Hate Having Feelings

One of my beloved LSU football players tweeted the title of this post. And I totally agreed. I hate having feelings too! But I do. They exist. Somewhere beneath my well-cultivated, but totally porous, exoskeleton, there they are. And I can't always bury them deep enough, as much as my repressed Irish Catholic self would like that. So instead I'm burying them after the jump. Because I can't afford therapy.


Sober bye week did not go as planned. Instead it was drink wine on the beach at sunset weekend. And that was awesome. And I was all warm and fuzzy and was gonna get on here and write about how awesome it was because I, like my father, can be a zen hippie when I want to. It was awesome, too. There are actual pro surfers in town for the Rip Curl Pro and they are AMAZING. I'm used to seeing recreational surfers in the water. Pros? That's a whole new level. 15 year old me who had a HUGE crush on Kelly Slater is super excited. And the weather has been good and long walks on the beach, in an un-ironic way, are good for the soul.

As I sat drinking wine while couples huddled at sunset, I started to feel awkward and alone but stopped and thought, "No. This is an awesome moment. Enjoy it solo. You're fine." Then a lady, 40s-ish?, with a super fit runners body walked up near me on the sand and said, "That looks amazing! I'm not much of a drinker but lately I get home and want a cocktail. Just! The empty calories!" Me, who had already been jealous of her fit legs before she talked to me replied, "But they aren't empty if they make you feel good!" Which she agreed with and said she'd be having a glass of wine when she got home. I was a little annoyed she was talking to me sunset and then wanted to be like, "Seriously, I could stand to look like you and not drink this wine." But I appreciated that someone appreciated my moment.

I came back to the house shortly after that. When I first got off the beach I had Gene Kelly singing "It's almost like being in love" stuck in my head so I listened to that and danced around the house while tugging Maverick by his toy with me and danced to Once Upon a Dream and it was all...silly and fun and wonderful. I took a long hot bath and listened to great music and drank my dinner instead of eating. I am obsessed with new Florence And The Machine album, which I listened to loudly on repeat.

Then I made a terrible mistake: I opened another bottle of wine. As Linds astutely pointed out, "the second is always a dark, dark alley."

Word, sister.

Because suddenly I felt very very alone and wanted some attention. Which led to reactivating my account on stupid soul sucking dating website. And having uninteresting conversations with uninteresting guys and sending far too many messages to guys who might be interesting because Wine! Boldness!

Then I left and went up the street to the local surfer bar for a pint or two, in need of some interaction, I guess? I wisely came home instead of doing anything else. And passed out. But not before opening a Bud Light, which I found this morning, with nary a sip missing. Stale beer smell is the worst when hungover. Also didn't pass out before texting the 22 year old because I renamed him in my phone and didn't delete him, even though I knew I should, because I had a glimmer of hope. Stupid glimmers. He didn't respond. I deleted his number this morning for good.

And therein lies the main issue I'm facing. I'm more pissed and hurt than I want to be. I take accountability for my part, in that me hooking up with a 22 year old may not be the brightest of ideas. In fact, when Chuck got all smitten with my stepsister who acted her age in response I said, "What the hell did he expect? She's 22." I hate when my own comments bite me in the ass.

But I also get to be mad at him for a lot of seeming truthy truthiness that was said. The "I like you"s and the laughing hysterically and making abstract "next time" plans and the smile and the blue eyes. Then mad at myself for believing it. Then mad at him for saying it if he didn't mean it. I know this wasn't gonna be a forever thing, OBVIOUSLY. But a nothing thing? That kinda sucks. I guess I expected it to be different because, well, he said stuff. And because he's involved in my family circle so I thought he'd behave to a higher standard knowing there were implications for others. Which was dumb on my part to expect because: twenty fucking two. It's gonna be hard for me not to make snide comments in his presence. I don't want to be bitter and angry and would love to have a take the higher road attitude. Which I am sure I eventually will, as I have done with other guys, getting to the whole "It was fun, thanks for the experience, no harm done" place. But I forgot the "You are not special, he is not different" mantra for a minute. Stupid stupid stupid. The whole situation leaves me wanting to just junk punch him because YOU KNOW WHY!

And rejection sucks. I realized that this has been the same goddamn pattern since I was 19 and drunk outside of Damien's apartment talking loudly about him rejecting me with his brother's ex girlfriend, knowing he could hear. I have got to figure out how to break this pattern. Find a guy, like a guy, guy doesn't like you back, feel shitty, lather, rinse, repeat. For 12 years. I wonder how to fix this.

A lot of this goes to self esteem. A few months ago, someone I respect and trust told me I wasn't good enough for a guy I had taken a passing interest in. Now, that's taking some liberties with how the event occurred but that is essentially what the message was. At least it's the message I took away from it, even realizing I'm being sensitive about the situation. And that fucking ROCKED me. "Oh. Wow. I'm not? I'm not. I'm just...this silly girl who isn't pretty enough or smart enough or accomplished enough or doing anything meaningful with her life currently. Super happy fun times!" Because when someone you trust says something like that to you, how the hell are you supposed to respond? (I haven't really discussed with anyone, besides the step who is always encouraging and loving and ready to take up my battles, what happened that night and how much it affected the hell out of me. I don't really know why. I guess I wanted to pretend it didn't rock me the way it did? But it did. So now I'm owning how it made me feel and how it has stuck with me, a negative thought permeating my psyche, these months later.)

To be fair, I think every girl, likely every person, has those voices in their head. The no good very bad voices that tell us we aren't wonderful and smart and brave and amazing. And we keep them at bay with reassurances from ourselves, a running internal monologue, and from those we surround ourselves with.

But sometimes you aren't hearing it from outside, or hearing from outside that you aren't good enough, and you get rejected by guys and by jobs you apply to and you haven't figured out your life path and it just makes you feel like a tiny insignificant little ball that you cover up with bravado and laughing and yelling at college football games and alcohol alcohol alcohol and what little minute attention you can extract from the opposite sex which you use as validation even knowing damn well you shouldn't because it only makes you feel worse because it's meaningless. And you're scared, more scared than you're willing to admit, about the future, which creates it's own paralysis and everything feels like failure which you cover with distractions. It just...sucks. Suckity suck sucks.

So I need a fucking hug. And some money for therapy. And to be told by someone that I am wonderful and delightful and amazing and special and even though it's super shallow I need to hear I'm pretty. I also need to be receptive to that message and not blow it off, as I so often do when positive comments are made. And I feel so lame admitting all this on my stupid self absorbed blog. But I can only do that I am woman hear me roar! stuff every now and then before having to admit that sometimes I drink too much wine and collapse into a bawling mess on the couch, which always lingers over into the next day with extra special fail-y feelings. Guuuuuuuh.

On top of that, my dad is having surgery this week. He says it's minor and nothing (for a hernia) and not worried about it but it's freaking me the hell out, even if I haven't said that to him/anyone. And mom is leaving town, which would be great but between dad being out of commission and her out of town, I'm left juggling 4 dogs, the 2 of hers which have been mysteriously under the weather for a few days and need attention and walks at the same time that I need to be at my dad's, where his dogs will eat my dogs. Trying to convince myself I can suddenly handle anything beyond getting dressed and out of bed is challenging.

Yeah. So. I hate having feelings too, Trai.