please, please. i’ve grown too restrained. i want to pour out a flood and i’m painfully embarrassed. please, no, i don’t know, yes. i want to erase the words that don’t make sense or aren’t original enough. i didn’t used to do that. i poured out a lot more words. i’m restrained now. more than before, and it was what i always wanted. “i”. so i have it. i can’t get away from its weight. i am shrinking.
there’s an impulse i always give into, because i see it as virtuous. it’s the shrinking from receptiveness to our inner work. it seems so tiresome to be lauded. i always see them in my head saying “i’m proud of you” and it stills my mouth. it is intolerable to please them with my floundering. i don’t understand this impulse entirely. it’s not an old one.
i don’t know that i understand it at all. what is the risk in being received? there are a thousand plausible suggestions but there’s none my intuition particularly points at.
it devalues something. when things are private and safe no one can try to understand. it might lead us to be unable to get distance from it. it’s embarrassing. guys don’t do this, don’t show you’re not one. i don’t want a fuss made over it (why?) – i don’t want i don’t know i don’t know i don’t know it’s just so shameful. privacy is the only safety. this is a new thing for me. i think i used to have no pride. certain things are available when you have no pride.
maybe reception feels like condenscension. if there were a subvocalization, it would be “i can’t stand to have you pawing over it!” you’ll decide things about me based on it. you’ll pity us.
the worst thing would be to overstate our feelings. understate is a mantra. we’ll be laughed at. no one will understand. no one will trust us again. how can we let go of the man we’re turning into?: stoic, supportive, giving. no, we don’t want to be one-sided. but anywhere else danger lies. i am still, just shaking, and there are no torrents. i can kind of see them. but it just doesn’t happen. don’t hate me. don’t hate me. don’t hate me. the torrents are unoriginal and melodramatic. i hate myself for them. i hate so much that in turn i have a torrent of rage which also must be carefully not stated, because that is just as melodramatic. but at least the rage knows not to express itself when others are near.
i used to be able to be incoherent and derivative. and how can i mourn the loss when it is making me who i want to seem to be?
anything but self. convince yourself you can’t afford it. convince yourself it will be better later. tell yourself this is more important, this, this, this again. above all, do not be still. do not be with yourself. do not rest. do not breathe. do not cry or break down. it will be okay later. you can put it off till later. this is now; inward will always be there. out, turn out, turn to out, whirl out. it will be okay. you can keep going this way. you have no choice.
after all, isn’t it virtuous that the inside should be a chore? it is much easier to work. look, i’ll let you clean and self-care. i’ll let you play games and read books. i’m not cruel. aren’t you happier this way? and anyhow, never forget you don’t have a choice. stay focused. you can do this thing or you can lose everything. how can you even pause? don’t forget that it is selfish to look in. it is selfish to die or to want to. so losing everything is not a choice; it would penalize those close to you, and let you off the hook. come on, it’s ok, it’s okay, i’m not asking for much, i’d never ask for more than you could do. come on, isn’t this nicer anyway? isn’t this smooth? lozenge the interrupts smooth before and after, they slip away on through, back to work. avoid them when you can, but when you can’t, let go of them. you do not want to stick to that. you do not want to hang on to that.
this is for you, you, you. this will get you where you need to be. i bend so much. you have so much. there is no point in going further. it won’t pay off. you can do it later. in the break. you’ll have time someday. you don’t now. just go, go, go. slide on, slip on, i’ll help with the corners, we’ll get through it. this isn’t counter to your purposes. aren’t you better than you were? isn’t it better to be stoic, doesn’t it feel masculine? i thought that’s what you wanted, what you liked. just go.
so, how are we doing? is there anyone that would like to come out today? anyone who has anything they want to do in therapy?
i don’t know… should we bring our laptop? we should prepare.
she said she would play boggle… we could bring it…
oh, please. you want to hire someone to play boggle with you for sixty bucks an hour? that’s pathetic.
Continue reading ‘speaking of fueled’
yesterday in therapy (i’m not sure whether i’m proud or ashamed to be uttering those words) my t was asking me what the smallest thing i could do to try and function (rather than letting depression take over). i responded it was probably practicing music again (i rarely bother anymore.) so that is my assignment for the week, i guess… do guitar… or it was for today. and i did it. the problem is, i can force myself to do a whole damn lot. when i was in ballet, i used to write down every idle moment i spent (reading counted, so did moments of rest in between breakfast and going to school, anything…) and berate myself for it, for not doing something to improve my skills in ballet.
Continue reading ‘sleepwalking through the all-night drugstore’
i didn’t realize what a bad note i left for a few days on. i figured that when i didn’t update, people would figure it was because of my dilemma about whether or not to continue the journal.. and hope that i came back soon (o;… but i got two worried emails this morning so i went to reread my last entry. and figured i should let you all know that i’m alive.
Continue reading ‘a sense of something that hasn’t happened yet’
11:32am
another day, another dollar. four fucking more days and i’m out of this town. we packed a bunch of stuff already- got a 200 cd wallet and put most of our cd’s in it. (yes, together we have about 260 cd’s… scary that). and packed the jewel cases. so we’re set. i want the road trip to be now. screw work, screw the apartment, screw ever *getting* to iowa, i want to be on the road. getting to dite’s dad’s house will be fun, he is a slob like all men, plus there are cats and dust enough to ensure that i will not go 5 minutes without sneezing. ah well. tis better than NetHell.
Continue reading ‘lonely for myself to come clean’
