girl, the straight-A girl, the one that wants to be a doctor, the one that knows her taste in style…I don’t know who she is and I don’t know where she is. I don’t like this “me” that I’m experiencing right now because I don’t know what it is, or what defines it. I feel I have to destroy, destroy, destroy this thing they say is “me“. I have to kill it or put it in danger. Maybe then the real “me” will come back and it will become one with this body. Like Peter Pan’s shadow. 

I don’t think the words convey exactly what I was feeling. I just know I was so scared, because I felt everything around me was somehow unreal and threatening, like my surroundings and my own body were out to get me. And I was having some very strange thoughts, and thinking that something or someone was looking at me. But part of me also knew these thoughts were irrational.

Anyways, that was it. Whatever it was. I kept on writing just to see if I felt any better (which I didn’t and had to force myself to go to sleep). Sorry if some parts of it don’t make sense:

I don’t know how to keep on writing if I feel like this. Maybe if I keep writing about my day I’ll feel better?

Mom: distant and angry. She doesn’t show it unless you provoke her, but any little thing provokes her. End result: I keep my distance from mom and at the same time have failed attempts to feel a connection to her. I distance myself so much that it’s like having an impostor pretending to be mom. “That’s not mom!,” thinks the child in me, “Where is mom?”. The impostor is like an empty shell, a dummy. Rationally, I know it has substance, but the impostor does not talk about what it feels or it’s secrets, so it makes me have doubts. I was thinking earlier that I have secrets, and so does mom, and that scares me because I feel that “deep down” I don’t really know her. When she’s in a good mood, everything’s fine. But when she’s in a bad mood, everything’s bad. Her and her moods are so intertwined with my moods. I already knew this, but I hadn’t really internalized it, and I know I talked with M about it many times before. Part of me wants to “cut the umbilical cord”, because it’s the right thing to do, but another part of me keeps tethering me to her, because if I’m not with her, then who am I?

Dad: philosophical and depressing. He always does it when no one’s talking (he can’t stand the silence). It’s what he feels, but it’s so awkward. He acknowledges he doesn’t know how to talk about himself and his feelings, and I feel so uncomfortable when he tries. What does he feel? Who is dad? I think much of the distrust I feel toward him is because I really don’t know him. It hurts to accept that. When I was little he would scold me a lot, and that pissed me off. As a teenager it was the same, but worse. But that’s all I can remember of him. Where’s the rest? I don’t understand my relationship with dad. 

In reality, I do remember a lot of things about my relationship with dad. But I have to admit that a large part of it is him scolding me and me just being utterly pissed at him and, dare I say, hating him. I hate myself for that.

Food. Only one of the conversations I had today with dad did not involve food. It makes me so angry Food, food, food, everywhere, when all I want to do is to get it out of my head. I’ve been stuck in — fucking pounds. This body anchors me. I want to float, like my thoughts. I want to feel lightweight and free when I dance. I want to self-consume until I disappear.

Food, food, food, everything revolves around food: dad’s conversations, the outings, the schedules, the days, the arguments. Everything has something to do with food. At 3pm: “Mom, do you want to go to the movies?,” me, being spontaneous. Mom: “No, it conflicts with dinnertime and I have to cook…[blah blah blah],” angry and ruining the spontaneity of the moment. I think: “Well buy some fucking pizza or do some fucking simple meal with salad.” But no. Always there, always rigid, always present, fucking food.

Since the moment of breakfast he’s thinking about what we’re going to have for dinner. He buys me pancakes to cook them for me the next day. In addition to kisses and hugs, that is the third overwhelming way my dad shows his love: cooking for you. It makes me angry because pancakes taste good but they make you fat and they’re bad, and because it makes me angry when I feel trapped by food. Let me think of other things, not about food. They taste good, but I know that after eating them I’ll feel disgusting, nauseous…and I’ll want to go back to my “baseline” of feeling hungry. Because feeling empty is better than feeling full with yet another problem: fucking weight. Even now, that I am empty, I feel I want to vomit.

Why am I such a bitch with him? Why do I treat him so badly? 

And, finally, I finished with this little gem:

I am still a child. I never grew up. Right now I’m in one of those moments where I think: “I won’t last much longer.” And I believe it. 

What is wrong with my head?


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