This last week was tough. Ridiculously tough. I could blame it on the lack of sleep, reading that depressing novel Frankenstein for class, or male loneliness, but really it was a combination.
I know it's been two weeks since my last post. I kinda took an accidental break from the goals. In those two weeks I've pretty much kept up the "be organized" goal and I loved it. My usual reaction to a bad week is to not exist. I would hid in my laptop or in my room and refuse any sort of interaction with anybody. If I hadn't been keeping my room tidy my brain would have started the whole self depreciation tirade. You know how the mind works. Sometimes your brain will nit-pick and make other little things seem like such a big deal when they're really symptoms of an issue you don't want to look at.
Not being able to find stuff makes me crabby. Feeling like a lazy bump on a log who does nothing makes me feel useless. Eating too much makes me sick. So why then do I choose to spend an entire day watching t.v, throwing anything I pick up down on the floor, and eating junk? I honestly think that when I'm in a mood I do things on purpose to increase the depression through a sick self-destructive need.
In all honesty it could have been worse. Thanks to my goal of organization I didn't have a messy room to add to my feelings. I've also been recently increasing in a desire to live in the world and not beside it. I think its a desire I've always had, a secret wish, but I always would tell myself that I wasn't athletic enough, pretty enough, have the means enough, to do anything. People will make fun of me if I tried. But I love doing stuff. I love being outside hiking or biking or playing. True, I also love to read, but after a whole high school career of being a slightly mobile self entertainment system I wanted to take time now to explore my limits. For instance, I'm going to try to bike out to a bluff not far from town, maybe 15 miles to it, 10 miles around it. That is really far for me, but I've been in training and I think I could do it.
I mainly kept up my spirits by realizing that as human beings we are the sum of our parts. And while I'll always have something to work on, the stuff that I'm good at already is what makes me a good person now.
Anyway, back to my depression conclusion. Because I wasn't degrading myself about my nutrition, my activity, or my cleanliness (though they did suffer in small degrees) I was able to zero in on what was really going on.
I have what you may call "daddy issues." My dad passed away when I was fifteen from kidney cancer. I grew up in a family of women and except for him and a few others I hadn't really been close to any guys. I have an over excited need to be accepted and loved by at least one good guy. This isn't to say that I go about like a slut or anything. I just am really shy when I consider men and love and relationships. Just becoming friends has become easier in recent years, but I still want love.
This all came to head during my British Literature class. We just finished Shakespeare's sonnets and were in the middle of Dunne's sonnets and in-case you were wondering they were all about love. The focus was Cupidity vs Charity. Cupidity = a Dionysus physical animal passion selfish type of love. Charity = An Apollo intellectual brotherly selfless love. Just charity can be good friends to close relations. Just Cupidity is selfish lust. Both are needed in marriage.
I almost started bawling in the middle of class. At first I attributed the feeling to not going to bed on time for the last three nights due to reading Frankenstein. But then scenes started flashing in my brain. We delivered cookies to the boys in my ward. They only saw my pheromone laced roommate and never once looked at me. The times where a boy dating me only because a girl he liked refused him just seconds before. The two really good, spiritual, wonderful men in my ward who I was beginning to think I could get their attention are currently interested in others. It's typical. One likes my FHE sister. The other one is hopelessly trying to get the attention of Sara, my pheromone laced roommate. (It's a futile effort, though she says shes still dating we all know she wants to marry her missionary and based on the amount they're communicating it's probably going to happen.) I was tired of being second. I wanted to be someone a guy was attracted to first.
To make myself feel better I reminded myself that mom had hardly ever been asked out before dad. I had been first for at least two guys before. Though I am no supermodel I had been spending considerable time previous to this reminding myself that I was pretty and I had been grooming and taking care of myself. Still, I desperately ached for male attention.
I went home and cried in the shower for about an hour. I decided that the fault could only be mine. I have iron walls when it comes to even a hint of guy attention. I never know how to react to flirting. I scare them off too easy and I never try to find ways to let a guy know that it would be alright if he asked me out. Guys are oblivious. How are they supposed to know that my pointed ignoring them is actually me being scared that they'll like me because I find myself attracted to them?
I got out of the shower and did something I've always wanted to, but never dared do. I wrote a confession of attraction and taped it in an envelope to a guys door. He is someone I've been admiring for a while and I thought he might take it the best out of the guys I currently like. Yes, I did sign it with only my last name. People around here only know each other through their first names. If he wants to know me, he'll have to look me up.
I'm no good at flirting or anything related to boy/girl relationships in person. I get too shy, nervous, and I stutter. I'm a far better writer, so I used my pen as a source of attraction. It did make me feel better because at least I know that I tried and he now knows that I exist. I wasn't pushy or demanding. I just told him how I felt and that he wasn't obligated to do anything about the letter except to read it. I still don't know if he even got the letter or if a jealous girl took it and trashed it. He does have quite an extensive fan base. Either way I do feel better. I went for a long bike ride afterwords and it completed my healing. That was so much better than sitting home and suppressing the feelings through t.v. or stories.
This week I need to start training for a race. Which is fine by me because Brittany and I have already decided to find a cheep race to enter this summer.
No comments:
Post a Comment