Compassion for others. Compassion for self. In equal measure, as consistently as possible.
It really is as simple as that. I think I'm just starting to get a feel for what this balancing act feels like when it's done right.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
In which my temper gets me in trouble, again.
Bad, bad, bad day yesterday, followed by the worst night I've had in a long time, and then my first ever hangover this morning. I'm mixed up and hurt and angry, completely unsure if I've been taken advantage of, or if I'm being an inconsiderate asshole myself. It's probably both, and I have no idea what to do about it.
I'm trying to recenter myself by any means I can, because I know I make crappy decisions when I feel like this. Watching the snow is helping. It's hilariously out of keeping with the weather, but I've been trying to clean up a poem I started a couple weeks ago. It's out of step with the snow, maybe, but crushingly appropriate to my mood.
Dandelion in December
You're too pale, you know,
spindly and awkward on a bent stalk.
Trying too hard, that's what,
like you're trying too hard.
The grass is so young.
Youth out of season
is bright smooth green,
not your pale sad yellow,
but there's nothing else blooming
for miles.
I'm trying to recenter myself by any means I can, because I know I make crappy decisions when I feel like this. Watching the snow is helping. It's hilariously out of keeping with the weather, but I've been trying to clean up a poem I started a couple weeks ago. It's out of step with the snow, maybe, but crushingly appropriate to my mood.
Dandelion in December
You're too pale, you know,
spindly and awkward on a bent stalk.
Trying too hard, that's what,
like you're trying too hard.
The grass is so young.
Youth out of season
is bright smooth green,
not your pale sad yellow,
but there's nothing else blooming
for miles.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
*grump*
I've discovered a flaw in my reasoning: making others a priority works best when it's reciprocated. And it's fucking exhausting when it's not.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Just another metaphor
I've been doing some thinking today, rehashing old thoughts in maybe a new way, and it felt for a while there like they were something productive, something to actually make me happier and snap me out of my funk. They go in circles, so it's hard to type them out.
Feminism is just a metaphor, like any other. It doesn't matter whether it's objectively true in any way, just that it feels true to me. And, in my version of feminism, the patriarchy isn't the villain; it's the narrator. Women are the villains, and the victims, and the cast of heroes is made up almost exclusively of men. Doesn't this explain so much about me, if not our world? I don't let myself think of myself as anything but a victim or a villain; if I'm not sitting lost and lonely, brokenhearted over the things I can't change, I must be doing something wrong, so I feel guilty. How horrifying is that? But it's true. I feel guilty all the time, almost no matter what I'm doing. If I'm not miserable, I feel guilty for it.
I blame too much on my mother, I know, and I don't have as much compassion for her as I would like. Maybe blaming her for this, though, is the key to that compassion. She taught me to think this way, not because she was a cruel and evil person (the villain of the piece), but because it was all she knew herself. We teach our children no more and no less than what we truly believe ourselves, right? I remember very clearly the first time I failed a class. It was ninth grade, and I finally got to march with the band in a competition for the first time. I was no good, but I was excited about it all the same, and I felt good and strong and proud in my silly purple uniform. But I failed biology, so I was ineligible and couldn't go to competition, and I was crushed for weeks. I remember one night we were eating dinner at the table (it must have been a holiday or something), and I couldn't stop crying over my food. No one had much sympathy, and when they told me it wasn't as big a deal as I was making it, I tried to explain: my whole life was made up of school, where I was awkward and miserable, and home, where everyone was always so angry. But in band, I got to be proud of myself and have fun. It was the only fun thing in my whole day. I don't remember the words I used, but I don't think I'll ever forget my mother's reaction. She slammed down the big white ceramic bowl, the one we mostly used for mashed potatoes, glared at me, and said "Welcome to adulthood." I ran to my room and cried myself to sleep, totally oblivious to the irony.
Yeah, it's a terrible story. I should have some compassion for that girl on the cusp of adulthood, being told that the entire rest of her life will be all responsibility and sadness. But more than that, right now I have some compassion for that angry, tired woman with the bowl of mashed potatoes she probably didn't want to make. She honestly believed, still does believe, that being an adult means doing what needs to be done, and having not one ounce of joy or pride or confidence.
