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Weakened

Filed Under (Anxiety) by Cynthia [More Me!] on Jul 11, 2006 2:04 pm

Tagged Under : Anxiety

Weaken-ed — as opposed to Weekend.

I realized something on Saturday. Something I already knew, but had to realize again, though I’m pretty sure I realized it once before and just needed to think about it again.

When I am weak, tired, run-down… or just feeling bad physically, my SA is worse.

A lot worse.

Saturday I had a Pod Cycling competition again. I love them… I hate them. I love parts and I hate parts. There are so many people, and I’m so afraid I’m being judged. What on earth inspired me to actually do something that entails a ton of people, usually over a hundred, where most of us know each other casually and by sight, if not personally?

For the love of the sport. I know. For the love of the Cycles. But really, honestly, at the same time I hate it.

If only I could be in a holodeck, and do everything there, knowing the other humans are not REAL… I think that would help me a lot.

Anyway, so I worked Friday until 11:30 pm, got home and to bed at midnight. I just have a hard time with those hours anymore. I’ve adjusted, over 20 some-odd years, to getting up at 6am. So staying up late is difficult for me. 15 hour day. So I slept in on Saturday, missed my first competition in the morning, but caught the one in the late afternoon. But I was so extremely sensitive, so self-conscious. And at the same time I could sit there and experience the emotions passing over me, knowing in my brain they were not a reflection of reality in any sense of the word. And yet I could not stop them. I was so tired, so worn down, and so hypersensitive it was just spooky.

I don’t know what I appear like to others when I’m like that. I think I get humiliated by the humiliation I feel. And I had to sit there and think… no one knows what I feel. No one is punishing me for how I feel. Only I am punishing myself for how I feel. And why would I do that? Well, if I could stop it, I would have many, many years ago.

It’s an odd concept, to be ashamed of ones shame. Because the only one who really knows what it feels like is me. But I really think I had it hammered into my brain when I was little that I should not feel that way, think that way, be that way… that I was bad. Bad bad bad evil evil evil awful.. and it stuck.

And to this day I have not gotten it out of my head.

I probably should get to some therapy. But the time, the money… I’m just not ready yet.