Dear Me.

Welcome to Shame Sandwich, where Megan Lee is writing her way back to wholeness, one personal overshare at a time. Sometimes deep, sometimes swearily un-hinged. Please enjoy responsibly. 🖤

Dear Me.

I am feeling so fucking stuck right now.

Right here with my feet firmly cementified in shit I didn’t even defecate.

Stuck, stuck, stuck.

And yet I will look you in the eye and pretend that my bone-weary reflection staring back at me isn’t really mine. Smoke and mirrors. I will do anything to avoid what’s behind the smoke and mirrors.

I am muted by forces invisible to the naked eye yet am in a chokehold to their power.

I have so much to express.

And it’s rotting inside of me.

It’s the same pattern every time: I become miserable in my muted stench. I vow I will expose the muted stench. I walk right up to the line of exposing the muted stench. And then I coward. Like a fucking cunt.

And it wrecks me more each time.

why.can’t.i.do.normal.things.

.

.

.

Why do seemingly simple tasks feel like they’d take a fornicating Herculean man’s strength to complete?

Ugh. I’m feeling so very stressed.

But wait… I’m just now remembering that I did write a pretty fucking spectacular newsletter last week on the topic of letting go of people pleasing and embracing … me.

So that gives me a momentary reprieve.

And then BAMMMMMMMM.

Spiraling, swirling, repetitive thoughts crash into me harder than a 157 mph hurricane named Hellbirtha.

→ I’m too shameful.

→ I’ll never be able to open up.

→ I’ll never be freed from the grip of people pleasing.

→ I’ll never be brave enough to color outside of the lines.

→ Etc.

Looping and looping and looping and looping and looping and looping and looping and looping and looping and looping and looping and looping.

They feel so loud in my head. So very fucking loud.

And controlling. They feel so controlling.

I don’t know how to not be consumed by them.

It’s why I feel something is wrong with me.

What’s the most radical thing I could do?

Quit my job.

In this ever shifting AI hellscape situation job seekers everywhere find themselves in????!?

LOL.

<cue the manical laughter>

Except. What’s the fucking point of living if I’m playing it safe?

I’m fucking serious.

What is happening right now is not fucking working.

I’M SHRIVELING.

And I need to feel alive.

I need to feel alive instead of death by a thousand color strokes inside the lines.

I don’t care if I’m being reckless.

I want to be reckless.

Playing it safe is DESTROYING me.

Please fucking listen to me. 😭 ← still me writng to me, to be clear lol

-M

p.s. — I wrote this on Wednesday night, on the eve of my 33rd birthday in a haze of melancholy PMS filled angst. And part of me feels really bad releasing this. Like, I should be beyond these thoughts and reactions by now. But this is where I’m at. And being honest about this is an act of rebellion I KNOW I won’t regret. Even though the shame is shaming. I love you, Megan Lee. ← me to me. 🥹

p.p.s. — Happy 33rd birthday to me. May this year see me bloom in the most beautiful of ways. ✨💐🫶

From the bottom of my tiny tits, thank you for being here. If these words made you feel, it would mean the world if you could tap the lil ‘heart’, leave a comment or share this. 🖤

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