When I promise myself that I won't become my mother, this is the moment I need to remember. It's one of the most important lessons she ever taught me, and one I desperately need to unlearn.
I spend so much time ashamed that nothing really feels good to me except being around other people, so ashamed that it consumes my thoughts when I'm alone and I'm not just lonely, I'm overwhelmed by shame and self hate. Of course I'm alone, who would want to be around me, I have no confidence or strength, nothing to draw people to me. And the worst part is, there's some tiny kernel of truth in that (I'm not going to meet new people sitting alone in my apartment), so it's very easy to convince myself that it's the defining truth of my existence.
But it's not. So the only thing that brings me happiness right now is other people? Fine. I'm going to delight in other people, and I'm not going to apologize to anybody for it, not even myself. I'll see David on Thursday and Lain on Friday, and this will be the highlight of my winter. I'm going to stop being ashamed of that, and start acting like it's true. I'm going to clean this apartment, top to bottom, because even if it's kinda plain and cramped with old, ugly furniture, it can at least be clean. I can fill it up with smells of cookies and citrus and sandalwood, make it warm and inviting, and be proud to invite people in and make them feel welcomed and calm.
I'm going to keep repeating to myself things people have said to me that I find flattering, but let myself believe them for once. Livvy says I've got a skill for comforting people who are down, taking care of them with my picnics of fruit and cheese and my sweet-smelling sugar scrubs. I'm going to clean out the fridge of all the sad, half-rotten things I haven't thrown out, fill it back up with fresh fruit and the tastiest cheeses I can afford, stock up on the ingredients for the things I cook best. David used to tell me I was beautiful, that he sometimes couldn't resist me even when he was trying. So I'll wear my favorite sweaters, style my hair and put on some makeup, not because I need it but because it makes me feel more confident, and I will blow him away with how good I look, maybe even make him regret that I'm not even a little bit his anymore. And if that makes him uncomfortable and he leaves right away, so be it. I don't want to spend one more second with him apologizing for myself. I've done more than enough of that already.
Will this mood last? Will I be able to hold on to this confidence and self-possession for the next three days and actually get all of these things done? I don't see why not. Because the one thing that always brings me joy is seeing the people I care about, and I'm about to see two of them who live very far away. As long as I keep that in mind, I think I can also find some joy in scrubbing the floor and folding my laundry.
And if not? It's all still true. Metaphors work because they're true.
Feminism is just a metaphor, like any other. It doesn't matter whether it's objectively true in any way, just that it feels true to me. And, in my version of feminism, the patriarchy isn't the villain; it's the narrator. Women are the villains, and the victims, and the cast of heroes is made up almost exclusively of men. Doesn't this explain so much about me, if not our world? I don't let myself think of myself as anything but a victim or a villain; if I'm not sitting lost and lonely, brokenhearted over the things I can't change, I must be doing something wrong, so I feel guilty. How horrifying is that? But it's true. I feel guilty all the time, almost no matter what I'm doing. If I'm not miserable, I feel guilty for it.
I blame too much on my mother, I know, and I don't have as much compassion for her as I would like. Maybe blaming her for this, though, is the key to that compassion. She taught me to think this way, not because she was a cruel and evil person (the villain of the piece), but because it was all she knew herself. We teach our children no more and no less than what we truly believe ourselves, right? I remember very clearly the first time I failed a class. It was ninth grade, and I finally got to march with the band in a competition for the first time. I was no good, but I was excited about it all the same, and I felt good and strong and proud in my silly purple uniform. But I failed biology, so I was ineligible and couldn't go to competition, and I was crushed for weeks. I remember one night we were eating dinner at the table (it must have been a holiday or something), and I couldn't stop crying over my food. No one had much sympathy, and when they told me it wasn't as big a deal as I was making it, I tried to explain: my whole life was made up of school, where I was awkward and miserable, and home, where everyone was always so angry. But in band, I got to be proud of myself and have fun. It was the only fun thing in my whole day. I don't remember the words I used, but I don't think I'll ever forget my mother's reaction. She slammed down the big white ceramic bowl, the one we mostly used for mashed potatoes, glared at me, and said "Welcome to adulthood." I ran to my room and cried myself to sleep, totally oblivious to the irony.
