I don't prefer obscurity, but I'm an idealistic girl
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe. Caro sends me a text this morning that says "Just remember it's your brain affecting your body. You are ok. You will be ok." But what do I do when my body is breaking, and my brain is already broken? I don't know; I don't know what to do. A phone call at 8 am and I lied. I was half asleep, but I lied to her. I heard myself saying those words and I am regretting it already. I need to make it to Friday. Friday, friday, friday. I was calmly sipping coffee, but I started shaking. My heart was racing, my thoughts were racing. Maybe it is the caffeine I am telling myself. Maybe. Okay, I'll stop the liquid intake. I feel completely nauseated anyway, but I can't convey this any better. I CAN'T FRICKIN BREATHE AND THIS IS SCARING ME. WHY CAN'T I DO ANYTHING ABOUT THIS?
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Hi there, life. Please don't allow me to have another nervous breakdown, because I don't think I can handle it.
I learned today that I am not crazy, just misled. According to my reports I often engage in behavior that is "degrading, masochistic, and avoidant. Symptomatic of chronic illness, this has led to deep debilitation and profound negative effects on my psyche and emotional state." Major depression is not surprising, but PTSD is. I have it, and I have it severely. It hurts to admit that, but I refuse to be hospitalized and/or made a pawn of myself.
So starting tomorrow, I am attempting to withdraw from half of my classes. I still need to work and do my stressful, crappy internship (which isn't helping things), but I will be SO INCREDIBLY RELIEVED if this actually works out. I will still be busy, but I will have time to sleep during the day and that is the important thing.
Friends, I need you now. Sunday showed that the dam is breaking, and I am collapsing. I am slipping away from myself and I need to alleviate a lot of the pressure. I hope this works, because I need it very, very badly.
Um yeah, that's it.
Monday, September 24, 2007
I have a serious problem with the severe problem that happened last night. Does that make sense? I didn't sleep at all, but Katie slept with me and that made everything so much better. Also, Caroline come here. I miss you.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
I took the test. Eight days to see the results. I can't wait. I crave talking and listening but it is hard, hard, hard and all I seem to do is argue. I push and I pull and then I want to go back and can't wait. Time moves so slowly.
I just want you to know that I love you, and miss you, and I'm sorry. I feel guilty and terrible and mean. But perfect and right and justified. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. Oh my God, this hurts so bad.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
She tells me I am sick. Or rather, that she doesn't know for sure but all the questions and more importantly, all of the answers, point in the right direction. At first, I am scared, then immediately relieved. There is a name for this, there is name for what I am feeling. What I am thinking, what I think about. Then I am reeling, comparing this to what I hope are inaccurate media depictions of this. What I hope I am wrong about. She recognizes the stereotypes rotating in my head and addresses them. I just stare at her because I have no idea what to say. I'm already thinking about Friday. Wrapping my brain around the test I will have to take. The one she filled out the paperwork for because I didn't know how. All in capitols, just like my dad. It is a test I will inevitably pass. I am scared. I am so incredibly scared.
And still I can't help imagining that my mom would have semi understood. How she was on my side, even if most of the time it was backed by delusions and paranoia. There was always the chance, albeit a slim one, that she would be right and I would feel okay, protected even. Always the chance that I would feel not so alone.
It's ironic now, as I have learned to hold myself up, be my own best friend. More than make it work, I always had myself and I won't give up or turn on myself. I am learning the hard way, I suppose. First and foremost, betrayal is a process that starts and ends with yourself.
It is because of this that it hurts so much when she tells me I am breaking. Wholly and definitively. There is no if. I am unreliable now; I can't be content that I always have myself when I can't be on my own side now that I know that my side isn't secure.
So I am thinking about all of this and how even though tonight was now about sides, I still feel like it somehow was. It was a misunderstanding, something that shouldn't have happened and then did. It exploded, a simple miscommunication. Nothing major, but somehow the lines are already being drawn unintentionally. I can't help feeling like this is freshman year all over again, that this is growing up in Novi too. That I am being labeled the attacker already, when I don't feel I am. I fight defenselessly in everything. I need to protect myself against myself. It's simple really, but the problem is I am protecting something that is collapsing. I need to feel like people understand, that they are not taking sides about everything. I feel that they are and they aren't and that is what is so hard.
