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Diaryland
Three of Pentacles (2) February 12, 2008 @ 12:18 a.m.
My back muscles have clamped up. I must be onto something.
I don't feel this way about other children. I'm pretty sure. No, I don't. I love kids. I appreciate their warmth and humor and joy and freedom.
Or hate it?
Jesus, where is this coming from?
Well Doctor, I guess its pretty clear. Somehow, my experience kind of outlawed those things. I didn't get to be a kid like everyone else.
I've figured out pieces of this before. Like the fact I haven't allowed myself to make mistakes, because somewhere I got the idea that being human, having flaws and making mistakes was not acceptable. Not ok.
I feel a little sick writing this now, though that could be that frappacino from earlier. Man, I almost threw up on that thing. I have become so sensitive to caffeine. Sign of my crystal transition? I doubt it. More like a double Aquarius on an empty stomach who's only recently taken a break from 2 years of vegetarianism.
But I digress.
I hurt. My muscles are tensing up automatically as I write, becoming so tight on their own that its hurting ever so slightly. This is something I've gotten used to - that's the sad part. Among many sad parts I suppose.
Shields up, Mr. Stolowitz! Put on the Armor of God, and fight the good fight!
Or let it go. And relax for once.
Hard to do. Very, very hard.
***
I want to open. Really and truly and sincerely. But so far, I'm finding that Nick is really the only one I know who doesn't go apeshit on me when I do. I still haven't gotten over how Lorrie treated me. I try to be mad, but I'm not really. No I'm not mad - I'm ashamed. I'm sick and guilty and remorseful and vulnerable and hurting ever so much. Because once again, I tried to let myself out and show somebody the real me and the whole me, and they couldn't - or wouldn't handle me. I'm not allowed to make mistakes. I'm not allowed to screw up and do something stupid. Or piss someone off.
"I hope we can still be friends"
"Well, we'll see"
...
I knew. I knew it wouldn't work out, I think. Because, as I think I'm realizing now, I set myself up with the kind of people who will reject me. I ask for it. I find neurotic, self-hating, wounded-birds to be co-dependant with. Or at least I did. I don't anymore, and that's one thing in all this I can feel proud of and relieved about. That's one thing I have changed I can be sure of.
I always tried to find people who were special and different. But my idea, my perception, my concept of what that was was stilted. Confused. In error.
The ones who stand apart are not always a noble minority. Oftentimes, they have chosen their own rejection. They don't want to be a part of society for their own reasons, and those reasons aren't always society's fault. The different ones, the special ones, the 'chosen ones' - they set themselves aside and cut themselve off in doing so.
The judgment is all around me. Surrounding me. Choking me with other people's condemnations. I can't sort out the good from the bad anymore, if there ever was such a distinction. I scream amidst it and fire out, trying desperately to hold on to some kind of self-identity. And it only confirms my worthlessness in their eyes.
My back hunches away; tucks itself up. As if acid or a huge blade were millimeters away, and one slip up, one moment of relaxation, would mean pain horrible and endless. A Lovecraftian monster unleashed.
A Mad God. An endless scream. A face buried in the desert. A choking body that is the earth itself, and that cannot escape the horror of its own existence.
I am pain and I live.
"Details in the Fabric" - May 31, 2009
Not So Quick Questions - April 6, 2009
The Morning Stars - Lords of the 15 - April 9, 2009
Sincerity and Faith in Magic - April 10, 2009
Not So Quick Questions (2) - April 14, 2009
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