I don't even know what to call this

I've been on a self-hating kick the past few days. It's doing wonders, I can already feel the difference!

Jokes. Angsty jokes.

Yesterday it was because my body disgusts me. I spent an hour or so Facebook-stalking girlfriends of mine that I think are beautiful and shaming myself for not looking more like them. I am dreading summer.

Today it's because I got an A- in my French class, rather than an A. Also, I have a ten-page paper to write for another class. I had planned to sit down today and just bust it out. It's a writing strategy that works pretty well for me most of the time. Once I get started, it's not difficult to write until I'm done. It's the starting that is the challenge. Some days it's not, but a lot of days it is.

Instead, I'm in my bed, drinking coffee, listening to music and writing about the not-doing.

This is bullshit.

Afterthought:

Oh wait, here's another joke. I got started. I wrote about a page and half. I thought there was a possibility I would finish today. But then I didn't. And now I'm back to doing the same things I was doing before. And to add to my shitty list of excuses for not writing it, I'm watching shitty youtube videos.

This is a shit pile and I'm hidden somewhere in the middle of it. Godfuckingdamnit.

Fin

French is over, and that feels big. Unreal, but big. Two years, a university requirement and personal struggle---complete. I left class over an hour ago and I'm still shaking. French has been difficult, anxiety provoking and incredibly frustrating at times. But I feel the same as when I started; I want to be fluent in languages other than English. I want to be able to communicate effectively with more people. I want to travel to new places and have a bigger, if even slight, chance of being able to speak the native language.
That could be French. After two years of it, I'm well on my way. And even with my struggle to stay in school, I did well. I knew what I was doing, even if I was unable to realize it at the time. I could take more French, spend more money and time to make that goal a reality. I could. Or I could chalk it up to a good experience and take the classes that I need to for my major. I have the whole summer to decide I guess.
I wrote my prof a card, trying to express without being inappropriately emotional, my gratitude. He probably doesn't think anything of it, which is why he's such a good person and teacher. He was so incredibly kind, patient, flexible and generous all year. Every time I sent him an email in panic about my grade, or when I would miss an assignment and ask to make it up or take a test in his office or miss a lot of class---he responded quickly, effectively, honestly and with compassion. He appreciated having me as a student and had faith in ability even though I didn't.
So much regret, guilt and shame I hold onto from all of the times I have disappointed myself and by extension assumed I have disappointed others---I carry that with me. And maybe that's why I needed to write the card. To find a way to make up for how difficult it probably was to deal with me. To explain myself and to say thanks. But how is anybody supposed to fit all of that in a card?
The truth is, I'll never be able to really explain how I feel to anyone. The challenges I've had this year, the obstacles I've had to face---those are mine. It isn't possible for another person to know exactly how thankful I am for my prof, my unexpected victories and for my second year of French to finally be over. That'll have to be okay. I just wish I could say the same about my other classes. A ten-page paper and an "incomplete", for lack of a better expression, to complete and then I can actually breathe, and celebrate and breathe.

But I still think I'm going to give myself the night off.

Studying Self

I haven't studied yet. I'm just at a cafe, pretending that's what I'm doing. But I got out of bed this morning, early. And I'm where I said I would be, at the cafe. I have friends that will stop by and study with me. I've planned this so that I stay accountable. So that I am successful.

So far, I have done all of the right things. Now I have to do the hard thing. I have to quiet my mind, tell myself that I am capable. I've started to realize that the issue isn't that I don't understand the material. I am completely academically capable. I think I worry that if I tell myself I'm going to do something, accomplish something and I don't complete it, or worse, don't attempt to complete it at all, I will have to face the beast. He holds all of my shame, guilt, disappointment---everything. I have missed so many classes, dates with friends etc. to avoid all anxiety or discomfort. I take the easy way out, almost every time. At this point, I don't feel capable of actually doing anything that I say I'm going to do. The fact that I have to constantly check myself, challenge myself, to do that on any given day tells me that I can't. I can't do it.

Today isn't important because I need to do all of this studying, although it kind of is. It's most important because I've said I would do something and I want to do it. I want to do what I've said I would. I want to follow through and not get caught somewhere before I even begin.

I'm such a mess. I am non-committal, irresponsible, lazy, weak, oversensitive, immature and my life will stay exactly the same because I will let it.

I can't even believe this is something I need to think about or process. This shouldn't even be a thing. This was a mistake, thinking I could actually go through with this. I should have stayed home, in bed. If I don't expect anything of my self, no one else will. Right?

Now to study?

Back to Basics

I've been giving up everyday for a while now and I don't know what to do about it. I'm sleeping more, eating less and you can bet your buttons I'm not studying. My therapist encourages me to look at the things I'm doing right, the ways I'm living better, that might be more difficult for me to see. I guess it's true that I'm very critical of myself and have a hard time seeing aspects of my life where I'm successful. But I feel like I can't give myself too much credit, because yeah I'm not dead, yeah I've showered everyday, yeah I take my medication before I go to sleep at night....but that's basic.

I want to do better at life.

I am not the beast, but I'm not anyone I like either. To be fair, there are times when I do like myself. But they feel in the grand scheme of things, to be brief and far and few between. I don't know what I need to do to get there. Or if I'm just looking at this all wrong.

What if I were to do nothing at all? Is that what I'm doing now? If I were just to accept that I am doing nothing at all to like myself more, would I eventually turn out to like myself anyway?

Whether or not I ever turn out to be any of these things, I want to feel like I am:

Beautiful

Intelligent

Talented

Wise

Compassionate

Funny

Adventurous

Honest

Healthy

Happy

I'm no longer satisfied with the rare moments that I feel I am one of these things. I don't think it is realistic to hope that I might one day feel all of these things at once. But that's okay. I would just like to, more often that not, enjoy being me.

For so much of my life I have felt like a storm, sweeping great spaces, destroying everything in my path. I'm ready to build. I'm ready to create things, including a life for myself where I am able to love who I am.

But what do I know? This may be just the bullshit I tell myself to stay alive.

Home Again

It has been such a long time since I have written anything that means something. I don't know why it always seems to happen like this. I become so overwhelmed by living my life day to day, that I don't feel capable of expressing that to another person. I am rendered speechless. Days turn into weeks that turn into months and then when I feel a lack of meaning in my life I realize it is because I have forgotten to give it any.

This blog used to give meaning to my life. My beast, he meant my demise, but struggling against him meant something to me. Survival has been my purpose, my only reason to persevere. I have wanted to survive.

When returning here to write something, I asked myself where I should start, how I should speak for lost time.

This is all I've got:

My beast has not been vanquished, but I am claiming my life as my own.

He is not the reason I want to begin again here. This is the dedication I am making to my own self-discovery.

He is me and I am him, but then again, not at all.