Yeah, it's a terrible story. I should have some compassion for that girl on the cusp of adulthood, being told that the entire rest of her life will be all responsibility and sadness. But more than that, right now I have some compassion for that angry, tired woman with the bowl of mashed potatoes she probably didn't want to make. She honestly believed, still does believe, that being an adult means doing what needs to be done, and having not one ounce of joy or pride or confidence.
When I promise myself that I won't become my mother, this is the moment I need to remember. It's one of the most important lessons she ever taught me, and one I desperately need to unlearn.
I spend so much time ashamed that nothing really feels good to me except being around other people, so ashamed that it consumes my thoughts when I'm alone and I'm not just lonely, I'm overwhelmed by shame and self hate. Of course I'm alone, who would want to be around me, I have no confidence or strength, nothing to draw people to me. And the worst part is, there's some tiny kernel of truth in that (I'm not going to meet new people sitting alone in my apartment), so it's very easy to convince myself that it's the defining truth of my existence.
But it's not. So the only thing that brings me happiness right now is other people? Fine. I'm going to delight in other people, and I'm not going to apologize to anybody for it, not even myself. I'll see David on Thursday and Lain on Friday, and this will be the highlight of my winter. I'm going to stop being ashamed of that, and start acting like it's true. I'm going to clean this apartment, top to bottom, because even if it's kinda plain and cramped with old, ugly furniture, it can at least be clean. I can fill it up with smells of cookies and citrus and sandalwood, make it warm and inviting, and be proud to invite people in and make them feel welcomed and calm.
I'm going to keep repeating to myself things people have said to me that I find flattering, but let myself believe them for once. Livvy says I've got a skill for comforting people who are down, taking care of them with my picnics of fruit and cheese and my sweet-smelling sugar scrubs. I'm going to clean out the fridge of all the sad, half-rotten things I haven't thrown out, fill it back up with fresh fruit and the tastiest cheeses I can afford, stock up on the ingredients for the things I cook best. David used to tell me I was beautiful, that he sometimes couldn't resist me even when he was trying. So I'll wear my favorite sweaters, style my hair and put on some makeup, not because I need it but because it makes me feel more confident, and I will blow him away with how good I look, maybe even make him regret that I'm not even a little bit his anymore. And if that makes him uncomfortable and he leaves right away, so be it. I don't want to spend one more second with him apologizing for myself. I've done more than enough of that already.
Will this mood last? Will I be able to hold on to this confidence and self-possession for the next three days and actually get all of these things done? I don't see why not. Because the one thing that always brings me joy is seeing the people I care about, and I'm about to see two of them who live very far away. As long as I keep that in mind, I think I can also find some joy in scrubbing the floor and folding my laundry.
And if not? It's all still true. Metaphors work because they're true.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
It's like watching a tennis match
or a pendulum, or a yo-yo, or some other overplayed metaphor.
This morning feels not so much like morning as it does some unnatural midnight sunrise. I just spent another sleepless night tying myself in knots over things I can't change, trying and failing to distract myself from thoughts I know will only upset me. I sincerely wish I knew how to stop doing this. The voice of my therapist in my head (a metaphor, not a creepy hallucination) tells me that, on some level, I'm choosing to dwell on these things, I need to process them, and I won't be done dwelling until I'm ready to be done. I recall this making sense at some other time, but it's decidedly unhelpful at the moment. It's eight am, sunny and clear, and I just spent the last two hours watching my bedroom wall get incrementally brighter as I got incrementally sadder.
This shit needs an off switch.
This is a negative thought pattern. It is not the sum total of my existence. I will feel better later, possibly even very soon. I have not always felt this bad. There are people who care for me, even when they're not around. Yes, I'm lecturing myself, and yes, I'm doing it on my freaking blog. It's not helping yet, but I seem to remember that it has in the past, so I'll keep at it for awhile.
