I've got a stick up my ass.
No, actually, that's not the problem. However, it was one of them. It had been Laura's birthday the day before and at night I'd gone with Max to Birthday Thursday at Wellman's. She'd told me she could tell from the moment I arrived that I had a stick up my ass and that I needed to socialize. Yup.
That day I met with my probation officer early in the morning. He'd suggested more therapy after I was honest with him.
Then, I went to my therapist, who in addition to suggesting more therapy, suggested I find out why my health insurance is now non-existent.
Therapy was fairly enlightening. I've got fearful avoidance attachment disorder.
Wonderful, now I have fancy new words to label why I'm terrified of social gatherings with people I've already met yet always want to go anyways.
At least we, my Therapist and I, finally found something we'd work towards fixing.
I spent the rest of the day at work.
Earlier in the afternoon Stefany had texted me saying that 'she had been in the feels and missed things'.
She misses the sex. Max felt the same way when I told him that, too.
I wanted to believe that wasn't the case, although if it was it almost took a bit of weight off of my shoulders.
Learning all that I had and starting my journey towards Christ changed my outlook on a lot of things, and I'd been wrestling with the idea of a future with Stefany for several days.
If she really only missed the sex, then she'd probably move on as soon as I told her I didn't want to have sex outside of marriage, and then if she didn't like me or didn't want to wait, it wouldn't technically be my fault that Amelia's parents were separate.
Yeah, I was trying to avoid guilt. Guilt for looking at other women, thinking about other women, even in ways that weren't lustful.
It occurred to me that we really hadn't ever gotten along when I wasn't buying her things, taking her out, or having sex. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life like that, and I couldn't afford to either.
The next day Stefany messaged me again about how her vagina's depression was making the rest of her body depressed.
Granted she'd invited me to accompany her and Amelia to a pumpkin patch on Saturday, I still didn't want to drop my values just because it'd satisfy her.
I replied to the text by saying Extramarital sex was a sin.
I didn't receive a response.
"Don't give in," Max sent me when I told him we had called it.
The problem was that I didn't want to feel peace.
Not only did it scare me, the few occasions I had felt it led me to fall asleep.
Peace felt like death.
I felt guilty for spending my whole life comparing myself to God or wishing I was God.
Now it sounded insane only because of how the new Church I'd started to become a part of revered Him.
I continued to feel like I was letting everyone down because of my anxieties.
You'd like to do something with me? I'm going to start acting distant.
You're being nice to me? I'm going to pretend I can't tell.
You've made me feel like part of the group? Let me act like I wasn't invited.
It was bizarre and it all made no sense. I'd known for a long time that it was hard to change even though I was aware. Thoughts and actions are easy to change but feelings aren't.
God, forgive me for being an addict. I've been an asshole, a liar, blasphemous, immoral, and I really hope we can work through that.
I wanted to give up again. I was afraid of myself, afraid of my friends, and afraid of not doing the right thing. The night before I'd been so paralyzed from being in a state of fear for so long that I danced like a robot. It wasn't for a long time that Laura eventually got me soused enough that her encouragements to loosen up actually got me to dance.
Max started dancing the moment he set food in the bar. Lip syncing and grooving while tons of other people stood unmoved. In came several other familiar faces including Noah, who proceeded to do the same.
They were fun to watch, but I had been frozen by my desire to remain invulnerable.
Earlier that day my invitation to some gathering with Church friends had been confirmed. At Laura's birthday gathering a couple had invited me to the A Day to Remember concert and said they'd pay for my ticket. I'd been interested in going and at the time we conversed I'd thought they'd said the concert was Saturday.
To my convenience, it wasn't. It was starting at the exact same time the other new friends I'd made were going to the concert.
Of course, I continued to feel uncertain rather either parties would hold true to their invitation, because I didn't think I was good enough.
The weather had been awful for a couple days. Grey skies loosed constant invisible rain leaving everything drenched and cold.
I'd failed to get my jackets from Adam's and sincerely dreaded going there. A good chance existed that he'd already thrown it all away, and I didn't want to make the trip just to see that.
I felt cold, wet, and conflicted. I wanted to go see the concert because I hadn't ever been to one showcasing that sort of musician. I didn't want to cancel on the Church friends because they seemed pretty family oriented and even though I didn't believe it, there was a chance I'd make long time friends there. I felt like I'd disappointed Stefany because I didn't want to have sex with her.
