One thing you should know about me and blogging is that when I don’t write anything for a while, it usually means that I’ve fallen into the deep, deep hole of believing that everything I say is either ignorant or offensive or both.
It comes on without warning.
Sometimes it’s based on an incident.
This time the onset seemed to coincide with my entering a room full of Boyfriend’s band mates as they were recording some songs and making an ass out of myself by stating my anger with a woman on Facebook about her views regarding this blasted Islamic prayer room in Manhattan.
I was worried I offended some or all of them.
I probably didn’t. They’re a gracious bunch. But I was worried nonetheless.
And I felt silly. I hate feeling silly.
Then there was the semi-friend who made me feel, on several different occasions, as though everything I said was annoying. I defriended her (Facebook has made the concept of defriending so concrete), but for some reason her approval meant a lot to me, so the lack thereof hurt. Still does.
Why did her approval mean so much to me?
My self-esteem is pretty low. I don’t feel pretty or confident or intelligent or anything, really, except bored and numb.
Ironic that quitting antidepressants would make me feel numb. Isn’t that everyone’s main complaint about antidepressants? That they made them feel numb? I guess I feel numb without them.
I wonder what that means.
These are the only words I’ve managed to eek out in over a week.
And even they are lucky to survive.
Nothing anyone says can make it better.
I just have to find a way to believe in myself again.