(no subject)
It seems like I only use my LiveJournal to vent when I'm feeling low. Well, it's my journal, and the LJ population has died off significantly, so screw it. Those of you who are left aren't judgmental. This is going to be more of a therapeutic rant to try and figure out some stuff that I've been dealing with for years now.
I saw some pictures today of myself that were taken at a friend's baby shower. I hate seeing pictures of myself. I say I hate shaving but really, it's because I have to look in the mirror. I occasionally shave my head and say it's because I'm tired of dealing with my hair, but it's because I hate having to look in the mirror to fix it.
I'm figuring out now that, at some point, I gave up on myself.
Once upon a time, I took the time to find nice clothes at a bargain. I took the time to make sure my skin looked decent. I took the time to make my hair look cute. I used to attempt to diet and exercise. I took pictures for my profile on whatever site was popular at the moment.
I can't remember the last time I bought anything cute to wear. Or used a skin product. Or cared to style my hair. The last picture I took for a profile was almost 3 years ago.
I don't want to admit it but... I really did give up. I can think of a few reasons why.
Being a gay man in a small town is isolating. Being a fat gay man in any town is isolating. Being a fat gay man in a small town is a sense of isolation I can only attempt to describe.
The fact that I'm fat, to me, means that I'll never find love. Could I lose weight? Sure. Then I'd have to move to another town, somewhere with an actual gay population. Uproot myself from everyone that I know actually cares about me, to try and find love. It's a gamble that I can't take the odds on, because let's face it, my luck is pure dog shit.
My mood disorder also makes me incredibly fragile. I don't react like normal people do in emotional situations. It's like my feelings get magnified by 1000 and I can't control it at all. So, if I made an attempt to find companionship and it didn't work out, who knows what state it would leave me in? Would it make me depressed? Would it kick me back to that pit of nihilism and angst? I can't do that again.
Why take a risk when I can just sit at home with my hair a mess, in dirty clothes, with my stomach full of Taco Bell, and a bag of Hershey's Kisses next to my chair?
It's like this bizarre combination of feelings and situations that have made me feel like I'm a prisoner. A prisoner in my own town, my own body, and my own mind. It's a cycle that I had tried to break years ago, several times, and failed miserably. I consigned myself to the fact that I'm going to feel like that, no matter how hard I try to change it.
There is something broken inside of me, and I need help to figure out what it is. I can't do it by myself. I'm going to Pathways next week to see if they can diagnose me and medicate me if necessary. It's the only thing I know to do to get a start on living again.
I'm tired of avoiding mirrors. I'm tired of avoiding social situations where I have to look decent. I'm tired of feeling envious of all the people in my life that have someone to love. I'm tired of not living my life.
I saw some pictures today of myself that were taken at a friend's baby shower. I hate seeing pictures of myself. I say I hate shaving but really, it's because I have to look in the mirror. I occasionally shave my head and say it's because I'm tired of dealing with my hair, but it's because I hate having to look in the mirror to fix it.
I'm figuring out now that, at some point, I gave up on myself.
Once upon a time, I took the time to find nice clothes at a bargain. I took the time to make sure my skin looked decent. I took the time to make my hair look cute. I used to attempt to diet and exercise. I took pictures for my profile on whatever site was popular at the moment.
I can't remember the last time I bought anything cute to wear. Or used a skin product. Or cared to style my hair. The last picture I took for a profile was almost 3 years ago.
I don't want to admit it but... I really did give up. I can think of a few reasons why.
Being a gay man in a small town is isolating. Being a fat gay man in any town is isolating. Being a fat gay man in a small town is a sense of isolation I can only attempt to describe.
The fact that I'm fat, to me, means that I'll never find love. Could I lose weight? Sure. Then I'd have to move to another town, somewhere with an actual gay population. Uproot myself from everyone that I know actually cares about me, to try and find love. It's a gamble that I can't take the odds on, because let's face it, my luck is pure dog shit.
My mood disorder also makes me incredibly fragile. I don't react like normal people do in emotional situations. It's like my feelings get magnified by 1000 and I can't control it at all. So, if I made an attempt to find companionship and it didn't work out, who knows what state it would leave me in? Would it make me depressed? Would it kick me back to that pit of nihilism and angst? I can't do that again.
Why take a risk when I can just sit at home with my hair a mess, in dirty clothes, with my stomach full of Taco Bell, and a bag of Hershey's Kisses next to my chair?
It's like this bizarre combination of feelings and situations that have made me feel like I'm a prisoner. A prisoner in my own town, my own body, and my own mind. It's a cycle that I had tried to break years ago, several times, and failed miserably. I consigned myself to the fact that I'm going to feel like that, no matter how hard I try to change it.
There is something broken inside of me, and I need help to figure out what it is. I can't do it by myself. I'm going to Pathways next week to see if they can diagnose me and medicate me if necessary. It's the only thing I know to do to get a start on living again.
I'm tired of avoiding mirrors. I'm tired of avoiding social situations where I have to look decent. I'm tired of feeling envious of all the people in my life that have someone to love. I'm tired of not living my life.