A Game Called "Self Doubt"

Hello again, world.

Unfortunately, this is not my review over the movie Beastly.

Why?

Because I’m pissed. My body is literally thrumming with anxiety and fury and a bit of depression.

My friends, the people that I thought I could depend on forever, bashed me in one of my weak moments.

They don’t seem to realize that I’m not the strongest person. The past six months have been hell for me. I lost the man I consider to be my father (though he was my grandfather by name), and then a month later my house burned down, taking everything with it. A month to the day later, the cat killed my hamster. Two-ish weeks later, they demolish our house without informing us. It was supposed to be my closer. And it’s gone. All of it. Now I can’t even salvage anything.

Not only that, but if you haven’t noticed from my occasional self-beatings, I hate myself. I am my own worst enemy. Literally. Every time I say something, that voice is in the back of my mind whispering about how I messed up this or screwed up that. It’s there when I’m smiling, telling me that happiness is an illusion. It’s there when I’m disheartened, feeding my self-loathing. It’s there in my moments of joy and bliss, worming its way in, telling me that I’m doing something wrong, that I shouldn’t be happy. It’s there when I’m headed to lunch or dinner, telling me that I’m fat, that I don’t need to eat, that if I eat, no one will like me because I’m fat. It’s there when I write, crossing out and marking my words with a red pen, leaving nothing untouched. It’s there when I stare in the mirror, telling me that they’re wrong, I’m not beautiful; I’m ugly.

Every guy that has ever called my beautiful has hurt me, be it physically, mentally, or emotionally.

So it any wonder that I’m so skittish around them now, even when I try my best to hide it?

And guys! The voice is always there, always snickering quietly, always and unendingly present when I’m near my guy friends. They don’t like me for me, guys only want sex/to get laid, they only want eye candy. And I know that’s not true. But sometimes the voice raises some valid points, and I can’t dispute them.

It is evident in my lack of sleep, my nightmares, the scars that I picked at while they were healing, the gouges and tears around my nails. It’s there. It’s always there, and if you look close enough, you can see it.

So I don’t understand why they can’t.

Knowing what you know now about my situation, take our conversation into consideration.

I was messing around on my phone, texting my friend Rachel because I was craving a roleplay, and I was thinking about asking her to start up a new one with me on one of our boards. My roommate stopped me and asked who I was texting, so I told her, “Just texted Facebook about our adventure and now I’m texting Rachel.” Our hallmate blinked dumbly, not knowing which Rachel I’d be talking to that late, so I clarified, “My friend Rachel, from California.” And I’m not sure who, though I think it was my roommate, said, “That’s impossible! You don’t have any friends.”

And it hurt.

Five words. Five tiny, insignificant little words, and they cut me to the bone.

I joked back about how “of course I had friends, they were my friends, too”. Then the hallgirl told me that she didn’t have to drive me there. She and my roommate could have left me back at the dorms. They could have left me behind while they went to get their ice cream. They didn’t have to take me, and they didn’t have to take me home either. (And good lord, had they left me there, I would have been in fine form. Would have sat in that shop, called mom and told her everything, then called one of the people I trust to come and get me. Then I would have talked to the Res Hall about moving my roommate out of my room.)

Maybe they realized they’d gone too far.

Suddenly, they were both joking about how they obviously loved me, or they wouldn’t have taken me with them in the first place. Hallgirl drove, after all.

I have my own car. I have gas. I have better music. I am a safer driver. I knew exactly where I was going. I could have driven myself. I could have gone to get the ice cream on my own. I wasn’t really hungry. I was tired and wanted to sleep. I had homework. I had things I could have stayed behind to do. But I didn’t. I figured it would be a good bonding experience. So I went.

And then that happened.

They didn’t seem to notice I was silent the entire way back. They didn’t notice that I was buried in my phone, my lifeline between Rachel, Shawn and I. They didn’t notice I was crying. They didn’t notice.

And if they did, they neither asked, nor made any move to fix it.

On the way back, I texted Rachel and, on impulse, a guy I trusted.

Rachel just told me she loved me and that they were wrong. She didn’t just love me as a friend, she loved me as a little sister, and that I shouldn’t let them be bitches and get to me.

His conversation was… Different.

Me-just-after-the-incident: Girls are vicious and cruel, especially to each other. Why do guys put up with us?
Guy-I-trust-enough-to-put-on-the-spot: Ha ha that’s an excellent question. I guess we figure the good qualities outweigh the bad. Or some are just horny.

He then inquired about why I’d asked and I informed him that some teasing and jokes hit a little too close to home. And he apologized. He did nothing wrong, and he apologized. After a bit of talking, he told me that maybe I should take a break from them and, when asked why, I should explain my position on things.

And I know they’re going to feel bad, and I honestly want them to, though it’s probably wrong of me, but still. I grew up among people that, looking back, were never really my friends. They usually wanted something from me. Or they bullied and harassed me. And in grade school, teachers never really notice anything like that, even when it’s happening in front of their very eyes. Unless there’s blood involved, of course.

Which is why Katie Krisp got in trouble in 5th grade for punching me. Which is why that kindergartener “with issues” got in trouble for giving me a concussion and nearly knocking me out in 4th grade.

Do you see the pattern?

No one cares unless there’s physical damage, and even then, it’s like, “Oh. They’re fighting. Whoops.”

Bunch of prigs.

In any case, middle school was better. I found people I could rely on, and we stuck together all through high school. But now that I’m a college student and I don’t live in the town with my family save for the weekends, I don’t see them. Life goes on whether we want it to or not. We…. We just have to deal with it.

In any case. It’s 1 am and I’m hungry for real food and flat out exhausted.

I have therapy in the morning, and you can bet that this will be coming up during it.

Ever yours,
And doubting herself more than ever,
The Night Thief

PS: You can bet I’m hugging him tomorrow. For making the voice shut up for a bit and for lending me the strength to be strong again, I could practically kiss him.

PPS: And yes, this is the guy I mention in the rant before this. Ironic, no?

PPPS: Thanks. I like helping and listening so if ya ever need to vent don’t hesitate to call or text. – I could swoon right now. Seriously. A guy that cares enough about people to listen? How in the world is he still single?