How to Disappear Completely
For someone who has little to no qualms about being the
centre of attention for much of the time, the feelings that come with not
wanting to be observed are confusing at best, and a startling emotional
rollercoaster at worst. I’m not talking about the simple desire to be left
alone or to have some space for oneself, I’m talking about the desire to
disappear. To vanish. I used to fantasize sometimes about what my life could look
like if I ever had the ovaries to do just that. To fully act out and make it
happen. To pack up in the middle of the night, skedaddle style, and just leave.
Everything. People, pets, relationships, family, everything. I used to imagine traveling a long distance just to end up in a small town somewhere around the
city of Nowhere on the outskirts of God Only Knows. I saw myself finding a
small apartment where I would keep to myself and the neighbours would only know
me as that lady who plays Miles Davis late into the night and has a bulk
membership to the local liquor store. I would find a low key, forgettable way
to pay my bills, a waitress at a small diner maybe, working the graveyard shift
so as to limit my contact with anyone who could possibly sustain any kind of
long term relationship with me, be it customer, friend, lover or otherwise. I remember
watching moves when I was a kid where a lot of people wold try and do just
that. Leave. runaway. Start anew somewhere else. They would find a quite job,
keep a quiet life. But their old life always seemed to catch up with them at
the end of the first act and naturally they would be thrust back into the mess
they had tried to run away from in the first place. I always thought that whole
idea was a little unbelievable. Because if you really set your mind to it, how
hard could it actually be to disappear?
Whenever I have expressed these thoughts to anyone who knows
me in any real way, they are usually met with a wry smile and words that, while
somewhat validate the novelty of the idea, scoff at the mere notion that
someone like me would ever, could ever, be happy living a life like that. Their
response always gave me pause, and while I had to acknowledge they did have a
point (or several depending on the person) a much more secret part inside me
disagreed with them. Because while I often do enjoy existing in the centre of a
vibrant hub of personalities and activities, despite appearances, that’s not
all of who I am.
I had a bad day today. I’m in the middle of a month of
sobriety, and while this is self inflicted, it is not maturing me in the ways I
imagined it might. Perhaps it was wishful thinking but I kinda thought that
being sober for a full month, given my history, might present more of a growing
opportunity for me and challenge me in ways I had not yet experienced. So far,
it’s just pissing me off. I enjoy drinking wine at the end of a long day. So, fucking
sue me. I’ve got another week to go and I’m just fucking done with this shit. I’m
going to finish because at this point I am committed, but I’m just fucking done
with this bullshit.
Also, my husband and I had a fight and while it wasn’t a
hill for either of us to die on, it wasn’t fun and we are now in the weird time
between “the fight’ and “everything is fine’ when we are both apologetic to
each other and both pretty much over it but there is still the remaining icky-ness
that there is nothing to be done about. It’s one of those weird relationship things
I never experienced until I got married and I know most married or long term
partners will get what I’m talking about. It’ll be gone in a few hours,
tomorrow at the latest, but it’s still not a fun way to exists on a Friday night.
Especially one without wine.
I’m also PMS-ing. Hard. Getting my period is one of the
things I hate the most about being a woman, besides the fucking patriarchy of
course. When I was younger my period was never a big deal; no cramps, light
flow, an excuse to eat whatever I wanted and, once I became sexually active, it
was usually a welcome sign that my life would continue as planned. As I’ve
gotten older it’s become something out of a nightmare. I won’t go into too much
detail in regards to the specifics, but the biggest change has been the
emotional shit I experience right before it starts. I’m talking crying at the drop
of a fucking hat, intense feelings of sadness for no fucking reason at all, a
penchant for lashing out at things that have little to no relevance on my emotional
state at any given time (WHY WON’T THE GODAMN COMPUTER LOAD FASTER??????? WHY
IS THE MICROWAVE BEEPING SO LOUDLY??????? WHO IN GODS NAME JUST LEAVES MUFFIN
CRUMBS ALL OVER THE FUCKING FLOOR??????) and a tendency to swing from one level
to another with no rhyme or reason at all. It’s a fucking blast let me tell you
and as a part of the gift package I got when I signed up to be a girl, along
with the ever-present knowledge that my accomplishments and opinions matter 76%
as much as any man’s, I get to go through this every month!!!!
I’ve also gained 40 pounds in the 4 years since I’ve been
married. I’m trying to lose weight and it’s not going well. Even without the
booze which is some serious bullshit because wine makes up at least 30-35 of
the pounds I’ve put on. Trust me.
I also had a mini indignant-off with one of my girlfriends, I
spent good money on a shitty ass lunch I felt queasy about for an hour afterwards,
I puled my neck out in my sleep last night, it’s minus fucking 18 where I live,
and I have to work my second job both days this weekend.
So yeah, I get how you can’t always run away from your
problems. But there are some days I have seriously considered fucking trying. Today's
not over yet. So, I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
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