But in my head, 'cause purging or no, this is sounding pretty pathetic.
This morning feels not so much like morning as it does some unnatural midnight sunrise. I just spent another sleepless night tying myself in knots over things I can't change, trying and failing to distract myself from thoughts I know will only upset me. I sincerely wish I knew how to stop doing this. The voice of my therapist in my head (a metaphor, not a creepy hallucination) tells me that, on some level, I'm choosing to dwell on these things, I need to process them, and I won't be done dwelling until I'm ready to be done. I recall this making sense at some other time, but it's decidedly unhelpful at the moment. It's eight am, sunny and clear, and I just spent the last two hours watching my bedroom wall get incrementally brighter as I got incrementally sadder.
This shit needs an off switch.
This is a negative thought pattern. It is not the sum total of my existence. I will feel better later, possibly even very soon. I have not always felt this bad. There are people who care for me, even when they're not around. Yes, I'm lecturing myself, and yes, I'm doing it on my freaking blog. It's not helping yet, but I seem to remember that it has in the past, so I'll keep at it for awhile.
But in my head, 'cause purging or no, this is sounding pretty pathetic.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Post and Re-post
It occurred to me today that, though we all struggle every day to be the people we're becoming, maybe the person I want to be isn't so far away or ill-defined as I've been thinking. This isn't a new thought. I was just reading back through some old posts and was startled that some of them could literally be re-posted with just a couple names changed and be as accurate right now as they were the first time around. For example:
Jan 17, '07
I’m scared half to death. Relieved that there haven’t been terribly many fights or ugly confrontations ... Worried that I’m being unfair to [David], that ... as flawed as what we had together was, it really was the best I’ll ever get. (And isn’t that just the gooey candy center of this all? That I’m still afraid I don’t deserve any better.)
Jan 22, '07
I wish I had known years ago how much easier it is to simply ignore him in return, rather than scrabbling for morsels of his affection. I’m happier and have more time to pursue my own interests ...
Feb 1, '07
Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment, even unconsciously. Stupid emotions. Stupid guys, with their height and broad shoulders and emotional inaccessibility. Stupid dreams, making me think about it even when I’m asleep.
Am I on some kind of three year cycle here? In some ways, I almost hope I am; there are some very happy posts in the spring of '07. At the same time, there's also several months more of mulling over my relationship with Ben and much (obviously downplayed) excitement over meeting David. I'm hoping to change that part this time around. David was and still is important to me, obviously, but there's nothing in me that even approaches the bitterness and dysfunction I carried back then. I've honestly grown more than I realized in that time. And while I can't guarantee that I won't fall head-over-heels for someone new in the near future, I am much more aware of myself now and won't be mistaking desire for trust any time soon. Arguably, I'm not likely to trust anyone new for a long time now, and that's something I'll need to deal with.
In the mean time, I have my personal narrative to keep me company. Maybe it's time I started paying a bit more attention to it.
Jan 17, '07
I’m scared half to death. Relieved that there haven’t been terribly many fights or ugly confrontations ... Worried that I’m being unfair to [David], that ... as flawed as what we had together was, it really was the best I’ll ever get. (And isn’t that just the gooey candy center of this all? That I’m still afraid I don’t deserve any better.)
Jan 22, '07
I wish I had known years ago how much easier it is to simply ignore him in return, rather than scrabbling for morsels of his affection. I’m happier and have more time to pursue my own interests ...
Feb 1, '07
Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment, even unconsciously. Stupid emotions. Stupid guys, with their height and broad shoulders and emotional inaccessibility. Stupid dreams, making me think about it even when I’m asleep.
