So many missed appointments and things I needed to make sure were dealt with, but I have remained unable to even get out of the house since I got ill. I have had very little contact with the outside world save for a few chat contacts. I have been digging myself in further into the loneliness. My door firmly shut, eyes averted from anything on the outside and I shudder thinking to change any of it. I am not ready to do anything, not ready to face my continued failure at life. At the very least I have been able to get some sleep but not because I collapsed from exhaustion, but merely because I chose to get some sleep. While I cannot sleep for longer than 3 hours on end and I wake up with extreme coughing fits, so bad it is even causing me nosebleeds, I am feeling generally more awake and more alive.
Today is the day I am going to try and venture outside again. It is late afternoon as I write this and I am still convinced I am going to make it. I was supposed to meet my parents for something like coffee or early lunch, but I slept through that and when they called I woke up to a 5 minute coughing fit, which in turn made the blood stream down my face from yet another nosebleed. I hate it when that happens. I called them just now, but there is no one there, so I might just see if they are in the garden or something as it is absolutely lovely weather.
I managed to clean myself up, get a fresh set of clothes and showered. I feel somewhat better, nicer this way. I am ready to test the waters, carefully. As I walk out i notice how lovely the crisp air feels on my skin, how the slight breeze soothes my worries and the sun is welcoming me gently and in full glory. It is a fantastic day to be outside. I find myself enjoying the small trek to my parents, but as I suspected, no one is at home. So I go back home. I make note of my achievement of actually going outside and feel myself suddenly extremely silly. How could i ever see this as a victory? This is so small and insignificant. What makes going outside being such a big obstacle.
Heck what makes people inside my home such a big frigging deal? Why do I get sweaty palms just thinking about inviting someone over? Why can I not anyone be allowed to come inside of my little fortress of solitude? Is it because I feel it does not comply with my standards of hospitality and cleanliness, or is it just that I do not want people to see I am not living here, but merely surviving. Damn I thought this would be easier to talk about… I literally know not what is holding me back at this point. I get uneasy about the idea of anyone visiting, even though I love having people over and I miss people doing so. Maybe I think I do not deserve the attention, maybe I feel I am not worth the attention. Maybe I am afraid of disappointing people with my way of survival. Or maybe this is yet another one of those incredibly high standards I set for myself and am unable to achieve, therefore I let it slip, all the time. I’ve been called lazy about this before, but I can assure everyone it bothers me many times over whatever annoyance anyone else may get out of it and that is exactly what paralyses me in fixing this apparently minor thing. Dammit I am a social person, I love having people around me. This is my first home and virtually no one has seen it. I am proud of the fact I have it, but am not comfortable sharing it… and it is tearing me apart from the inside.
I am going to visit my parents later tonight, hopefully it will go well, who knows. I am just proud that I went outside already and I will be going outside again later. I am not going to bail out of another appointment because of my insecurities, not today. Talking about this made me feel better already, so thank you ever so much for listening to me, you know who you are.
Baby steps, one by one. I am trying to start my road to recovery even after I fling myself back a few spaces every so often. I am trying to push on, push through, I just hope I did not start too late.