Self Loathing

At the risk of exposing my inner emo, or at the least, of sounding a little high strung, I still chose to write my first post in over a year at 5:30 in the morning and to name it, “Self Loathing.”  If you were wondering whether my journey towards ultimate catharsis and finding inner peace along with the meaning of life had made any progress in my absence, the title should pretty much clear up that “burning need to know”problem for you.  Everything else with the word “burning” in the description is selling some kind of genital cream.

But I digress.

There are nights when the level of self-disgust and disappointment that I feel keeps me up all night. It’s hard to describe.  There’s some rule set in my mind that states I can’t rest or feel at ease unless some benchmark is passed after which I can say that I officially accomplished something in the last 24 hours, and therefore I am now allowed to rest or goof off, or do anything but overanalyze and distractify and wallow. I feel such intense guilt and worry and yes- self loathing- around this time in the morning when I’ve selfishly chosen to do whatever the f****  I want and do it all f****** night instead of going upstairs at a reasonable hour and sleeping for a reasonable number of hours and thus, it is hoped, feeling reasonably reasonable upon waking.  There are plenty of colorful words that  could accurately describe me upon waking, but “reasonable” has never been one of them.  Unless you just think I was asleep.

Anyway.  I wax tangential.  I’m starting to feel cold after a night in a tank top and leggings and no need to be wrapped in a jacket.  I want to go upstairs but I’m afraid to.  I’m afraid of the shame and how it will bloom from my toes to get stuck in my throat and torture me all the way up and then across my bedroom floor, illuminated by sunrise, a sitting duck waiting to be caught in the act of “not sleeping.”  From my perspective, that’s not really rest. Better perhaps to sleep less for stretches, but then enjoy my rest when it is won.

This post isn’t really about insomnia.  That’s just what I happen to be feeling self-loathing in regards to right now.  I don’t really think its insomnia though.  As soon as I’m disrobed and on my back or belly in bed, I relax and am generally asleep within minutes.  My mind isn’t keeping me up and neither is my body.  I’m like the freaking Terminator when I decide to dig my heels in.  I have to go upstairs.  If he wakes up and looks at the clock I instantly become a weirdo and a danger to myself.  Nice. Sigh.