An afternoon's reflections

Author's note: This is an excerpt from my private journal entry dated January 24, 2011




You can't underestimate the safety of one's own room. A shut door provides a motherly comfort to those needing an escape. My room is the only sanctuary I know. When I step into the hallway (or on more courageous days the pavement), an inevitable tenseness invades my body and paralyzes my limbs. When confronted with another I rarely speak and never look them in the eye. I partly do this out of fear. But mostly I do this so they can't see the horror which is my face. My sincerest apologies to everyone who has witnessed this fucking monstrosity. I wish it were socially acceptable to wear a mask daily instead of only one night of the year. Perhaps I could face paint and express my inner juggalo? Nah. I'm not a visibly expressive person. I like words. They're safer.


I can't leave the house most days. I'm afraid of the world as though I were agoraphobic. But what is it I fear, exactly? Today, at least, I'm afraid no one sees me as I am (whoever that is) but they see me as I see myself. I think that is one of my biggest fears. My self-perception as worthless is ingrained into my subconscious at such depth the first inkling of confirmation from another sends me into an avoidant and severely depressed pit. I keep thinking what if I meet someone whom I really care for and the slightest hint of rejection sends me into one of these spirals, could this be the motivation to finally end it all? My fantasy love lives always end with me in a coffin. (Even in fantasy I can't see a future in which I'm living). My life is empty of meaning and has been forbidden the graces of love. Is there anything I'm living for?


It's in the afternoon. I'm guessing I sat down to write this around 2 o' clock, its sitting at sixteen after. I bet somewhere in my city or anywhere in the Pacific timezone a couple is lying on a folded blanket in the park snuggling while they listen to the harmonious flow of the nearby lake. At this moment there isn't anyone in the world but them. Envy has stricken my heart as I stare out this veiled window. Arielle, a youtuber, asked on her twitter and facebook a question on what love feels like? I know it as pain and nothing else. But I read replies she received from others expressing how joyous and enriching it has made their lives. God do they know the gift they have been given? And the gift isn't just falling in love and having it returned. But whats it like to fall in love without feeling guilty of selfish desire? When I loved Richie it was the guilt which nearly killed me. In retrospect it was this guilt which lifted me to new heights of my Avoidant disorder. I wonder now if I weren't sick could we have been the couple in the park by the lake? I like to think so but that's the fool in me.