The funny thing is, I don't want to be like her. All defensive, paranoid that everyone is out to get me when they're not. But still when I describe myself, she asks what parent I am most like and I say something that I don't even remember saying. Mentioned the word "crazy" in reference to my mom, and then inadvertently compare myself to it. But when she tells me what I said, it doesn't seem fabricated. It seems right. Like something I would have said. And that hurts. So much. I am my fist and last everything, and I am turning on myself. I can't make it stop, and I wish I didn't need other people to pull me out of it, when they won't, or can't, or don't.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
I don't know what to do about this one. I did some research, and maybe (?) you are a bit more perceptive then I think. I need to give you more of a chance I think, even if you tell me things that make me hurt. People get hurt from time to time. Thinking is fine, just not racing thoughts. You are right. But this is terrifying. I am terrified. I don't like admitting that. Saying it feels strange. I don't want this identity, but I want the remedy. Is that possible? Sure, sure it is. It makes sense to me, right? I don't know.
It is okay to not know. I believe that. I am content. I think. I need to talk to you, but I need to wait.
My roommate asks me if I had a bad day. I reply "Well, I just had a really weird night."
Maybe that's an understatement? I don't know. I'm twenty years old; I don't want to be held by the hand. But I need you in a childlike way. I feel vulnerable, and I wish I had a checklist to tell me what was appropriate now. Because the practical side of me can't decide.
Friday, September 14, 2007
"You are wrecking havoc on your body, so much that you are losing bodily functions. You are a nice person but you have spent your whole life protecting everyone, protecting the world from itself. People get hurt from time to time. You wanted someone to take care of you and hug you and love you and tell you it's going to be okay. You had flashes of something that you wanted from her and then nothing, and you wanted more. But you can choose to end those relationships now whereas then you didn't have a choice. You didn't learn from your parents how to be a good parent to yourself."
"How about just telling them? You can just say it. I did. It's awkward, but wouldn't you want to know too? You need to learn how to be a person. You're not allowing yourself to be anything but a robot. You need to learn to be a real person, because you're not."
Yeah? Well, it hurts being a real person. It hurts really fucking bad when you tell me I'm not because I think I am. I feel something, don't I? I feel everything and it's being stapled into my lungs and I don't know how to deal with it. But I know its not about feelings anymore; it's about programming. I didn't know what to say to you when you told me about the accident in grad school and then about your baby, but I appreciated that you did. When you told me about your baby, and I understood the point and what I was supposed to feel, and then immediately what I didn't. Eleven year olds are different then babies. Don't give me that. Babies can't eat by themselves; they have absolutely no concept of failure. I feel like I failed, and that's the difference. And its a pretty big difference if you ask me.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
When it comes down to it, I really just want everything, and can't really have anything.
I guess I can be content with this?
(I don't want to be taped next week). Waah.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Seriously, okay, the idea of being a cat lady is very depressing.
Most of my friends are in relationships, or if they are not, have been in serious relationships in the recent past. Half of my friends are currently in relationships with someone I would not be surprised if they marry. I am disgusted, and terrified, and extremely happy for them. All at the same time. But at the same time, this loner status has to go.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
I am in love with this. She looks so beautiful and happy.
Monday, September 3, 2007
I hate how people are capable of hurting each other this bad. I'm thinking of all the times that someone gave me that look and I felt myself breaking in half, slowly and tangibly. First my sister, then every member of my family in succession, then all the rest. All the boys and all the girls. The last one I remember really hurting was Caro last summer (Don't kill me for saying this). Remembering how I wanted to hold her when I saw it etched in her eyes. But I couldn't do anything except look at her and walk out of the room. There's nothing you can do when it's in someone's eyes. You can help erase faces sometimes, but never eyes. Oh God, It hurt so bad. I drove straight to Lansing and cried the whole way. Nothing's quite the same now, and I realize that. All I can think about now is how he said I have nice eyes. He was giving me the same look, only reversed. How he said he can see things in my eyes. What? What can you see? What is it?
