Laying it all out… when I probably shouldn’t
In the last month I’ve never felt stronger. I haven’t felt on top of the world. This is different. I’ve become addicted to the hardships. Give me a challenge, and my blood will rush trying to overcome it. Even when I don’t. That I tried makes me feel strong. The defeat makes my heart race, overcome with ideas on how to do better next time. Criticize me. Talk down to me. Write me off. Laugh behind my back. It all is such an adrenaline rush.
I can go through an entire week, let me be at work, my mind racing about the class I have no chance in hell of catching up in. I worry, I compartmentalize, I push through it. It feels good. But there’s the one day a week. After all of it, where I curl up in defeat and let it all wash over me. All the crap, and the stress, and the unhealthy things I put up with, all the self loathing and guilt and loneliness — it all washes over me. And I curl up in defeat. And I take it all the way, as far as I can take it.
I think how I want more than one day to decompress like this. Because after the one day, the workaholism guilts me into it all again. And I wake up, and I do it all over. I get it all done. Or I try. And when I try and something goes wrong, I get off on it. I try to do better the next time. And push through it. But I think of the time that will come when I can decompress for more than a day, and how great it will feel and all the wonderful things I can think and be again. And looking forward to that sickens me. And I become a masochist again.