So, two days ago I wrote a post about how far I’ve come in the past 9 years, and here I am now, about to write a post that shows how far I still have to go. *sigh* Yay honesty?

It’s been a lousy week, honestly. I haven’t gone to class or chapel at all, I’ve barely left my room, much less my apartment. I’ve managed to make it outside a couple of times, go get something to eat, sit at a park for a little while – so that’s good, I guess. Afraid to go over to campus though, or anywhere I might run into people that know me.

So here I am, sitting on my bed, eating junk food, sleeping, and wasting time on the internet. I feel lazy, weak, and absolutely pathetic. I’m angry at myself because I feel like if I were just stronger, more disciplined, I’d be able to make myself do my homework and go to class. So the only reason I’m still sitting here is because I’m not trying hard enough.

Gotta love anxiety. *sigh*

And you know what triggered it? My new favorite class. And I hate that. I hate it when things that I love make me anxious. I hate it when I get anxious about good things. It’s so frustrating. I don’t want to be anxious about things that are good. But sometimes they’re just overwhelming and too much and I freak out and run away and hide in my room.

See, on Friday in class we talked about our dances. I got a lot of good feedback on mine. Some really touching compliments and some good constructive criticism. And while you might think that it was the criticism that freaked me out, it wasn’t. It was the compliments.

And I don’t know how I’m going to explain this in a way that people will understand, but I’m going to try.

There’s part of me that tries so hard to fade into the background. To be invisible. To be silent. To take up as little space as possible.

There’s a part of me that’s terrified of anyone seeing me, really seeing me. Sometimes it’s easier to just pretend that they don’t see me at all. To pretend that I’m not real, that I don’t really exist. Sometimes the thought of existing, of being real and solid and noticeable, freaks me out.

Before I go any farther with this, I want to reassure you that I’m not delusional or anything. Logically, I know that I exist, that I am real, that I am solid, that I am not invisible, and people can see me. I’m speaking metaphorically here. Sort of. See why I said it was hard to explain?

It’s a complex issue. I can’t even sort it all out in my head. There’s part of me that wants to be seen and noticed, and then there’s part of me that’s terrified of it. I’m afraid of both being hurt and hurting others. It’s all mixed up in there together, and I can’t separate it out. But I know that right now, I’ve got a really strong fear of being seen and being known.

And in class on Friday, when people were talking about my dance, I guess I got freaked out because I knew that they saw me while I was dancing, not just literally saw me up on stage, but deeper than that. And yes, that was the intent, so that’s good, and hearing that my dance affected people made me feel amazing, but at the same time, it scared me. It made me want to run and hide, somewhere where nobody could see me anymore.

So here I am. In my room. Hiding.

And I hate it that I do this. I hate it that things affect me like this. Especially when it’s stuff that should be good and happy and shouldn’t freak me out! Do you know how frustrating it is to be scared of something that you enjoy? There’s nothing wrong with the class, nobody’s done anything wrong to make me feel this way, it’s just my own issues coming up and making things difficult as usual. I’m scared of so many things that I simultaneously love. And how does that work? (Not very well, I can tell you that!) And sometimes I can get past the fear, and sometimes the fear isn’t even there, but then sometimes it is, and sometimes I can’t get past it, and all I can do is sit in my room and hide and feel like an irresponsible, lazy, weak, pathetic loser. Like it’s all in my head and if I just pushed a little harder, I’d be able to get over it. *sigh*

Here’s hoping I can manage to make it to class tomorrow, hm?

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2 Responses to Hiding.

  1. Michelle says:

    You are a talented and passionate dancer. That can be scary to share with the world… but perhaps you were given the gift so you COULD share it with the world. Keep at it, with every growth there is a setback. Have you talked to your therapist this week since you got into this slump? Maybe your therapist could recommend a prescription to help ease the anxiety on days when you find yourself stuck in your room… just to take the edge off and help you out the door. I hate to think of you hiding when you have so much to share.

  2. frozenspring says:

    The thing is that when we hide, we don’t allow ourselves to be loved, which is part of the reason we hide. We hide to escape, we hide to protect ourselves. I guess it’s kind of paradoxical because the very thing we try to protect ourselves from is what we’re using to destroy ourselves, to pull back, to isolate.

    I guess it boils down to figuring out why. Why is being seen and noticed so terrifying? After all, isn’t it what we, as human beings, crave at our core? To be seen? To be noticed? To be loved? To have our voice heard? I reckon it’s part of being emotional abuse victims it scares us to be like that, because what if they use that pure, innocent vulnerability to hurt us again? But the truth is by letting those fears control us, we’re letting some of those inner demons have a victory. And I don’t want them to win. I don’t want to prove those voices, my parents, all that right.

    Thing is, if this were me in physical pain, would you tell me if I just pushed myself a little further, I would be able to go to class with a blinding migraine and throbbing back pain? It’s invisible, no one can see it, so because the pain isn’t obvious, I’m clearly making it up. If you wouldn’t say that to me, why then would you say that to yourself? Emotional pain is also invisible, but yet we say things we wouldn’t say to people in physical pain because it’s unseen.

    Back when I was still seeing Joe, I was once blaming myself for my pants. Er, wait, I mean past. Sorry, that typo was too funny to delete. Pants. Hee. Yes, my pants are ALL MY FAULT. 😛 Ahem. my past. He stopped me mid sentence, and (he actually used your name as an example!) asked me “Hey, if she came to you and told you all these, would you tell her it’s her fault?” Me: “Um, hell no?” “Then why do you say it to yourself?” “Oh. Good question.”

    I’m running out of words. It’s 4 am, I haven’t taken my Remeron because I don’t want to wake up with a splitting headache nor do I want to sleep for several hours, and I have class at 10 am. But yet, here I am, babbling once again on a blog post of yours. I feel like I a lot and some of the things I say should be put on my own blog. I mean, hello! I have it for a reason, folks! And yet I open myself up and say things on your blog.

    Anywhoo. Shutting up now.

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