My shoulders climbed ever closer to my ears.
Misery loves company but Merry loves Jesus.
Merry had finally fallen to the sidelines but her name still proved to be useful in reminding myself what I wanted. Giving into Stefany's desire for sex would clearly be seeking company, not Jesus.
Easy, I thought, as if I hadn't known that road would've led me to be miserable!
If seeking God through his Church was a thing, then the gathering with that group would be seeking Jesus, more or less. It was still company, however if that bit was true, it was all gucci.
I shot Manny a text asking him if it was the case. Not Merry though, because she was done.
Going to the concert sought company, for sure, but I wanted to lie to myself and say it was purely for the music. That was a lie because if the same couple had invited me to the mall with them I'd have agreed all the same.
I was miserable; I didn't want to be alone. I feared everyone I felt safe around; it made being comfortable ridiculously complicated.
***
***
I'd felt vulnerable. I'd accepted two invites to recreational activities and felt open for attack.
I could tell you why that is or why that all began or why it wasn't really their fault but it doesn't matter.
Certain things stick with you until you find a solution to dissolve the adhering agent.
When I was little I'd frequently get stomachaches that made it hard for me to sit still. I'd feel like I needed to vomit, but couldn't. I'd get these weird headaches that made me feel bitter and inexplicably discontent. Tylenol didn't help, ibuprofen didn't help, things that put me to sleep were nice but didn't help me enjoy what I was attempting to enjoy.
Sniffing rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover, however, worked wonders.
I was probably five or six when I started heading off to the bathroom when my stomach or head ached to spend a minute or two inhaling from the top of the bottles, letting the distinct scent permeate my airways.
I'm not for certain, but whatever particles had carried that scent probably permeated my brain though the walls of blood vessels, too.
***
I shot a text to Kirk. I figured I'd ask him for a ride if he was going.
I couldn't fathom anyone wanting to marry me, date me, or even be around me. I was depressed, confused, socially inept and smelly.
Next
No, actually, that's not the problem. However, it was one of them. It had been Laura's birthday the day before and at night I'd gone with Max to Birthday Thursday at Wellman's. She'd told me she could tell from the moment I arrived that I had a stick up my ass and that I needed to socialize. Yup.
That day I met with my probation officer early in the morning. He'd suggested more therapy after I was honest with him.
Then, I went to my therapist, who in addition to suggesting more therapy, suggested I find out why my health insurance is now non-existent.
Therapy was fairly enlightening. I've got fearful avoidance attachment disorder.
Wonderful, now I have fancy new words to label why I'm terrified of social gatherings with people I've already met yet always want to go anyways.
At least we, my Therapist and I, finally found something we'd work towards fixing.
I spent the rest of the day at work.
Earlier in the afternoon Stefany had texted me saying that 'she had been in the feels and missed things'.
She misses the sex. Max felt the same way when I told him that, too.
I wanted to believe that wasn't the case, although if it was it almost took a bit of weight off of my shoulders.
Learning all that I had and starting my journey towards Christ changed my outlook on a lot of things, and I'd been wrestling with the idea of a future with Stefany for several days.
If she really only missed the sex, then she'd probably move on as soon as I told her I didn't want to have sex outside of marriage, and then if she didn't like me or didn't want to wait, it wouldn't technically be my fault that Amelia's parents were separate.
Yeah, I was trying to avoid guilt. Guilt for looking at other women, thinking about other women, even in ways that weren't lustful.
It occurred to me that we really hadn't ever gotten along when I wasn't buying her things, taking her out, or having sex. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life like that, and I couldn't afford to either.
The next day Stefany messaged me again about how her vagina's depression was making the rest of her body depressed.
Granted she'd invited me to accompany her and Amelia to a pumpkin patch on Saturday, I still didn't want to drop my values just because it'd satisfy her.
I replied to the text by saying Extramarital sex was a sin.
I didn't receive a response.
"Don't give in," Max sent me when I told him we had called it.
The problem was that I didn't want to feel peace.
Not only did it scare me, the few occasions I had felt it led me to fall asleep.
Peace felt like death.
I felt guilty for spending my whole life comparing myself to God or wishing I was God.
