Thursday, 17 May 2012


I put myself out there every single day. You might say I'm successful. Getting to this point wasn't easy. I won't doubt that. But there's something in the back of my head that won't let me feel proud of myself.

Last night, while I was working, and all I kept thinking was, you're gonna fuck up. I can never let myself be happy. I can never let myself revel in what hurdles I've conquered to get to where I am. That's because there's still one hurdle I'm trying to overcome.

This started a long time this feeling isn't new. I've always felt as though I'm not deserving of success, of happiness...of anything "good" for that matter. My teens were spent in a huge depressive funk. None of my friends knew what to do with me (I'm surprised they even stayed my friends). I was a ticking time bomb. If someone said the littlest thing, I'd snap. I'd stop talking. I'd sit by myself. I remember my best friend in high school would just sit with me. We'd smoke, in silence, sitting beside each other. She never said anything when she knew I was in one of my moods (I think she was afraid I'd cut her head off). She'd just sit there with me. She knew what was going on inside me. I told her. I didn't want her to leave me. I just needed her to know that there were things in my head, inside me, that I was trying to figure out...that perhaps those things were making me feel as if I was going to explode. I also ended up doing a really huge bunch of shit to myself that I truly regret. I once drank bleach. I threw up like crazy for hours. I slit my wrists, only not deep enough. I swallowed a lot of pills, twice, and both times I ended up in the hospital. I can't say that I really felt through any of that. I just know that to wake up and know that I was alive was the most horrifying feeling. To have to face another day of not knowing, of having to bear the brunt of the pain. It became really unbearable.

That need to hurt myself has died somewhat, but I can't say that I don't think about it. In an earlier post, I described the need to have someone else hurt me. I had that then, and I still have that need now.

I'm in a relationship right now (he doesn't know any of this...NONE of this). But when I've been single, I've put myself into situations...sexual situations where I've asked my partner to completely degrade and humiliate me. Some were men I had just met, whose names I didn't even know. Others were men that I'd seen more than once. I had a dream last night where a younger me was being seduced. It was so intense, that I could almost feel it physically. I can't explain it. But there looked like a face in there that was very familiar - I just couldn't place it when I woke up.

Sometimes when I think about how it that I got to where I am today, I ask myself if I really wasn't someone else. Does that make any sense? I think there was part of me that died a number of years ago, and took all that away with it. As much as I'd like to thank it if that's true, I can't help but feel some loathing, because for the last ten years or so, I've felt as though I've been going crazy. That these thoughts, these feelings, are my own, and haven't been influenced by things that happened to me.

When I get up in front of that camera everyday, though, I have to ask myself. Can anyone see it in my face? Does anyone watching know what a fake I am? That I'm hiding these horrible secrets?

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