Christ, I want to know. Because you have to admit things to yourself. You have to, or you will never get anywhere. You just won't.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
It is so painful to be home right now. Wanting to hide away for the entire weekend, but knowing it's impossible to do so as I can't stand being here for more than 24 hours. I'm wearing pants she gave me, drinking pop she would have drank. It's still stupid, but I would never do either of these things anywhere else. It's finally sinking in, and I'm glad, but it is so incredibly painful. The first few weeks were so chaotic, businesslike, practical. Trying to get ready for school, work, scrape up money, clean the house, bank accounts, everything. Months full of paperwork, lawyers, credit reports, bills to pay. There was no time for anything intrinsic, anything to remotely begin the process of saying goodbye. Here I can feel her presence all around me, and that is not necessarily a good thing. It was always so tense when she here. And what's worse, I was always so childlike next to her. Eager to please, more prone to cry, easier to love without boundaries. It is a completely different world here; I am being wrapped in all the material traces of pain, reverting back to the child I don't want to be. I can't escape the masochism of it; it's painful but comfortable, so is that really a bad thing? Memories aren't filtered here, so is that a good thing or a bad thing? I have horrible dreams because of it, but at least it feels real. I'm either sleeping or sobbing here, but at least it's honest.
Still. I can't stop thinking about what he said, how he claimed balance could happen with fingertips on top of one another. How he kept saying that I will never be able to control it, that I am just trying to achieve balance. He demonstrated it for me, fingers outstretched, dangling precariously on top of one another. Like that Renaissance painting, fingers barely touching, links between heaven and earth.
Still. As beautiful as it is, I want to find balance with my whole body, not just with my fingertips. It's heartbreaking to hear him say that I will never be able to do this. So casually he tell me things can never be controlled- that balance is not synonymous with this. Maybe he's right, but I really don't see how that's supposed to make me feel better.
So he tries other things. Tactics to make me feel stronger and relieve tension. I find them accurate but amusing at the least. Forces me into a strict workout schedule, tells me to buy a notebook and write down everything. How do I tell him I have plenty of unused notebooks, that I've stopped writing, that I detest everything I write?
Still. I do as he asks and go home. Find a green notebook of my mom's, and take it with me, pretending that it's going to be of some use. It's easier than what else he asks me, telling me that I need to hang out with my friends more, let people in, that I need to tell them more than what's on the surface. Burden them even. Ummm, okay. First force myself on them, and then dump my overwhelming burden+ 20 years of personal and family history on top of them. Watch them scramble with what to do/ say and feel guilty for burdening them with something they didn't ask for in the first place. That may be beneficial for me, but is that really for them? I don't feel like I need to ask permission to be selfish, but I certainly don't like the way it makes me feel before, after, or during. So, I guess I just apologize in advance?
So. I am coming home tomorrow, a complete wreck, the loss finally sinking in. Needing to get things done, not just sleeping and tears. Wanting body pressure to weigh me down, and not air and lung pressure suffocating me. Ahah, what to do.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Two wrongs make it all alright? I couldn't stop thinking about you all day, and people keep mentioning theirs and I am crinkling my nose and mussing up my hair. So casually, words slipping between my fingers, and I'm mumbling them all to Katie. It dissipates, and soon evaporates. Feeling guilty because I want to see you, but I wouldn't give anything to do so. First day of school, first time not school shopping with my little sister. Woke up early, rushing to get ready for work, slept through my meeting, woke up late again, rushed to class. Came home with a headache and empty promises to myself. Three meetings today; I just want to make you proud. Trying to convert my home life to something here outside myself. Trying to open up and let it out. I just want to take everything in. It's beautiful outside and the air is filling my lungs and I'm laughing, but still missing you in a way I thought I never would. Because back to you, it always comes around. Trying to forget all the pictures in my head. Doesn't it scare you that the world is not as strong as it used to be?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
10:52PM - let's rock this city
Fuck you job. There better be some damn fiiine parties to go to on the 25th, because that is the only night I have off of welcome week. SATURDAY BITCHES. We will all be here, so LET'S DO THIS.
