First of all, did you know Make It or Break It was back, Scarlett?! Live TV… who knew what wonders it could hold.
Anyway. Second to last day at home before heading back to the city. And today I felt depressed and sick all. day. What the hell. It’s been a nice visit– calm, generally pleasant, very little pressure to “do,” enough stuff to keep me entertained but not overwhelmed. Then all of a sudden, I’m on a binging bender and basically make myself ill. I mean, really? Do I TRY to make myself feel like shit?
Once I’m back in NYC, I’m always grateful. I have a wonderful life there. But it’s always hard to leave home. Part of that is totally fucked up, because I had the most miserable moments of my life in this house, in the room I’m currently sleeping in. I left here when I was 16 because I knew it wasn’t a healthy place for me to be, emotionally. So why do I keep coming back, and why does it hurt to leave? Part of it is certainly the rarity of my visits– at most three times a year I come back. Let’s see… I was home last Christmas, and last summer, and before summer? God, it must have been Christmas. So really, just two times. And it’s really, really far. Four hours-ish NYC to Denver, usually a two hr layover, and then two and a half ish hours Denver to Idaho. That’s a long day. And travel just isn’t fun like it was when I was a kid.
I’ll bet I’m self-sabotaging myself emotionally because I don’t like leaving. Not that that explains anything– I can’t figure out why I don’t like leaving and it’s a sick riddle why I’m so goddamn good at making myself feel bad.
My nutritionist used to rationalize the binging in a really smart way. My therapist does a similar thing with my rampant neuroses. Binging helps me stuff my feelings in/numb myself, and gives me an excuse to withdraw. My self-criticism was an attempt to keep myself “good” as a kid, when “bad” was the only kind of kid I ever felt like I was. My social anxieties protected me from getting hurt.
All of this is well and good, and certainly true, but it’s unconscious. It’s uncontrollable. And that fucking terrifies me. I doubt I’m alone here. That’s another thing my nutritionist mentioned about the binging. It’s like this inner chaos that rebels against the parts of me that are desperate to keep everything under control. I have a history of extreme feelings (manic-depression is a diagnosable example of this), and try as I might to keep everything clicked in line and perfect and simple, there are parts of me that refuse to be harnessed. I’ve never been good at balance.
I have one more day here, and then on Wednesday, I fly back to the city. Once I get there, landed and home in my bed in my little studio, I know I’ll feel better. Once I see my friends, I know this little internal discomfort will fade. I’ll slide back into my routine and forget that this trip even really happened. I won’t miss it or feel sad about it… it will just fade away in the wake of my “real life.”
But right now, I feel off. And I have one day to “fix” it, which of course is the most emotionally triggering concept on the planet.
Even I’m impressed by my abilities to subconsciously make my own life miserable.
“What is to be expected of them is not treachery, or physcial cowardice, but stupidity, unconscious sabotage, an infallible instinct for doing the wrong thing.”
― George Orwell