Am I on some kind of three year cycle here? In some ways, I almost hope I am; there are some very happy posts in the spring of '07. At the same time, there's also several months more of mulling over my relationship with Ben and much (obviously downplayed) excitement over meeting David. I'm hoping to change that part this time around. David was and still is important to me, obviously, but there's nothing in me that even approaches the bitterness and dysfunction I carried back then. I've honestly grown more than I realized in that time. And while I can't guarantee that I won't fall head-over-heels for someone new in the near future, I am much more aware of myself now and won't be mistaking desire for trust any time soon. Arguably, I'm not likely to trust anyone new for a long time now, and that's something I'll need to deal with.
In the mean time, I have my personal narrative to keep me company. Maybe it's time I started paying a bit more attention to it.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
We all know how I feel about hope, right?
I think maybe, just maybe, I see the pieces starting to fall into place, and soon enough I'll remember that sense of resolution, that particular self-possession and self-control it took me so long to cultivate.
I feel like myself today. And I did the day before yesterday as well. And, I think, several times over the last week. That's a strange, vaguely agrammatical thing to say, but my overarching aversion to optimism won't allow me to clarify it much more, even in my own mind.
I'm looking forward to the holidays, confident that I will see people I love and that they will be happy to see me. I honestly can't say whether or not that's happened before (my confidence, of course, being the thing which is so often lacking). There will be hugs and laughter and long nights with nothing better to do than talk until the sun comes up. If I'm perfectly honest with myself, I can't imagine anything better than that.
Can you hear me smiling, internets?
I feel like myself today. And I did the day before yesterday as well. And, I think, several times over the last week. That's a strange, vaguely agrammatical thing to say, but my overarching aversion to optimism won't allow me to clarify it much more, even in my own mind.
I'm looking forward to the holidays, confident that I will see people I love and that they will be happy to see me. I honestly can't say whether or not that's happened before (my confidence, of course, being the thing which is so often lacking). There will be hugs and laughter and long nights with nothing better to do than talk until the sun comes up. If I'm perfectly honest with myself, I can't imagine anything better than that.
Can you hear me smiling, internets?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Another new post already?
I think this must be a record. It's nothing polished or special, just cut-and-paste from a chat with Liv. (Screen names have been removed to prevent spam and such)
2:19 PM
me: Hey, speaking of mommy and daddy issues, I had a really interesting, kinda disturbing insight the other day.
livvy: ooh, yay insight
running down the hall but keep typin'!
me: I was spending some time thinking about John and how weird all of that was, feeling totally safe and at ease with him, until that one little tipping point where it became full-blown panic and hard, hard anxiety, and trying to pinpoint the change so I can understand it, because I'm pretty sure the word "trigger" applies.
And I kept coming back to the same, distressing conclusion: I'm really shallow. It's the shape of him, his weight, or more specifically, feeling smothered by being close to someone that shape. I weighed it against the men who make me feel comfortable in their arms, even when I should probably be a little afraid of them coughRyancough, and how I've always loved that fragile, bony, not-quite-there weight of long, thin arms...
It's my mom and my dad. It's completely and totally my mommy issues vs. my daddy issues.
He was so skinny, and she was so heavy, and it's ingrained in me now: fat people will love you just enough to hurt you. Skinny people are good and gentle, but will leave.
livvy: ooooooohhhh wow
me: nods I know, right?
livvy: it's AMAZING how programmed that is, isn't it?
like, rachael's still the ONLY limerent object i've ever had that had blue eyes
b/c blueeyed people WANT TO GET YOU.
me: laugh Yeah, exactly.
Ben's the only blond I've ever spent any time considering. There's no way it's a coincidence that that's what I chose for myself when I finally decided to leave Ryan in the past.
The tall, skinny, dark-haired never there for the soft, round, blond who will hurt me in all the familiar ways.
kicks unconscious
livvy: why does terror/trauma turn into attraction?
...And neither of us had a good answer.
2:19 PM
me: Hey, speaking of mommy and daddy issues, I had a really interesting, kinda disturbing insight the other day.
livvy: ooh, yay insight
running down the hall but keep typin'!
me: I was spending some time thinking about John and how weird all of that was, feeling totally safe and at ease with him, until that one little tipping point where it became full-blown panic and hard, hard anxiety, and trying to pinpoint the change so I can understand it, because I'm pretty sure the word "trigger" applies.