Now it sounded insane only because of how the new Church I'd started to become a part of revered Him.
I continued to feel like I was letting everyone down because of my anxieties.
You'd like to do something with me? I'm going to start acting distant.
You're being nice to me? I'm going to pretend I can't tell.
You've made me feel like part of the group? Let me act like I wasn't invited.
It was bizarre and it all made no sense. I'd known for a long time that it was hard to change even though I was aware. Thoughts and actions are easy to change but feelings aren't.
God, forgive me for being an addict. I've been an asshole, a liar, blasphemous, immoral, and I really hope we can work through that.
I wanted to give up again. I was afraid of myself, afraid of my friends, and afraid of not doing the right thing. The night before I'd been so paralyzed from being in a state of fear for so long that I danced like a robot. It wasn't for a long time that Laura eventually got me soused enough that her encouragements to loosen up actually got me to dance.
Max started dancing the moment he set food in the bar. Lip syncing and grooving while tons of other people stood unmoved. In came several other familiar faces including Noah, who proceeded to do the same.
They were fun to watch, but I had been frozen by my desire to remain invulnerable.
Earlier that day my invitation to some gathering with Church friends had been confirmed. At Laura's birthday gathering a couple had invited me to the A Day to Remember concert and said they'd pay for my ticket. I'd been interested in going and at the time we conversed I'd thought they'd said the concert was Saturday.
To my convenience, it wasn't. It was starting at the exact same time the other new friends I'd made were going to the concert.
Of course, I continued to feel uncertain rather either parties would hold true to their invitation, because I didn't think I was good enough.
The weather had been awful for a couple days. Grey skies loosed constant invisible rain leaving everything drenched and cold.
I'd failed to get my jackets from Adam's and sincerely dreaded going there. A good chance existed that he'd already thrown it all away, and I didn't want to make the trip just to see that.
I felt cold, wet, and conflicted. I wanted to go see the concert because I hadn't ever been to one showcasing that sort of musician. I didn't want to cancel on the Church friends because they seemed pretty family oriented and even though I didn't believe it, there was a chance I'd make long time friends there. I felt like I'd disappointed Stefany because I didn't want to have sex with her.
My shoulders climbed ever closer to my ears.
Misery loves company but Merry loves Jesus.
Merry had finally fallen to the sidelines but her name still proved to be useful in reminding myself what I wanted. Giving into Stefany's desire for sex would clearly be seeking company, not Jesus.
Easy, I thought, as if I hadn't known that road would've led me to be miserable!
If seeking God through his Church was a thing, then the gathering with that group would be seeking Jesus, more or less. It was still company, however if that bit was true, it was all gucci.
I shot Manny a text asking him if it was the case. Not Merry though, because she was done.
Going to the concert sought company, for sure, but I wanted to lie to myself and say it was purely for the music. That was a lie because if the same couple had invited me to the mall with them I'd have agreed all the same.
I was miserable; I didn't want to be alone. I feared everyone I felt safe around; it made being comfortable ridiculously complicated.
***
***
I'd felt vulnerable. I'd accepted two invites to recreational activities and felt open for attack.
I could tell you why that is or why that all began or why it wasn't really their fault but it doesn't matter.
Certain things stick with you until you find a solution to dissolve the adhering agent.
When I was little I'd frequently get stomachaches that made it hard for me to sit still. I'd feel like I needed to vomit, but couldn't. I'd get these weird headaches that made me feel bitter and inexplicably discontent. Tylenol didn't help, ibuprofen didn't help, things that put me to sleep were nice but didn't help me enjoy what I was attempting to enjoy.
Sniffing rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover, however, worked wonders.
I was probably five or six when I started heading off to the bathroom when my stomach or head ached to spend a minute or two inhaling from the top of the bottles, letting the distinct scent permeate my airways.
I'm not for certain, but whatever particles had carried that scent probably permeated my brain though the walls of blood vessels, too.
A research study I ought to cite properly but won't discovered that the active ingredient in Tylenol, acetaminophen, can aid one with a broken heart or who felt left out to not feel so 'hurt'. This is because acetaminophen replaces the naturally occurring enzyme acetylcholinesterase.
I became distracted by the idea of the blood-brain barrier and wound up with an intellectual-but-useless brain fart.
