I had two shots of tequila and a breakfast bar for dinner last night. P. called me when he was on his way home from work and I was picking up my car registration sticker. He asked me how my day was. I told him that I didn’t go to work. That something was wrong with me, but I didn’t know what it was. That I was stressed and overwhelmed about nothing at all and couldn’t face the idea of adding work to the toppling heap. Even if it was a heap of nothing.
The house is a mess, I need to go through my mail, I hate how much I weigh, and I have barely started shopping for Christmas presents. None of this is reason to melt down and not go to work. The real thing I’m worried about can’t be solved with a day off.
I went through a lot emotional turmoil during the last few years. But I didn’t go through anything unique and I went to therapy, and I had some realizations and I’ve moved on. But my emotional baggage keeps following me. And I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I can’t just leave it behind and go on with my life. So, I get mad at myself. And I feel insecure about everything: what I say, what I do, how I write. And I hate feeling insecure, and it makes me not like myself very much. Or really, at all. And I don’t want to go back my therapist and tell her that I’m struggling, but that I don’t know why, that I should be better, healthy, and well-adjusted, because I don’t want to admit that to myself. And I don’t know where the anxiety is coming from, but it feeds my insecurity and I lay awake at night wishing it away.
So, P. asked if I wanted to go out and do something, and suddenly I realized that I did. That I needed some distraction. So, we decided to go see The Incredibles because I heard it was funny and I wanted something funny. Only it was starting soon, so we didn’t have time for an actual dinner. Because P. and I are twelve, we tend to smuggle tequila into the movie theatre in these little bitty flasks that each hold about two shots. We learned our lesson the other day, when we instead relied on a bar’s margarita to see us through a movie. We clink the flasks together in the dark and giggle.
Apparently, my flask wasn’t quite big enough, because I didn’t think the movie was funny. I thought it was sad. People unhappy with their lives, unsure of a way out, lying to those around them, feeling unappreciated. The inevitable struggles and disappointments of life… Maybe it was my mood. Even the short before the movie was depressing. (P. leaned over and whispered, “what the fuck was that?” while I felt like the naked lamb.)
I should probably go to work today.