Post therapy realistisation #3: I’m a pussy

Posted on November 20, 2013

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I think we’d all admit we’ve been at fault, in the winter especially, of making plans – then cancelling them last minute due to tiredness/stress/lack of motivation/illness/lethargy/work etc.Take your pic of excuses right?

I love nothing more than being a homebug when its dark and cold outside.

When I finish work the last thing I want to do is go anywhere other than the fastest route home. And in some case, its the fastest route home to bed. Ripping off my work clothes as I get through the door, to finally that last moment of ‘ahhhh’ when the bra is whipped off, its bliss.

I clearly need to get out more.

And that’s kind of what I realised after my monthly therapy check in yesterday.

I mean, there I am moaning that i’m bored.

That all I ever want to do is run home and play hide and seek under the duvet with myself.

That I seem to be enjoying watching netflix on my laptop a little TOO MUCH whilst i’m swathed in a cocoon of blankets and pillows.

I told my therapist, ‘what else is there for me to do now? I don’t do drugs, i’m starting to go off drinking, I rarely laugh or have any fun anymore. I don’t dance the adrenaline out my system on the dancefloor like I used to, and I’m not even getting laid’.

Ok, if you’d read my last post from last week you’d realise this is starting to sound a little familiar. But its in my head right now. I need to get a life!

And in many ways my therapist came up with the same solution my work colleague had, only in slightly different contexts. My work colleague’s was about allocating £100 of play money to do something a bit out the ordinary. My therapists reasoning was that all the while that I’m blowing out plans, cancelling friends or cocooning myself at home – what I’m doing is indulging a rebelliousness in me, a child-like rebelliousness that is saying ‘don’t do it’ – because when I was younger I would force myself (or be forced by my parents) to constantly do things I didn’t want to.

And I am rebellious by nature.

So when someone invites me to something, I am up for it – but then come the day there is quite a high likelihood I won’t ‘feel up to it’ and I bail. I rebel against the voices in my head that say ‘you should go’, when its a voice coming from a place of duty, reliability, commitment and good person-ship as opposed to genuine desire.

But by not going – whether its on a date, to a networking event, a study course, an art gallery opening – whatever it might be that i’ve been invited to. By NOT going, i’m basically prohibiting myself from potentially experiencing something new, and switching up that boredom that’s been setting in.

I told my therapist:

‘But i’m not that person. I often try new things. I put myself out there. I don’t live in fear.’ After all, I make new friends easily and love going to random things with people I’ve only just met. I love that new bond of friendship or romance, and never would consider myself a fearful person.

And she said:

‘So what about with the amazing people you’ve said you’ve met recently, but to whom you never did anything about it. Why was that?’.

I think she was referring to this guy I hung out with a few times over the summer which involved kissing a few times, a really interesting slightly older guy I met on a train who had invited me to a few parties which I was up for but never went, and a girl I met recently who I have been unsure whether I am interested in or not.

And I said (which surprised me):

‘Well, sometimes I don’t meet up with people who are suggesting we hang out, because i’m worried they might want more – and I am not sure if I feel that way, and I suppose I can’t be dealing with the awkwardness of me having to let them down and potentially hurt their feelings’.

So, my post-therapy realiation #3 is…. *drum roll*

I’m a pussy.

I think many of us are at fault for this one too though.

We don’t always feel comfortable telling people how we really feel. Certainly not to their face. Hardly ever on the phone. Maybe by text or email. But for some people, they’ll just avoid contact, do disappearing acts, or act as if nothing ever happened. I’m definitely not in that camp. At worst I’ll make up some shit excuse about being celibate or something. Which I actually did once, with this super cool guy I met in Malawi who was from Bristol. Gorgeous. Amazing energy. Strong chemistry. Until we kissed. Then instead of communicating properly with him that whilst I didn’t think there was going to be any romance that I valued the friendship, I said something that I thought would hurt his feelings a little less. And subsequently, lost the friendship.

That was four years ago.

And nothing’s changed.

Challenged the other night on text by this girl who I went on a couple of dates with, she asked me when a third date was going to be and I said, I suppose fairly nonchalantly come to think of it, that I had a busy few weeks on and that we should hang out when I get back from my holiday. So she thought I was blowing her off. Which I wasn’t. But because I was undecided how I feel I didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic, nor did I want to say I wasn’t sure, because to say I wasn’t sure seemed a bit off to me. She’s a cool girl and I do like her.

But I could easily not pursue hanging out with her again, because its easier, and I suppose you know what? I’m scared of being put in an awkward position. I’m scared of the whole fucking thing quite frankly. Yet really, that awkwardness only lies in my own mind.

And by avoiding awkward situations, I’m avoiding living my life. I’m choosing to indulge my own fears in twisted acts of self-rebellion, which give only mini-highs during actual moment of indulgence – but longer term, leave me wondering where my social life has gone, feeling bored, lethargic and questioning where my next adventure is, or say if whether i’ll ever fall in love ever again.

So i’m going to man up.

More on this, so watch this space.

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Posted in: Journal