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Nov. 28th, 2005 04:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elizabethI can concentrate for hours on something -- anything -- that interests me, that I care about, but can't bring myself to put any more than minimal effort into something I don't have a deep personal investment in. This is not new; it's always been harder for me to sit down and work on math or science than history or any humanities assignment (and yes, this is going to be about my academic past because I've not been in the real world/workforce enough to know more than I don't like being cooped up in an office) (although, really, it was more that the work I was doing at VT over the summer of '04 didn't matter to anyone) (which brings me back to my main point).
But now, I just can't bring myself to care. I don't want to care, in a lot of ways. I am an immature idiot, and I can't believe how stupidly I'm behaving, that I'm getting away with. Somehow, I think I may be coming to understand how addicts maintain their lives and convince everyone around them that everything's fine -- because everything's not fine, and yet, somehow, I don't think anyone else realizes just how much I have fucked up over the last few weeks. Months. Year.
It's so easy to convince myself that the grades are just one-time things, that the mistake on the astronomy problem set was just being out of practice with math, that I'm really coping okay, but I'm not.
I'm handling the real life things pretty well, I think -- I'm dealing with every single issue I have with my biological father as well as I can, which is really pretty well, considering I don't have a therapist yet (this is entirely my fault, and I'm sure that if I had a therapist it would be much more painful and efficent); I'm trying to take care of my grandparents as much as I can without getting too involved in the drama becase I cannot make decisons for them; I'm finding out what I believe when I'm not around people who know me already; I'm dancing again and enjoying it; despite what my stepfather keeps claiming, I'm not losing or gaining weight (he got me worried enough to check); I'm eating healthy food, not the usual college-student crap of ramen and mochas; I'm making sure to do things that make me happy, like writing and seeing plays; I'm maintaining my friendships with people offcampus, like Natalie and [info]berne and Heidi (I must call Adrienne this week); I'm not overwhelmed with extracurriculars; I'm not being stupid with my finances.
But I am fucking up, and drifting out of control, and I don't want to stop, in a lot of ways, because fixing this -- fixing me -- is going to hurt. I always rejected the idea of therapy as repair work because that would imply that I'm broken, and I'm not.
Except that I kinda am.
I hurt. I am bleeding, all metaphorically, and my limbs are sticking out at angles they shouldn't, and I hurt.
Last week -- two weeks ago? whenever -- I said something about how I need to be able to rely on myself before I rely on anyone else, and I do, it's just...everytime I try to do that, I fuck up worse and end up needing help. I sabatoge myself, and I know I'm doing it, and I can't stop. I simultaneously long for independence and thrust it away from myself as if it's a burning match too close to my skin.
I don't even expect perfection from myself, just basic competence at my own fucking life would be nice. What happened to me? No, seriously, what happened?
I can do this. I know I can; I have all the skills necessary. So why do I feel paralyzed and trapped and so completely out of control?
Fuck.
But now, I just can't bring myself to care. I don't want to care, in a lot of ways. I am an immature idiot, and I can't believe how stupidly I'm behaving, that I'm getting away with. Somehow, I think I may be coming to understand how addicts maintain their lives and convince everyone around them that everything's fine -- because everything's not fine, and yet, somehow, I don't think anyone else realizes just how much I have fucked up over the last few weeks. Months. Year.
It's so easy to convince myself that the grades are just one-time things, that the mistake on the astronomy problem set was just being out of practice with math, that I'm really coping okay, but I'm not.
I'm handling the real life things pretty well, I think -- I'm dealing with every single issue I have with my biological father as well as I can, which is really pretty well, considering I don't have a therapist yet (this is entirely my fault, and I'm sure that if I had a therapist it would be much more painful and efficent); I'm trying to take care of my grandparents as much as I can without getting too involved in the drama becase I cannot make decisons for them; I'm finding out what I believe when I'm not around people who know me already; I'm dancing again and enjoying it; despite what my stepfather keeps claiming, I'm not losing or gaining weight (he got me worried enough to check); I'm eating healthy food, not the usual college-student crap of ramen and mochas; I'm making sure to do things that make me happy, like writing and seeing plays; I'm maintaining my friendships with people offcampus, like Natalie and [info]berne and Heidi (I must call Adrienne this week); I'm not overwhelmed with extracurriculars; I'm not being stupid with my finances.
But I am fucking up, and drifting out of control, and I don't want to stop, in a lot of ways, because fixing this -- fixing me -- is going to hurt. I always rejected the idea of therapy as repair work because that would imply that I'm broken, and I'm not.
Except that I kinda am.
I hurt. I am bleeding, all metaphorically, and my limbs are sticking out at angles they shouldn't, and I hurt.
Last week -- two weeks ago? whenever -- I said something about how I need to be able to rely on myself before I rely on anyone else, and I do, it's just...everytime I try to do that, I fuck up worse and end up needing help. I sabatoge myself, and I know I'm doing it, and I can't stop. I simultaneously long for independence and thrust it away from myself as if it's a burning match too close to my skin.
I don't even expect perfection from myself, just basic competence at my own fucking life would be nice. What happened to me? No, seriously, what happened?
I can do this. I know I can; I have all the skills necessary. So why do I feel paralyzed and trapped and so completely out of control?
Fuck.
Reposted from LJ, 20 March 2009