The habit carried with me into grade school, high-school, and onward. Whenever something didn't feel right enough to distract me from whatever it was I might've been trying to do I sought a quick fix.
Sloth.
If there was any sin I was more guilty of than any other it was being lazy. I took pride in being lazy because (I think) Steve Jobs had once said that if you want to get a job done hire the laziest person you can find because they'll find the fastest way to do it.
It was true. Some people almost thought it was the opposite of lazy-
"Holy-"
In refraining from swearing, I imagine Nguyen from my mental classroom wagging his finger at me in disapproval.
"-ehem, I can't believe I don't even know what word describes the opposite of lazy."
The entire classroom looked dumbfounded.
-The way I'd meticulously deduce a way to complete a task, but it wasn't. It wasn't OCD either; I was desperately looking for a way to complete a task in the shortest amount of time while using the minimum amount of thought possible.
"There's a brain study on that too." A familiar yet previously quiet student, a nerdy looking kid who chirped scientific facts and was DREADFULLY annoying, was about to be hit in the face with a ruler.
While it wasn't Christian of me to hate or loathe things or be lazy, I suppose I can say that my entire life until this point had been shaped around my desire to not put any effort into anything ever.
The Church Boys, as I'll call them from this point forward, finally got back to me. The trip had been cancelled due to the weather and a hang out had been moved to someone's house on the south side of the next city over.
I replied with words that meant to convey that I hadn't a ride and inquired as to whether the entire group had lived on that side of town anyways, but the words dripped with 'I don't want to do anything, I don't want to want you to do anything, and I really don't want to show any desire to do anything anyways either,' or laziness.
I assumed I was procrastinating, too, not letting Sarah know if I was going to the concert with her and her boyfriend.
Philippians 4:8-9.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me-practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.
"If you had written a bible, it would've been an un-bible about all the things you could do to be an awful person," an nameless student with dyed-black hair and eyeliner muttered.
God put the test-o-meter on LEVEL 9000.
Don't be dependant, I thought. I was trying as hard as I could to wait for a text from anyone in the Church group so I could use that as an excuse to myself to make my decision to tell Sarah I would or wouldn't be going.
Even though it had been offered, it didn't feel honorable or commendable to let Sarah or her boyfriend pay for my ticket.
If anything is done not in faith, a
'love for God/respect for God', or if it defiles your conscience it is sin.
-Manny
The opportunity to get into a concert for free was defiling the fudge out of my conscience. I still struggled to not curse and didn't think the fudging was any better.
I opened up Facebook to message Sarah.
I couldn't stand when people gave me excuses like I can't make it-
but not being able to stand something was to hate
-so I lied to Sarah and told her I had to work.
Dammit! Don't curse, I thought, why hadn't I remembered that hating something was wrong and it was okay to tell people you simply couldn't make it because that's the truth!? Instead you LIED?! Way to throw 'honesty' out of the window.
I yelled at myself in my head. As for the mental classroom, the teacher left the class and proceeded to yell at himself loudly in the hallway.
***
***
My therapist had dropped the whole pandora's box visualization, as I'll call it, most likely because in the box I was to put everything that either made me feel not-so-good (I'm minimizing here) or I associated with feeling not-so-good. I ended up putting the entire world inside of a glass box and remained outside of it in cold, black space devoid of all feeling.
It made me cry.
The next attempt was 'a place where you could go that was peaceful'. I'd known that in my past I'd envisioned myself diving into the bottomless ocean and swimming into the depths until I ran out of breath but that had stopped working a couple weeks back. I racked my mind to find somewhere 'peaceful' and wound up with falling off a cliff, the top of mount Everest, and outer space. Needless to say, that wasn't what she was going for. This, also, made me cry.
Yesterday, though, she hit gold.
It was to be a place where I could find all the versions of myself, past and present, all that was me, where they could meet like a family.
I scowled at the word family. I didn't know heads or tails about that sort of thing.
"Things would be taught in this place."
I immediately pictured my classroom, with me, the teacher, the good dads don't kill themselves guy, Nguyen, and the ambiguous other classmates.
"Now, picture the oldest, wisest version of yourself coming from out of the others and telling you something."
