A lot has happened this past week, and yet I feel completely out of it. I get a few pangs of emotion, for maybe an hour or so, the most recent being about 3 hours ago due to a really bad trigger. But other than that, my emotional side is disconnected from everything else. I don’t feel much and time feels warped.
To top it all off, I’m feeling horribly full right now. And there’s barely anything in my diary from these last couple of days. I feel like a robot.
Being away from home for a few days has proved to be both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I don’t have to deal with all the negative energy at home. A curse because I feel alone and am already, after so many years, conditioned to perpetuate the negative energy even when I’m on my own. So, I’ve discovered, I don’t need my parents to feel shitty. I do that to myself as is. *sigh*
I talked about food with both G and R this week. G said I don’t eat so I can avoid being sexually attractive. R said I don’t eat because communication in my family is based solely around food, so my way of rebelling against that is to not eat. They’re both right. It’s not a simple issue.
The appointment with R left me feeling exhausted and tense. She was talking more than usual and gave me some very tough love. She got me thinking about a lot of things, and yet I feel so disconnected from it all now, as though none of it happened. Same thing with G. Back to square one.
Today hasn’t been much about food, but pretty much entirely about The Ex. I ended up having flashbacks a few hours ago and I had to take a nap. I know when you’re having flashbacks you’re supposed to be nice to yourself, to take your time, to ground yourself, to be kind to yourself and breath, take a warm bath, or whatever….but really all of that is time consuming and I have a lot of studying to do. But of course I can’t study with a million flashbacks in my head…hence the nap. It’s a constant battle between my responsibilities and having compassion for myself during difficult times.
Most everything having to do with sex triggers me immensely, and that was the case today. I felt like I was back in The Ex’s house, back in his room, in his bed, feeling the cold floor beneath my feet, the soft light, the dampened noise, the strange and cold/humid air, lying on a queen-sized bed, condoms, cold sweat, saliva, fucking humidity everywhere…I felt small…so small and vulnerable.
I felt terrified because I felt I was there again. I knew I wasn’t there, I knew I was in an apartment far away from him. Yet, I felt I was there again with him, in his house, in his room, in his bed, breathing the same air. Being used. His fatness coming into contact with my small body. Fungal infection in his toe web and all. Disgusting.
I tried to ground myself, but I was too tired to even think. So instead, I took a nap. It didn’t work much.
I feel my body is working against me. I try to have a healthy relationship with my sexuality, but it’s almost impossible. Arousal is a mix of good and bad things for me. Things that feel kind of good but horribly bad at the same time. Ugh…I don’t even know how to explain this. It’s an infinite abyss of confusion. My body responds one way, my mind responds in another. My body responds to the here, the now, while my mind responds to The Ex. Pleasure and terror. Hence, the confusion.
You know why I love my Prozac so much? Because it makes me feel asexual. And feeling asexual means no arousal, no confusion, no sex, no nothing.
I’m afraid of everything right now. Tense and anxious. I have to go distract myself….again.