this doesn’t have to be my new identity and it doesn’t have to define me

i’m freaking out and reeling after looking at pictures of my ex online.  he looks good. i look terrible.  when he looked terrible i pitied him.  i empathized with his embarrassment (ie the embarrassment i presumed he felt) over shitty pictures being shown to the public.  i pictured him depressed, having a hard time getting over me.  when i see him looking good i wonder if he’s depressed about ME.  then i realize, maybe he’s just happy.  maybe he’s moved on.  maybe he just doesn’t even give a shit and that’s why he looks good.

who knows why anyone looks good.  maybe i even look good to other people, but i sure as hell don’t feel good.  if i’m not anxious, i’m nauseous.  if i’m not nauseous, i’m lethargic.  if i’m not lethargic, i can’t sleep.  and if i can’t sleep, i’m anxious.  i still drink too much and every day i think about how much i’d rather be sober. then the next afternoon brings feelings of emptiness, loss, confusion, fear, and i’m suddenly opening another beer telling myself “it’s not like i could face an entire future’s worth of sobriety anyway!  never drinking is abnormal so why not just accept me for who i am instead of always trying to cut things out”

it feels like my envy-for-my-ex-looking-good and my not-being-able-to-stop-drinking occupy the same place in my den of low self worth. they are both things other people have achieved which seem utterly out of my grasp.  these things make me want to stay in bed instead of taking small steps toward bettering myself.  they make me embarrassed of my life embarrassed of my body, and embarrassed of my choice of clothes.  they make me paranoid – wondering if people who no longer talk to me are talking about me behind my back instead.

after having sex last night i realized my relationship may be doomed due to one and only thing – that i hate myself totally, completely. that i cannot even fathom another person finding me attractive.  that i hate myself so much, i don’t even think i deserve to enjoy sex.  while we’re doing it all i’m thinking is about when he’ll get off, if i’m doing the right thing, if i look okay, and why it doesn’t feel better to me.  then he comes, then we keep going, and i keep thinking the same things (also, remembering what it’s felt like with other people, wondering what he’s thinking about, wondering if he is trying to please me or if this is what he’d prefer to do), distracting myself from the bottom line:

that for some reason, this doesn’t feel great!

i don’t feel violated at all, i just feel bored.  and transactional.  i don’t feel turned on, beside myself, hot, transported, or even enjoyment.  i feel apologetic, like i want to make excuses for myself.  i feel angry, that after a year he isn’t tuned into me or my sexual desires at all.  i feel scared, that this is the kind of sex i am worthy of. and i’m distracted, mostly, by not knowing if this is bad enough to warrant a break up and throwing my life into chaos because i have to move yet again.

the hallmark of all this confusion is the recurring see-saw between

(1) knowing for sure that i’m worthless and this guy must be eagerly anticipating every second he can get away from me and

(2) wondering why i settle for someone who drank and lied his way through the first ten months of our relationship and also isn’t very good in bed.