(I am so gross and in college. Yay).
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Stop, stop, stop, stop, you are pressuring me and you make me want to vomit. I want this? Yes, maybe, but not this. With you. I feel like I can never be a normal person because everytime someone touches me I want to curl up into a ball and die.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
He calls me Puppet. I can't decide if this is endearing, mildly weird, or condescending. Or maybe all three. He spent all of today hitting on me and I am tired, tired, tired, tired of it. I like him, but I can't stand him. Yes, you are attractive; you say everything with a smile that could melt polar ice caps. But it is not discernible; it is not clear whether what you are saying is a joke or not. I don't think you are joking, and I am mildly intrigued/ completely appalled at the forwardness. You are relentless, and not in a good way. I tell you this, and you smile at me the same smile, and I tell you to stop looking at me like that. With that knowing smirk. You say "what look?" with the same look. Deadpan accuracy, smooth as glass. I want to to punch you in the stomach. I want to slam you against a wall, kiss you, and then throw up. In that order. You are fucking confusing me. Then you're not, and I am scared to even touch you, because I know what it means. Until I give up and hold your hand, you look at me the same way, and still I'm not smiling. I think I'm just giving in. You make me awkward, uncomfortable with your actions- which are so clear and which I'm ironically wishing they're not. But you don't believe in awkwardness. I am terribly awkward. For you to tell me I am making up these situations, and there are no inherently awkward situations, I want to...something to you. Life is awkward, buddy. Shit happens, you see things you don't want to see, people are awkward because of it. Sure, you can dismiss situations by laughing about it, but that will not stop anything from occurring in the first place. I want you to stop calling me, so I can stop making excuses. I want this so fucking bad, but I don't want to settle for what I can get. I don't want you, but I can't stop thinking about you. Don't ask me questions I can't answer; I don't know what I want.
Friday, August 10, 2007
It's sadistic to half laugh, throw my hands up in the air. An expression of mock exasperation. Are you okay? Yeah, sure, okay. Not even awkward, just in between bench jumps and side lats I heard her telling me these things and I had to look away. Razor blades, hidden mother lesbian relationships. Craziness post college, parental divorce. Different circumstances, but the same idea. I hope you find what your are looking for. I hope you find some comfort and peace. Yes, A little numb, but an improvement from wanting to cry. I just stared into clear blue eyes, yeah, okay, sure. I know what it's like; I guess we are more alike then we think. I am going to tell her. Yes, this is random, but I hope she is happy. I hope the bad periods don't become good ones in comparison to what lies next. Thank you for not knowing anything about me, and knowing the exact right thing to say. Me, Cam, surprised. I feel so at peace now. Thank you for telling me about the stoplight; the bad parts are dying one by one.
Sunday, sunday, sunday. I am going to tell her, and I will look into her eyes and do it. It is none of my business, but who cares about appearance. It is the only thing that needs to be said.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Okkkay, I just watched the best series finale of my life. Oh my God, I can't stop crying. This is ridiculous. I am crying about a tv show. Ahhhaha.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Haha, whatever. I say things to irritate, to walk into quicksand knowingly. I just want to gauge reactions, but I don't really care. Not really. It's worthless to pretend. No explanations are necessary. You are right again! Fuck you. Why is everything such a chore? I make it that way, to make it SOME way. To make it be anything, but indifferent and ignored and.... at the same time, I don't really give a shit. I don't know why I do it. Reasoning is beyond normal comprehension; reasons don't offer solutions. It's not a big deal at all, sure. I agree. I know. I just want to see if I'm capable. Don't judge me for the test that it was. Things matter, but they don't. So do whatever. Feel whatever, nothing, anything you want. Because I am turning. I want to deflect everything back to you. Knives are knives; turning on me or yourself doesn't matter. It's all going to the same place anyway. Believe, believe, believe you won't unleash it back. Sure, why not? Why not.
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