I have incredibly poor luck with NYE, and this year did not disappoint. I went to my sister’s concert. I was a total dick and barely paid attention. However, in my defense, I really don’t like her style of music that much and I really hate hanging out with her country friends. We don’t have much in common and then I have to talk about things I don’t want to talk about. Plus, I was the designated driver. Considering that I was driving on 40 minutes on dark country roads which I don’t know, drinking wasn’t an option for me. To get through this evening, booze would have made things a lot smoother–especially when everyone around me is drunk. Including both my mother and father. I’m beyond ready to be back in LA, to be back in my life. It’s been far too long; I’m far too removed. Then, to top things off, I get to have a conversation with my drunken father over the course of our 45-minute drive home that was unpleasant, to say the least.
These were all things that needed to be said, but my dad really needed to be sober to hear me. He voiced his concerns with my life, my career, my weight. And asked me for a plan. He wants me to do quick weight loss or some other scheme that one of his friends has done and been successful with. I tell him that’s not what I want to do; my eating problem is mental and I need to figure this out. I tell him my plan, both with eating and with my career. But because he’s drunk, it doesn’t seem like enough. Like I’m doing enough. Then, I got angry and stood up for myself, which is good. It felt good to stand up for myself and what I’m going through. That I can’t do this because he wants me to or the way he wants me to–I have to do what’s right for me. But then everything hurts his feelings. He thinks he’s a bad father because I’m failing and struggling. I tell him that’s part of adulthood and it sucks but I’ll be better for it on the other side. This whole conversation is peppered with compliments for me and yet how can I feel anything but awful when all I hear is the torment and anguish I’ve put my father through?
I hate that people are worrying about me. I’ve already said that in a blog. It’s shitty to cause people pain. But how can I worry about myself when I have to take everyone else into consideration? The shitty part is that I’ve been terrified of trying because failure is always an option, but by operating in the fear, I’ve ensured my failure. Stop telling me that I have little to no chance to succeed at what I want to do because I don’t have the connections or the metabolism or whatever. I get to decide that. All of these peoples are worrying about me because, even though they are rooting for me to succeed, they think my failure is the surer bet. I’m the idiot who has let that fear bog me down. I accumulate weight to ensure that failure because I use it to excuse my low self-esteem and failure mentality, and to justify the myriad of reasons I believe that success will forever be elusive.
Fuck that. I’ve had enough of that. 2017. This is when I do it. It starts now.