It’s the end of the week again. Lately my end-of-weeks have looked like this: get home from work at 6:00 PM. Peel off my stiff work garb. Sport pajamas. Curl up in bed. Stay awake in bed in the dark for three hours. Eat nothing. Take my pills. Make sure my alarm clock is off and go to sleep. That’s just Friday night. Getting to the good part, Saturday: stay in bed. Get up once, after the sun has come up and gone down again. Pee. Eat half a bag of tortilla chips. Try to get back to bed before my roommate notices I was in bed. Sunday is the same as Saturday, except I manage to drag myself into the shower as the day fades out. I don’t own a hair dryer so I never shower in the mornings because I cannot bring myself to go to work with wet hair. Why I don’t just buy another hair dryer I’m not sure. Stubborn. Because I have one but I left it an eight hour drive away so I already have one and I don’t want to buy another one.
So I came home today and instead of crawling right into bed, I changed out of my work clothes and poured myself half a glass of wine, got out those divine peanut butter-filled pretzel snacks from Trader Joe’s which is often my dinner, and started my slow computer so that I could write this entry. I’m actually supposed to go out to meet a friend at my volition, so I have an hour to sober up as I’ll be back on the road. It’s likely I could get a DUI. I am aware of this. Yet I’ll do it anyway because I am feeling reckless and I’m tired of feeling tired and I just want to be out, drunk. I’m sure I could pass a sobriety test right now.
Corporate garble. I had to deal with corporate stuff today at work. It’s not something I enjoy. I sit there and try to pretend I know what I’m doing but really, all of this stuff is way over my head and beyond me. I don’t feel versed or well-trained at all. I’m supposed to know what we’re doing. All of this terminology with which I’m vaguely familiar glances over my head. It’s a two-hour monthly strategy meeting in the boardroom over lunch. Mexican food was ordered. Because I’m vegetarian, a special side order of potato tacos was ordered. They are delicious and filling. I’m trying to focus on the food to keep my mind off of the subject matter at hand, an industry in which I am trained but hate. I would much rather be in the marketing department, or any other department, other than this. I don’t mind the customer service part of it, but it’s the lists of calls that irk me. I’m taking notes at the meeting because I have to send them out later to the team. I’m trying to do my job.
That skipped into present tense but it seemed like a more pertinent way to slip myself into the moment as I was retelling it. I’m a girl with major depressive disorder and borderline personality disorder, with not many friends and an open bottle of alcohol waiting for me at home. Can you cut me a break sometime? Can I just go home and never have to wake up again? Why is it that I keep managing to make it to work? Every day I want to call in sick, but I’ve only done it once and that was when I had a fever. I was legitimately ill.
Oh, and pardonez-moi, I’m not a girl. Scratch that. I’m a woman. I want particularly my male counterparts to recognize that and not mess up on the terminology. Refer to me as a woman, for crying out loud. Show some respect. But on the inside I don’t feel like a woman. I feel like a girl. I feel like a girl who is 16 and unsure of the world and narrow-minded, only focused on herself. There was a massacre in Paris today. It was a terrorist attack. I’m so far away, but that could have easily been my neighbourhood. Have some perspective. Step up. Be the better woman. Be better than I was yesterday. Think of your family. I do think of them! Think of them some more. Try to develop relationships with them. Or don’t. It’s all up to you. I don’t want it to be up to me!
That’s a lot of self-talk. Will I be able to hold my own in a conversation if I make it out tonight? Will the two ladies I’m seeing embrace my presence or reject me? What will happen? Will I feel calm enough to handle myself? Will my drink get drugged and will I be shipped off to some far-off dark corner to get raped? These are the sorts of thoughts that circle around in my head. They are very real.
Who knows what sort of weekend I’ll have. My goal is to get out of bed at least once tomorrow. I wish I could be vertical and upright all day long, and manage to entertain myself. Take myself out to coffee on my own, just to get out. Go hang out at Barnes and Noble along with all the other creepy nerds and try to look inconspicuous as I sift through the photograph pages of expensive books I’ll never buy, trying to fit in, trying to fill yet another hour of a day which I would have otherwise spent in bed. Yet I don’t go to the library. I don’t go to the store. I don’t go out hiking on the trails by my home. I don’t do anything. Anything. My life is a big world of what-if’s and should-have, could-have’s. The people I am seeing tonight, I only know one of them, and we haven’t even known each other more than a few months. She says she cares, and I believe her, but is there girl-chemistry? Do we nourish each others’ souls? At this point I’m desperate to spend time with anyone. But not just anyone. There’s a guy that I recently told to take a hike because he liked me. He’s my close friend, but he has feelings for me and to me, right now, in this state where I am, that is unacceptable. Bye-bye, close friend of a year or more. Buh-bye wasted effort.
Don’t drag myself down. Everything’s going to be okay. I wish I were seeing my therapist next week but I decided to take the week off of therapy. Therapy is difficult! It’s really hard. It’s not for everybody and it’s not for just anyone. It takes commitment, even during the session, to see it through to the end. There are always difficult questions being asked, ones which make you uncomfortable. That discomfort is in fact, the strengthening of an emotional muscle you didn’t know was there and haven’t used much.
Sober? I don’t know. Will they be there when I get there? I don’t know? Will I be able to find the place? Sure! Will I get hit on by gay women? Yes, it’s that neighbourhood. Will my friend shield me from being hit on? Hopefully. I’ll have fun. No I won’t, but it’ll be a good diversion. I want to not be in bed right now, and that means, going out, because if I sit here much longer I’m going to tell myself all kinds of stories in my head about how I’m not good enough to study, or to write poetry, or to read a book, and end up in bed anyway.