07/15/2012

 An hour ago, I was too drunk to type this.  I’m sobering up now, though, at least to the point that I can manipulate the keyboard.

Tequila, as it turns out, makes me extraordinarily honest.

In the future, I will stick to vodka and rum. 

“Drunk mouths speak sober thoughts,” they say, and that’s a problem when you’re a liar, like me.

I’m not inclined towards honesty, except I am.  It’s a dichotomy.  I am the most honest liar you will ever meet.  I cannot tell the truth, but I cannot lie.  I expend all of my efforts on containing the core truths that I can spare no effort for auxiliary truths.  Does that dress make you look fat?  YES.  Am I in imminent danger of slicing my radial artery with a razor blade?  NO.

One of those was a lie.

The warm weather is grating on my nerves.  I started drinking so that I could cool off.  Vasodilation.  Seems counter intuitive, but I think it worked. 

No nausea, no migraine.  Maybe I need to avoid beer and stick to shots of liquor?

I’ve been realizing, lately, exactly how bad my self-esteem is.  I really do think I’m worthless.

For example, I let my sister’s fiancé hit on me, even though it makes me uncomfortable, because I don’t feel like I can stand up for myself.  Seeing it written like that, it makes me feel like shit, but there it is.

I let him touch me in ways I don’t like.  Nothing too…bad.  But I don’t want to be touched at all.  So when he touches my butt, or breasts, that’s a huge violation.  But I smile and laugh like it’s not a big deal.  I think it might be.

There’s a cycle of resentment and self-hatred from which I cannot escape.  I resent people for using me, for taking advantage.  I hate myself for letting them.   There’s a doormat on my back, who am I to resent people from wiping their feet there?

What it comes down to is that tequila has made me realize my sister’s fiancé may be stepping into “sexual harassment” territory.  And I’m exactly the sort of person I always swore I’d never be, where I let him do it.

I put up a strong front, so I don’t look vulnerable.  And no one ever has to feel bad about what they do, because I’m such a “strong” person.  “Strong” people make other people respect them.  Strong people say “no” when they’re uncomfortable.  I am “strong”, I do nothing, I am invalidated.

I am…weak.