First, I, the teacher, rose from the group and ran to the front of the class and flipped everyone the bird before high-tailing it out of the classroom.
Then, a really old version of me came up, cane in hand. He stroked his chin between his forefinger and thumb before beginning to speak-
brief pause,
-and didn't say anything. He looked puzzled, then as if a Eureka! moment had occurred, and he opened his mouth again before repeating the process.
Unfortunately, he was senile, or suffered from dementia, or Alzheimer's. He clearly had something to say, but couldn't for the life of him remember what it might've been.
"What did he say?" she asked.
"Nothing," I said, "He's senile."
She laughed. Then she took it into a different direction.
"Now picture someone that you think of when you think of nurturing," she said.
I thought about my mom. My therapist had been shocked to hear that although I struggled with empathy that I knew exactly what to do to comfort someone and be supportive while making them feel loved. She was shocked that I had learned it from her, based on the other things I'd talked about her doing. I went on to explain that although I'd been comforted, I struggled with my words because my father's words of comfort and nurturing along with my mothers were things you'd never want to say to another individual whom you didn't know very well or care what they thought about your words.
That was shot down, so I thought of Stefany. I'd always thought of her as motherly, but didn't like the darker side, per se, of her personality. Not dark as in I hex people and read about demons dark, but a I love you so I'm going to act out on my emotional insecurities to make you mad and I can't help it sort of way.
I remember times I'd spend hours talking her down before finally getting to her, then collapsing into tears on my parent's basement floor. She'd apologize, and I'd tell her that even though I accepted her apology I couldn't take the behavior for much longer before I stopped altogether. It had been killing me. Literally.
Then, I thought of a tree. Think Tales of Symphonia. Oh-yeah.
"What did you think of?"
"A tree," I said. Even I sounded puzzled.
"A tree? That's good. Now we're going to put the tree in your classroom."
I almost argued with her because the idea of a tree in the middle of my classroom, especially the one I was thinking of, really monopolized the space and appearance. Still, I went along with it.
Everyone in the classroom was fairly perplexed, too.
Several people texted me about giving me a ride to the hang-out with The Church Boys but chances I'd actually wind up on that side of town seemed slim. To be precise, I had roughly a 16.9% chance of arriving there because one of them, Pete, had indicated an 83.1% chance of being able to give me a ride.
I responded like a robot, as usual. I pondered what the actual likelihood was, given that the chance that miraculously someone else might've been able to drive me out there was still not yet impossible.
I hadn't came up with a way to remember all of the sins, except for tying rings to my fingers. I fancied the idea of getting real rings, because I loved extrasensory bits about jewelry.
Gluttony, I thought.
"Delusion!" Annoying science fact kid and Nguyen snickered.
I shot a text to Kirk. I figured I'd ask him for a ride if he was going.
The idea of someone giving me a ride was ludicrous, so I wasn't sad about it, until I remembered that it wasn't my right to judge whether something was ludicrous or not, and I became disappointed again.
At least, I thought, I'm not being lazy.
I remembered back when I was younger, not in elementary school but in middle school. I remembered how much of an effort went into things like hanging-out or chilling. You'd text one friend and if that friend couldn't help you'd either ask for someone else's number or at the very least keep calling people until you could rest assured no one could give you a ride.
The night was dreary and cold and I slowly began to come to the terms that I might be spending it alone.
God's always with you, and so am I, imaginary frat-boy Jesus chimed in with a wink.
Rain poured down against the windows making a sound like a tide against the beach. It was relaxing but the reality of it was cold, wet, and more wet.
Stefany texted me back in disbelief, stating I'd never marry her if we were to date again.
I told her I'd never say never, countering with question as to if she'd ever actually love me.
She said she did, but I didn't put much thought into it.
Saying I'd go as far as not believing her would be hate.
I couldn't fathom anyone wanting to marry me, date me, or even be around me. I was depressed, confused, socially inept and smelly.
Really, walking did not do justice to a pair of $10 shoes from Wal-Mart.
Aside from that, I was re-creating myself. I'd attempted to kill myself so many times that I'd forgotten what being a person was like, lost all of my interests, and given away everything I'd once held dear and forgotten how to play the games and songs I'd once played.
I'd be a terrible date.
I couldn't even tell anyone about myself in all honesty.
I didn't know.
Next
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