And I kept coming back to the same, distressing conclusion: I'm really shallow. It's the shape of him, his weight, or more specifically, feeling smothered by being close to someone that shape. I weighed it against the men who make me feel comfortable in their arms, even when I should probably be a little afraid of them coughRyancough, and how I've always loved that fragile, bony, not-quite-there weight of long, thin arms...
It's my mom and my dad. It's completely and totally my mommy issues vs. my daddy issues.
He was so skinny, and she was so heavy, and it's ingrained in me now: fat people will love you just enough to hurt you. Skinny people are good and gentle, but will leave.
livvy: ooooooohhhh wow
me: nods I know, right?
livvy: it's AMAZING how programmed that is, isn't it?
like, rachael's still the ONLY limerent object i've ever had that had blue eyes
b/c blueeyed people WANT TO GET YOU.
me: laugh Yeah, exactly.
Ben's the only blond I've ever spent any time considering. There's no way it's a coincidence that that's what I chose for myself when I finally decided to leave Ryan in the past.
The tall, skinny, dark-haired never there for the soft, round, blond who will hurt me in all the familiar ways.
kicks unconscious
livvy: why does terror/trauma turn into attraction?
...And neither of us had a good answer.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
"When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you, yield to him, though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you, believe in him, though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
"For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses you tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
"Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself. He threshes you to make you naked. He sifts you to free you from your husks. He grinds you to whiteness. He kneads you until you are pliant; and then he assigns you to his sacred fire that you may become sacred bread for the sacred feast.
"All these things love shall do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of life's heart.
"But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor, into the seasonless world where you will laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
"Love gives naught but itself and takes not but from itself. Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed; for love is sufficient unto love.
"And think not to direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
"Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if in your love you must have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at noon and meditate on love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise on your lips."
-Kahlil Gibran, "On Love"
When I first found this, more than ten years ago, I spent months reading it constantly, compulsively, and I couldn't tell whether it was shaping my thoughts or articulating things I had been thinking all along. I realized tonight that I couldn't remember any more how it went, and pulled it off the shelf for the first time in at least four years. It's not as poetic as I remember, but every bit as powerful. I am convicted and humbled and encouraged. I still don't love like I want to, and I probably never will, and I love so much better now than ten years ago.
I had forgotten that this pain, right now, is nothing to fear or to be ashamed of. This is the pain of knowing my own heart, of too much tenderness, of loving as best I can. There's no reason to keep wishing it away.
"For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses you tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, so shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
"Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself. He threshes you to make you naked. He sifts you to free you from your husks. He grinds you to whiteness. He kneads you until you are pliant; and then he assigns you to his sacred fire that you may become sacred bread for the sacred feast.
"All these things love shall do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of life's heart.
"But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor, into the seasonless world where you will laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
"Love gives naught but itself and takes not but from itself. Love possesses not, nor would it be possessed; for love is sufficient unto love.
"And think not to direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
"Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if in your love you must have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at noon and meditate on love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise on your lips."
-Kahlil Gibran, "On Love"
When I first found this, more than ten years ago, I spent months reading it constantly, compulsively, and I couldn't tell whether it was shaping my thoughts or articulating things I had been thinking all along. I realized tonight that I couldn't remember any more how it went, and pulled it off the shelf for the first time in at least four years. It's not as poetic as I remember, but every bit as powerful. I am convicted and humbled and encouraged. I still don't love like I want to, and I probably never will, and I love so much better now than ten years ago.
I had forgotten that this pain, right now, is nothing to fear or to be ashamed of. This is the pain of knowing my own heart, of too much tenderness, of loving as best I can. There's no reason to keep wishing it away.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
So much drama
A couple weeks ago I had a one night stand. I know. Seriously, I know. This is so far out of character I don't even know what to think of myself right now.
