i came home after work this evening, anxious as i had been before i left. i pride myself in very few things, but one of those things is my ability to seem relatively normal (normal relative to myself, which is abnormal, but not too abnormal). today i had been cleaning my room vigorously, after showering and scrubbing myself vigorously, dancing vigorously around and generally trying to force myself into a better mood.
feeling anxious, are we? my brain had asked me, as i sat on the edge of my bed, chain smoking cigarettes and rereading my many journals. cleaning usually helps, let's try that.
it didn't work. time came to head to work, i chugged 20 oz. of red bull and charged in, wired to the gills and seeming my usual self. giggling, bubbly, full of energy and positive vibes. that's the version of me people know and love. matched a coworker, wit for wit, thrusting and parrying with words like swords. made her laugh. even made some of our patrons smile as i joked with them. left with a grin and a wave, double thumbs up, telling one of my coworkers, see you 'round! then slipping out the door. two jobs, well done, if i do say so myself.
smoked another two cigarettes. got on the train and came home. sang morning theft by jeff buckley as i walked home. showered. which is to say, i stood under the water in a dark bathroom, listening to music play on my cellphone and trying to warm myself up from the outside in. came back to my room where i asked my teddy bears, mice, room in entirety, what the hell is wrong with me? what am i feeling? my eyes partially misty, choking back their own tears, swallowing the frozen lump of sadness congealing in my throat.
the question was rhetorical; the answer was immediate. dramatically disingenuous.
can't be, i thought. does that mean what i think it does? or is my mind just fucking with me some more?
googled the definition of disingenuous. (i already know dramatic. re: the scenes of my life, a well scripted live divine comedy.) i saw the following.
not candid or sincere, typically by pretending that one knows less about something than one really does.
insincere, dishonest, untruthful, false, deceitful, duplicitous, lying,
(then this, the word used in a sentence written almost directly to me)
"that innocent, teary-eyed look is just part of a disingenuous act"
sarcastically, it was very funny.
sadly, it was painfully accurate.
i know what's bothering me, deep down. i know why i've felt uncomfortable in my skin all day. i know what caused the anxiety, the pacing, the chain smoking and agitated finger tapping. i didn't want to admit it. i don't want to admit it. i don't want to face this problem. i want it to take care of itself. it won't and i have to. i know that and i hate it. so i'm pretending i don't know what's going on, which only serves to make me more irritable and anxious because, well, why not just deal with the damn problem? because i am a coward when it comes to my own emotions. and because i won't face them today, tomorrow, or even sunday at this rate. i'm making myself almost quite literally sick. i ask people vaguely what would make me feel better, as if i didn't know myself. i frown and sigh, head tossed back, exhaling warm, gray clouds into the cold, black air.
the not knowing why i'm upset part? that's false. forget being economical with the truth; this is plain old lying.
i'm just being dramatically disingenuous.