Day 30: Area 6, Are We Alone in This?

There is not anything that really stands out about this day. I am exhausted this morning, although there’s nothing unique about this, being a night owl


and all. The currents pound my head,


but that’s not really unique either, as it feels that way when I’m super tired. Angela puts on YouTube, and I guess we’re continuing with the 80s rock theme, as I hear Van Halen’s Jump



and The Final Countdown by Europe. Speaking of which, I am counting down the seconds for that one to be over.



My mind wanders to LT. He missed out on the 80s. I mean, there were some things that were- as we said in the 80s- no BFD to miss. Such as The Final Countdown by Europe. But those of you that experienced the decade know there was quite a lot in the culture, particularly in music culture, that was truly memorable and – as we said in the 80s- rather boss. For one, it was the advent of rock concerts that filled entire stadiums, and DJs that filled entire megaclubs. I suppose there was a certain tone of superficiality and excess, but honestly, the disco era was far worse. At least in the 80s, excess was couched in the context of…success. Aspiration. Upward mobility, which was particularly exciting for women- from the shoulder-padded boss bitch in a short skirt to the comedian who finally told it like it was from a female point of view to the groupie screwing her way up to Vince Neil. Now, I’m not trying to make it all weird, because I was a child, but let’s be honest- I watched movies and music videos: I could wrap my head around the idea of using womanhood to get to places that were traditionally more difficult for a woman to get to.

Aaaaaand I just got all feminist.



LT is not really a feminist.



Soooo….from a man’s perspective? Well, there was still the upward mobility thing and the amazing concerts and Transformers came out and also you got to see women break out of their shells and be all badass and move up in the world.

nd I just got all feminist again. LT is not really a feminist. But guys like that stuff…right? Especially if said badass women are hot.



It just came off to me as a raw point in history with only a certain amount of polish. Like a bitchin’ Camaro with a fresh paint job that still has a little engine trouble from time to time.



Sort of like this blog.

In contrast, the 90s just seemed so- I don’t know- polished and blah. No engine trouble. Or if you did have engine trouble, you didn’t show off your little imperfections- you lied about it. The exception was grunge, which was all about imperfections and the struggle when you rejected that 80s hamster wheel before it could reject you. And oh how it would, if you didn’t play by its rules… that Hamster Wheel Dream I was raised on and wasn’t ready to relinquish. I didn’t understand “the grind” and the necessity of conformity behind the gloss (until the tail end of the decade when my parents weren’t supporting me anymore), and the pendulum swung so hard the other way with grunge, I just found it depressing. Depressing like the opposite end of the spectrum- the super phony polished and blah. I don’t know, whatever, yap yap yap,



I’m just thinking about things in the chair to pass the time.

I don’t really want to think about LT because he is bothering me lately. He’s broke pattern and didn’t text at all the day before. But it’s not so much that action as it is that I’m more bothered that I even care. Or that I would think he would be any different than any other man- super into me and excited as hell for the first month, before the inevitable backoff once the novelty wears off. I mean, of course he would do this. Especially at 23. It doesn’t matter whether he says he’s different, because he wouldn’t know any better to say he is, in fact, the same.





He is not different from other men. He’s just not. He is the same. Don’t you think otherwise, I tell myself.

And then TMS is over. I feel strangely sharp mentally, for being so tired earlier. Now and then I get that right after a TMS session, and it lasts a few hours. Of course, demoralization at work- again-



burns out my energy and the mental sharpness slowly dulls, to where all I can do is the bare minimum at the job. Why is it so difficult for managers to grasp that being dismissive hurts their employees’ productivity, hurting the bottom line? Like, you’re making 6 figures. Please. Your life is good, you’re set, and it’s not that hard to be polite. If you can’t manage, step outside for once and get some air for once like I have to do when you won’t calm the fuck down.

I check out an article today about microdosing. I’m used to it in the context of recreational use, but apparently in small doses, it can actually help with depression. Something that can slow me down emotionally when I’m triggered, and help me right away? I’m intrigued!



I tell Spice about it, one of my greatest champions as of late in these challenges. I have told him damn near everything, and am grateful to have someone with whom I can share my little steps of progress. I like being there for him (although he tends to be more reticent) and that he is there for me. I’m excited, and think he will be too, that I have stumbled on this.

Wrong. Instead, I find myself totally shocked when he lays into me about exploring this avenue, implying that I’m doing so…TO BE COOL.



