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It's a diary. It's SUPPOSED to be introspective.

2004-10-11 - 10:37 p.m.

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So last week I finally got some action with the dentist, and while the fixing of my teeth is still in process at least now when I open my mouth I do not hear banjos cueing up for a duel. I�m having one of the temporarily patched-up teeth pulled this coming Saturday, and another molar will get a root canal as soon as I have 800 dollar bills to rub together, and then there are several little cavities to fill, and then I�m all done. But even at this early stage of the game, I�m a happy-assed camper because I�m finally mostly out of pain.

I don�t know how the poor souls who have to deal with chronic pain all the time are able to handle it without going mad. For a month straight the pain in my mouth, face and head was near-constant, ranging from barely tolerable to excruciating. It seemed like dealing with the pain took approximately 85% of my energy, and everything else I needed to do had to come out of the 15% that was left over. That was barely enough energy to sit upright and answer the phone all day, let alone be nice to people or be cheerful while putting up with their bullshit. I had little tolerance for any kind of sensory input at all� even my favorite fragrances and the mellowest of music CD�s was too much stimulation for me to handle. By the end of the day I was worn to a frazzle and no amount of medication could keep me comfortable. I slept fitfully. I did not cook or clean house for over three weeks. Gross doesn�t even BEGIN to cover it. I finally felt better this weekend and got caught up on a lot of the mess, with some help from the Prince and Evil Childe. There was enough dust in the living room and dining room alone to blacken two Swiffer heads, and I wasn�t even all that thorough.

For the past month I�ve been trapped inside my own head with the pain, and the constant reminder of my own stupidity inspired me to new depths of introspection. I finished the misery addiction book, and after much (MUCH) foot-dragging I finally made an appointment with a therapist. Meanwhile I�ve been doing some self-analysis to try and figure out just what my problem is, and what it is I need to work on with the therapist.

I have a hard time thinking of my problem as an �addiction� to misery. I don�t enjoy feeling miserable. I know there are people who do seem to seek out drama for the excitement of it, but I�m not one of those. I don�t find chaos exhilarating and having drama doesn�t make my life feel more meaningful.

On a moment-to-moment basis, it doesn�t feel like the random dumb shit I do is intended as a means of inviting chaos, even subconsciously. When I do something I shouldn�t or neglect to do something I should, it is almost always because I am avoiding immediate discomfort of some kind. For example, the reason I dragged my feet so long on calling a counselor is not because I don�t want to get better, it�s just that I dreaded the hassle of figuring out my insurance�s mental health benefits, finding an in-plan counselor, finding a good time to make the call, taking the time to go over my personal information with the appointment scheduler, figuring out an agreeable appointment time, spending the money, etc.

On the other hand, I know that I do feel vaguely uncomfortable when things are going too well. When I have a problem or a task that I need to work on, I feel like my immediate goal and purpose is well-defined. It�s comfortable to me to know what I SHOULD be doing� even if I�m not doing it, I still like knowing what it is that I�m neglecting, if that makes any sense. But when everything is completely done and I have real, actual free time on my hands, I get very anxious. I don�t know what to do with myself. I can�t decide which of my many long-neglected projects to get to work on. I dread trying to pull together all the elements of the project and the process of trying to settle down and get focused. I feel pressured to produce or perform something constructive, but I am paralyzed by the lack of a clear direction. So I take refuge in busywork which makes me �feel� productive, or I waste time on the Internet which distracts me from feeling anything; and inevitably if I stay �escaped� long enough, something in my life will collapse and then there will no longer be a question of what to do. The mess is right there with my name all over it.

I�ve also begun to see that most of my major malfunctions have some sort of hidden payoff� each screw-up, painful as it is, protects me from experiencing something else I don�t want to deal with.

Being disorganized and messy keeps me feeling so overwhelmed with household To Do�s that don�t have time to pursue other goals� goals I might just fail to achieve. Having �too much to do� is also my biggest excuse for not socializing, and having an excuse not to socialize means I don�t have to face the intense anxiety I feel whenever I have to be around people I don�t know extremely well.

Being disorganized with my finances provides me with another excuse for not being able to socialize� we can�t do much if we have cobwebs in our wallets instead of cash. Additionally, being disorganized about money allows me to indulge my spending addiction. If I don�t do the budget before I go shopping, I don�t know what my spending limit should be and so I don�t even try to limit it. I like to be able throw money at my problems. I�m convinced that somewhere out there, happiness, satisfaction, self-esteem and inner peace is for sale. (Why I keep looking for it at Wal-Mart is a mystery even to me. I guess I�m looking for off-brand happiness at a deep discount.)

My addiction to food itself serves a duel purpose: I use it to quiet down unpleasant emotions, and I also use it as a substitute for other experiences and stimulation. If I�m bored, I�m perfectly happy to go out to dinner somewhere, instead of risking anxiety and humiliation by trying a new activity of some sort.

My weight is my all-purpose excuse for my failure to succeed in just about any field of endeavor. I can blame both my lack of confidence and other people�s lack of interest in me on being fat. Besides taking the rap for my career and social underachievement, being fat also prevents me from pursuing flirtations and sexual opportunities, both husband-approved and not. The Prince and I have discussed from time to time the possibility of selective extramarital activities with other partners, and in theory I�m all for it, albeit cautiously. But only after I lose a significant amount of weight. Which of course means that if I stay fat, I don�t have to deal with the rather scary prospect of connecting on a very intimate level with new people. It�s real easy to be easy when it all stays in the safety of your head.

Being fat also protects me from the fidelity issues I hate to admit I�ve had. When I was with Dick I had a habit of becoming intensely infatuated with other people, and there were many times over the years I know I would have cheated on him if the opportunity had been more clear. This started before we were even married and continued on a regular basis until the internet affair that finally led to us breaking up. Since I�ve been with the Prince I haven�t had a single infatuation. There have been attractions which I refer to as crushes but none of the dangerous kind like I experienced before that would compel me to �cheat� without permission. I�ve also finally learned the difference between infatuation and love, and I�ve gotten WAY over the idea that romantic love (or any facsimile thereof) is any kind cure for unhappiness or life dissatisfaction. But even though I� very happy in my marriage and I don�t feel the desire to cheat at all, I think on some level I�m wary that my apparently relaxed moral standards might get the better of my common sense. If I�m fat it�s easy to convince myself that I�m not in any danger of attracting potential partners for cheating.

In preparation for going to the therapist next week, I sat down and tried to make a list of all the specific ways I sabotage myself. I came up with a list of 29 things. It wasn�t a stretch, either� these are at least 29 crazy, messed-up things I do on a regular basis to keep my life chaotic so I don�t have to deal with the stress of trying achieve anything more.

Basically, I use my fucked-up life as an excuse to not have a better life. Kind of mind-blowing when you think about it.








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Last Five
Crappy job crap, weird neighbor, and someone whose baby I apparently want to have - 2006-05-08
Live from the dump - 2006-04-09
Kind of like a muzzle for your brain - 2006-03-29
...and then she fell ass-first into my cereal bowl - 2006-03-28
Playing catch-up - 2006-03-27





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