I can’t do it. I can’t go. I am listening to Apocalyptica (from the entry below), and I am freaking the fuck out. Not only am I thinking about all the things I need to do before I go (clean, laundry, pack, freak the fuck out more); I am thinking about the actual trip.
I can’t breathe.
My stomach is cramping in anxiety, and I feel like I’m going to throw up (not nauseous).
I have to do this.
I can’t back out now. It’s far too fucking late, which is pretty much the story of my life . Because I am a chickenshit, I will go through with this trip and pretend to be having a good time (as best I can).
I am going to hurt myself. I just now it. I don’t know how I will do it, but I will. Unfortunately, it’s my default position, and the one with which I feel most comfortable.
I can feel myself slipping backwards now. I hate that I am giving in to my old bad habits, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I am ashamed that things I haven’t done in years are popping up again.
I can’t sleep. I can’t rest. I had a decent day today, and now, the demons are swarming at me full force.
They tell me that I’m stupid for letting my mom’s project go so late. They tell me that I’m a fuck-up and a failure and that I should just DIAF. They say that I’m a fat bitch who will get so much shit for being so damn fat when I go to Taiwan. They tell me that I’m stupid and ugly and grotesque. And, they won’t fucking shut up.
Goddamn it. I can’t do this.
My heart is constricting in my chest, and my face is prickling from nerves. I didn’t sleep much last night, and I have a hunch I won’t sleep much tonight even.
Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me.
I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.
I am panicking. PANICKING. I try to keep my world small enough so I don’t have to deal with shit like this. I don’t usually have panic attacks, but that’s exactly what this feels like.
Damn it damn it damn it.
You know it’s bad when I am thinking of ways to incapacitate myself rather than get on that plane.
I have gotten so much invaluable advice from y’all. If I follow it all, I should be in good shape, right?
I wish I could believe it, but deep in my heart, I don’t.
In my heart, I fear that I will shatter if I go over there. I fear that I will hide the real Minna so well, she will never come out again. Worse yet, I’m afraid I won’t be able to free her, even if I want.
It’s been so fucking difficult to take the baby steps necessary to let the real Minna out as much as I have thus far. I am so fucking afraid that it will be nigh impossible to reach this plateau again.
My dad called today. I didn’t answer because I never answer the phone, and I could feel myself shutting down as he left his message on the machine. I will have to deal with him soon for the first time after the flashbacks. Last time I saw him, I was struck with how frail he was. I could kick the crap out of him if need be–he had no physical power over me. I had reached a kind of…peace with him. Or, at least, the best that I could. Now, my emotions concerning him are roiling all over the place again, and I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.
He will want to hug him. I will cringe. He will do it, anyway, and I will die a little inside.
Then, there’s my mother. I am angry at her. More angry at her than I am at my father. So mad I want to spit. I won’t, but I will be mighty tempted.
I want to die. I want to die rather than go. I want you all to put me out of my misery, but I know you won’t.
Instead, because I’m going to need many laughs tomorrow, I want you to think of the most creative way possible for me to honestly miss my plane and not have to go. I will not do it, of course, but it will at least give me a laugh. So, have at it. While you do, I will quietly be falling apart.