Sunday, April 23; 2017
I went to a party yesterday. I’m more than accustomed to getting really messed up; but the people….that’s a completely different story. I went and thought that maybe this time, someone would take a liking to me and actually approach me. Ha, I was wrong. I felt isolation while simultaneously being so overwhelmed by the sounds and mere presence of people. Having to swallow down 6 panic attacks in under two hours while coating it by “self medicating” (aka binge-drinking and heavy drug use) took such a toll on my body that when I finally came home, I got to cry only a little bit before I passed out for 12 hours straight. I also thought too much, which for me is never good.
I thought at least Macy and Katy would have my back, because I assumed they understood how I felt. Ha, I was wrong again. I didn’t expect them to be my chaperon, I actually really enjoyed seeing them have fun after how stressful their own lives have been of recent but…I felt like I was moved to the background. Because I’m that “chill” friend, I’ve gained notoriety for being the easiest to brush off because I’m a professional wall surfer. I sat away from the group, like that out-casted middle school girl I once was. I felt like all that “progress” I’ve been making, was for shit. I felt hated again. Even though I’m certain this is because of my own insecurities; that feeling isn’t something I can just pretend isn’t there. Huh….maybe the background is exactly where I fit.
There was one incident in particular that really cemented my character; not to only myself, but everyone else as well. Group photos. I was the only person of 15+ people who not only didn’t want to join, but blatantly refused to partake in a group picture. I was once again the odd one out on this tradition of theirs. If their memory should fade with nothing but a picture or two to prove those times we spent, I will be forgotten with that memory. Non-existent in that fondness. When I was called out to join, I replied the best I knew how: a “fuck no” and walking away. Some of them laughed. Some of them offended. Some of them genuinely not even noticing. I tried my best to play it off, but as they were chatting and smiling and counting their ‘1,2,3’s’; I sat in the far corner of the kitchen trying not to cry and drowning my sorrows with a drink in my hand. I hate myself for never letting me enjoy things. Even when a girl I always kind of had a crush on showed up for a few, she looked hideous in the shit-tinted glasses I had on for this party, thinking everyone was out against me.
Through the rest of the night, I sat at the sidelines thinking about my trauma and wondering when I’d get to go home and forget about this all. I was thinking about how hideous and disgusting I was, and how I hated that people had to see me. I was thinking about how every time they laughed at ‘something’ just out of my hearing, that ‘something’ just had, had to be me. Of course it was, I was so easy to laugh at. I was thinking about a picture that was took of me non-stop. I was thinking I was going to be assaulted again, but no, I was too unlikable and ugly for that to happen to me. I was thinking of the 63 ways I could kill myself right then and there with a conventional toaster oven. I was thinking about how close I am to breaking, or how close I am to becoming my mom. I was thinking about how that maybe they just didn’t understand me or what I’ve been through. I was thinking, and it ruined my night.
Alas, the nighttime insecurity and melancholy quickly turned into morning rage and jealously. Even betrayal slightly; and the hands of my friends, these kids, and my own high expectations for myself. I came home hating not only people, but myself even more. I have less fate in people than I thought. I’m even more weak and damaged than I thought. I’m actually completely alone.
tldr; I hate a lot of things; specifically myself and parties. I also have a shit ton of self pity.