*Immediate response required*

Something just dawned on me. I put a lot of pressure on myself to respond almost immediately to comments made on my blog, as well as to post comments instantly on other people’s blogs. I don’t know why this is. I realize I’ve been doing this the last several days, which is why I’ve been spending way more time reading/responding/commenting than actually writing new posts of my own. I’m following a lot of blogs, so the (self-imposed) need to read and respond immediately to every single one of them is taking up so much of my time. And there’s so much I want to talk about!

(Don’t get me wrong, I love reading everyone’s blog!)

I think it may stem from a deep sense of insecurity. I think I hold a core belief that if I’m not making myself be known (aka showing support, responding immediately) that I will be forgotten about. That the blogging community will move on without me without so much as a thought in my direction. I worry that if I don’t comment, and give feedback, I won’t mean anything to anyone. I will become obsolete.

Like I said above, it’s not that I don’t enjoy reading and commenting. But there are times it almost becomes compulsive. Like I do it out of necessity rather than choice. That if I don’t, this fear of being forgotten and turn into nothingness will take hold and actually become a reality.

I think this stems from being ignored (and often forgotten about) by my mom. I had to make my presence known for her to actually pay attention to me. Otherwise she was just wrapped up in her own stuff.

I’m going to make a conscious effort to let go of this fear, and trust that my fellow bloggers who show me the kindness of following my blog won’t forget about me if I’m not actively commenting on their blogs or responding immediately to their feedback. It’s going to be very difficult, since it’s stepping up and challenging a deeply engrained fear.

It feels very selfish of me to put myself first, but I just have so much I want to write about! I have about seven drafts of posts that I started (most of them have only a title so far) but haven’t actually gotten the time to finish.

Here I go, stepping out into my fear. Please don’t take it personally if I don’t comment as much for the next day or two – this is my own personal challenge ! I must look this fear right in the face! I must prove to myself that my worth is not measured in how much feedback I give, but that I am worth something simply by being me and by sharing what I do. (Whew! That’s a hard one to swallow!)

Scared of… What?

A general fear has rested upon me. It sits there, like a sheet cloaks unused furniture. It hangs on me, yet it is utterly useless. It isn’t telling me anything. I can’t seem to figure out what I’m afraid of. It’s plain old fear with nothing attached to it. Fear in its purest form, I suppose. I lay here in the dark, having abandoned sleep. My mind simply won’t let me. I took a Tylenol PM. Still wide awake. I tried counting. That was one big joke. I tried listening to music to lull me to sleep. Nope. That’s when I began to notice the fear. It crept into my mind like a burglar at night. And now it has taken hold and I can’t seem to release it. It hasn’t overtaken me. Well, not exactly. It has rested upon me, and I can feel its weight. And my body is on edge because of its presence. On edge is perhaps an understatement. But words seem lacking at the moment.

It’s not a feeling that something bad is going to happen. It’s not a fear that something scary is lurking around the corner. It’s a deeper horror. A sick, gut wrenching feeling that makes me wonder what I’m doing in this place, in this world. This world is not for me. Too many horrors.

Too many horrors here.

Under the covers day

I have literally spent the entire day today under covers of some sort, whether it be in my bed (which is where I stayed until about 4pm), under a blanket on my partners day-bed (where I slept for several hours), or lying on my sofa under a blanket, where I am currently. I am desperately trying not to judge myself, although it is quite hard. I haven’t showered in days, I haven’t done a single productive thing this weekend, and today I don’t even have the excuse of not feeling well. Well, physically well that is.

Anxiety has been gnawing at me all day. I was feeling quite ill last night with my stomach bug, and my body was too restless to sleep. I ended up staying up late, talking with a friend about the abusive situation I was in when I was twelve and thirteen. I think the anxiety I’m feeling today is due to the stuff that was brought up.

I just can’t remember so much of it, and that’s what’s so frustrating. I called up my mom and asked her questions today about it. She doesn’t remember much more than I do.

One thing she did tell me is apparently this older guy had carved my name into his arm. I guess that was one of the things he tried to make me feel bad about when I tried ending things with him (one of the many times). I have no recollection of any carved name into any arm.

She also told me that she remembers once walking by my room and overhearing a conversation I was having with one of my friends on the phone. It was right after Valentine’s Day, and I was telling my friend about how I had gotten M a stuffed animal bear. We had gone over to the local high school and I guess that’s where I had given it to him. Apparently it had been raining, and I told my friend that he had thrown my bear in the mud, and that I was sad.

My mom may have told me that story before, because I remember reading something about a discarded bear that had been an intended gift for him somewhere in my diary years ago. But as far as memory of the actual incident goes, it’s just blank. No bear, no Valentine’s Day, no rain.

So even though I’ve spent the day under the covers, I’m trying to be easy with myself about it. I am dealing with quite a lot in trying to uncover the truth behind that whole time period. Trying to remember the details of the abuse and the details surrounding the abuse.

Maybe I’ll shower tonight, maybe I won’t. Most likely I’ll just keep staying under the covers right up until it’s time for me to fall asleep.