I was ashamed.
I let fear run my life.
I lied because I was afraid of what she’d say. Afraid of what she’d do. Afraid of how she’d feel.
Would she do if she thought I was as awful as I thought I was? Would she leave me?
I thought I was a terrible person. I couldn’t let anyone know how terrible I was. No one would want to be with someone as terrible as me.
I was never good enough for me.
I had to pretend to be someone else. To conceal my true self.
To wear a mask.
Wearing a mask all the time is exhausting. I was always afraid of being found out.
The only time I could relax was when I was alone.
I’m tired of wearing a mask.
I’m tired of being afraid.
Taking the mask off is scary.
People will judge me.
What if no one likes me anymore?
What if I lose everyone and everything I care about?
I need to tell my story. Or at least my side of the story.
I’m a terrible speaker. I forget most of what I want to say.
I’m an introvert. Writing comes more naturally to me. I can put down what I remember. I can add more later. Then I can make it make sense after that.
I’m not trying to accuse anyone of anything.
I’m not trying to “out” anyone.
I don’t want to embarrass anyone.
I don’t want revenge.
I need to be understood. So I’m telling my story.
I avoid naming names. I don’t want to embarrass anyone. I leave out details to avoid that.
Some people’s feelings get hurt anyway. I’m sorry about that.
I’ve made a lot of bad choices in my life. I guess my blog’s no different.
I hope I don’t alienate anyone.
“If you hate your job, you hate your life.”
– Dale Partridge
I really want to quit. But I feel like I can’t.
I’m burning out. Burned out. Beyond burned out.
And no one seems to care.
“Just keep going. We’re depending on you!”
I’m running myself into the ground.
First-world problems, I know…
Maybe I’m just tired.
I never want to hear that phone ring again.
Why can’t people ever think for themselves?
In my dark moods I think some people are too stupid to live.
I’m tired of being a doormat.
I feel like my work is stupid and meaningless.
I hate myself for doing something only for money and being so gutless.
How much longer do I have to keep doing this?
I’ve noticed a pattern in my romantic relationships.
Several women I’ve loved have been the victims of abuse.
I wanted to save them.
I wanted to show them they were worthy of love. That they had value.
I thought if I told them how wonderful they were they would see that I was right. They would see how beautiful they were, inside and out. They would see themselves the way I saw them.
I was wrong.
It wasn’t enough.
I failed them.
I wanted to be the knight in shining armor. To ride in on my white horse. To slay the dragon and save the damsel in distress.
I’m really just a scared little boy.
My armor is made of cardboard and paper. My horse is a broomstick. My sword is made of wood.
I can’t save you.
I’m not even sure I can save me.
I’ve spent a lot of my life not loving myself.
Hating myself, even.
I suspect that’s a big part of the reason I’ve failed at so many things.
Then I beat myself up for being a failure.
I know I need to love myself if I’m going to be successful. I’ve been working on it, but it’s not easy.
A big part of it is not saying and thinking negative things about myself. Or at least saying and thinking more positive than negative.
If anyone has any suggestions for anything that’s worked for them I’d appreciate them.
I’ve always hated being told what to do.
Even if it’s something I need to do. Even if it’s something I’ve been trying to do.
A year or two ago I was trying to quit drinking Mountain Dew. I went to see a nurse practitioner about something else. She told me to drink less Mountain Dew. I drank twice as much after she told me that.
Then there’s that obnoxious anti-piracy “public service announcement.” “You wouldn’t steal a car.” Oh yeah?
I was dropping my kids off at school this morning. The principal was making an announcement that students who were being violent would be suspended for a day or two. This sounds totally reasonable. But for some reason I resented her for saying it.
I wouldn’t consider myself an anarchist. But I am a minarchist
I question why a lot of authority figures have any authority.
Some people in power seem to think I’m too stupid to make my decisions. I think they’re too stupid to make my decisions. I’m in a much better position to know what I need than they are.
Who are they to say I have to buy health insurance? That should be my decision.
I understand the need for certain laws. It’s not okay to hurt other people or violate their property.
I do have a problem with laws that are “for my own good.”
I hate that I work to support a system I don’t believe in.
I hate that I have no real control over where my tax dollars go.
I hate feeling obligated.
I hate feeling powerless.
I want to start my own business, but I can never find the time. I don’t have the energy.
I’ve thought about studying martial arts to help me be more disciplined. But there’s always some reason I can’t.
A lot of the reasons I can’t do things aren’t real reasons. They’re just excuses.
I need to stop making them.
Last night my wife said something to me. It upset me.
I thought of a response.
I wasn’t going to say it. But rather than just keeping quiet, I said, “I won’t say it.”
She wasn’t going to let it go. I knew she wouldn’t.
After she prodded me I told her what it was.
I knew it would hurt her. I underestimated how much.
I instantly regretted telling her.
I think she’s still hurting today.
I wish I could take it back.
But I can’t.
I hate talking on the phone. I’ve been doing professionally for twelve years.
I’m an extreme introvert. Talking to strangers on the phone all day is DRAINING.
I’m shy. I avoid talking to strangers.
I’m incredibly awkward. I’m no good at small talk. Sometimes it’s hard to end conversations.
I’m sensitive. I talk to angry people. They take it out on me. I take it personally.
My job doesn’t leave me energy to do what I want to do.
I’m afraid to quit. Talking on the phone is my only real professional experience. I hate it, but I need to pay rent, bills, etc.
I’m not sure how much longer I can take it.
It’s my boys I worry about.
I’ve never been divorced before. Neither has my wife. But we’ve both been though painful breakups before and come out okay. We’ll both be okay this time, too.
My boys grow up in an intact home. Now that’s not going to happen for them.
I worry how their parents’ divorce will affect their ability to have good marriages of their own.
I worry about not being around to protect them. They’re not big enough to defend themselves against an adult.
I worry that if I’m not with them every day if will hurt our relationship. Will we be as close as we are now? Will we drift apart?
I worry about so many things.
Worrying won’t solve anything. All I can do at this point is the best I can.
I just wish it was better.