I’m not even gif’ing that, because I can hardly find the words to express how this made me feel, much less an image to reflect that, that’s any more than just a black hole. And boy have I been in a black hole. I could have died from this. I don’t have time to worry about being cool. Nuh-uh. I am about getting well, not being cool. Spice was one of my greatest supporters and…I feel betrayed. I am hurt and insulted and…I’m horrified. I’m especially horrified when he alludes to the fact that “alcohol is one thing” but psychedelics is like, really problematic.


I am so stunned that I don’t reply. It hurts so bad to have someone I thought was on my side skewer me on the grounds of superficiality, when it comes to something I take more seriously than anything. Even if he wasn’t immediately on board because it was a subject he wasn’t familiar with, to jump to that conclusion without even hearing me out…about the benefits, about the ridiculousness of drug laws that outlawed psychedelics in the first place…to suggest that alcohol is a preferable choice…I am so dumbfounded, that I feel myself just go, just go, just go numb.

Until I’m not. Until I start to feel again.

Until I start to feel hopeless again. Dark again. Dragged down. Again.

I hate this.

I know what to do. I call a friend. I am sobbing. The friend I call is very emotionally intelligent and knows how to handle the fact that I’m howling over the phone. About how everyone walks away and how everyone is going to walk away. This is what it always comes down to. But he talks me down. He reminds me why he loves me. He reminds me why my voice deserves to be heard and why I deserve love. I am very, very fortunate to have this man in my life. I calm. I thank him. I know I owe him. I don’t know where I would be without him. I let him go.

I am on my bathroom floor. Past my dazed and turbulent state, I am confused as to how I ended up here. I don’t want to get up.



It is the same: angry and despondent that these triggers still happen, relieved and proud that I have the mechanisms to pull through them without hurting myself. Mixed emotions.

Maj is retreating back to the pool, crashing tides recede, things are settling down, but I still feel tattered and ripped up from the damage she does inside me. Strangely, I feel a yearning to call LT. This is not sensible because my whole angle is to keep things easy and uncomplicated with LT, not go showing any realness. He would freak out. Other than our very first encounter where he got a sliver of it, LT has never seen this side of me. For some reason, I long to show him more of who I am, beyond this Hot Older Woman archetype.



This is a terrible idea, given I can feel him pulling back already, but that’s my bad habit I guess…when I see them stepping back, I step forward. Like a dance. I take the reins. I try to make things ok. As if, you know, you just have to know me better. As if knowing me better won’t do the exact opposite.

He is not different, I remind myself. He is just like the others.

But the craving is stronger than my logic. I sit up, and I call anyway. I don’t tell him what’s wrong. I just tell him it’s been a bad day and would he tell me about his, and he does. He has a sweet phone voice, deep and full, but with the smoothest, most soothing lilt. It reminds me of his touch- strong yet gentle. It occurs to me that I may be getting attached to someone who is not attached to me and I will myself to get off the motherfucking phone NOW.

I don’t want him to know me. Not really. He would walk, and I’m not ready to be done with him. At the same time, I also know that I do need to be done with him eventually, and the more he knows me, the harder it will be to let go. I make a note to myself to never confide in him again.

I wonder if I will follow this rule. Hope is like an aspirational 80s dream for me. Hope is so hard to relinquish.

Truth is, as much as I hate to admit it, there is this part of me that would love for someone like him to love me. But I don’t think he could. Not the real me. And no, my life doesn’t depend on this- I know I am loved by others. But I wonder if I can ever truly be loved from anywhere but friends and family and those crushes on me from around the world by men who think they could love me, if I’d only let them in (who would turn out to be no different from anyone else I actually let in)…from anywhere but at a safe distance. I am different. I am weird. I am challenging. At times I am intense. I have doubts that anyone could handle being close. It is hard to love yourself when you feel you are a fucking freak. When you feel like if anyone is exposed to too much of you, they will reject you.

I realize this is the heart of everything for me. Not fitting in. The grunge-era misfit who can’t fit the mold. Who does aspire, who does want to move up, but doesn’t buy anymore that the only way to do it is on The Hamster Wheel Dream I grew up on that since ground me down.

Where are the others like me, that feel so strongly, that feel so big? Are there others like me?


One thought on “Day 30: Area 6, Are We Alone in This?

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