He's only 20, and I was just supposed to be earning a bit of spending money by helping him with a research paper, but somehow I got distracted. There is an incomparable strangeness here, it goes without saying that I didn't feel at all like myself at the time, but I'm surprised by how strong and capable I did feel. There wasn't even a trace of the shrinking, guilty, unworthy feeling that I've always had any time any guy shows even the slightest interest in me. Instead I felt confident and somehow almost… superior? Not quite, but I'm not sure how to describe it. Maybe I just felt like I was on equal footing with someone for once, and I'm so unused to the feeling that I have trouble recognizing it. I felt self-controlled and in control of the situation, which makes my choices even stranger and more suspect. And I specifically informed him that he would not be seeing me again, and that I didn't want him forming any sort of attachment. And I meant it. Who am I and what have I done with myself?
All the same, I resolved not waste too much of my time moping and feeling guilty about it. I refuse to just sit around and mourn the loss of David, or try to save a place for him in my life. Errors in judgment aside, that night was a good exercise in both; I had a genuinely good time, and sleeping with someone else goes a long way to ensuring that David won't share my bed again, even if he did feel the momentary impulse to do so. I'm still pretty conflicted about that last one, but I expect it will be better for me in the long run.
Then a couple nights later, I was hanging out with John and we stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking and… cuddling, I suppose, though I didn't think of it in those terms at the time. I enjoy his personality quite a bit, I'm not even remotely attracted to him, and he's been eager to spend time with me lately. All of this had me very happy and hopeful; it's so hard to move from acquaintances to friends, and I thought it was a sure bet with him. But, no. Apparently his interest is at least partly romantic. And, like an idiot, I didn't notice until way too late. He was so subtle about it, everything had a double meaning, and at some point I just realized that while I was exulting in having a friend I could share some simple, uncomplicated affection with, he was over there thinking of this as a date, and trying to take things somewhere I really didn't want them to go. If I had caught on sooner, or stayed calm at least, I'm sure there was a graceful way to deal with the situation. I was completely incapable of that, though, and instead worked myself into a hard little knot of anxiety that blossomed into a full blown panic attack the next day. I'm sure I confused him to no end.
I'm still trying to figure out what frightened me so much about it. I felt completely powerless and incapable of doing anything right, and I'm not sure whether that was cause, effect, both, or neither. And the thing is, I need to figure this out. I recognize it as the same thing I felt with Ben, and that didn't go so well for me. John's a sweet guy and he deserves a tactful, honest explanation. I have no idea what I'm going to say the next time I see him.
And I didn't get much of a chance to think about it before being distracted; a couple nights after that, David called. We talked from 8:30 until well past 5 in the morning. He told me about his new (largely failed) romance, and it's obvious that she's taking advantage of him and he thinks he deserves it after what he put me through. I don't know what to say to him about it, past explaining that if I don't hold it against him, then certainly no one else has the right to any sort of punishment, and I sincerely want him to be happy. Telling him all that, however, made him cry, which left me even more flummoxed and stuttery. He sobbed, to the point he couldn't even speak, and was less in control of himself than I've ever seen before, completely unselfconsciously heartbroken. I don't know if it was about her or me or both. When he recovered enough to communicate intelligibly, he told me that of all the girls he's been with, I'm the one he thinks the most of, and then went on to enumerate my virtues. I had no idea how to respond, especially when he went on to say that he loves me and always will. Which isn't that strange of a thing for an ex-boyfriend to tell you, except that he never directly said he loved me when we were dating. Unsurprisingly, I was crying by this point as well.
We went on to exchange some truly ill-timed tenderness and encouragement, and eventually recovered with some light jokes (all of which hinged on our knowing each other so well, but neither of us addressed that part). We talked about music and exchanged some songs, listened to a couple together and cried shamelessly during the sad ones. I think he might still be in love with me, and I don't know what to make of that after months of trying to reconcile myself to the idea that he never was. I did my best to be gentle and honest, but still self-controlled and aware of the situation we're in. There is too much history, too many things in the way at this point, to pretend that just caring for each other fixes anything.
It still felt incredible to hear it.
He's promised to help me get my grad school applications in, despite my telling him several times not to. I hadn't told anyone about dropping the ball with all that, but somehow he must have guessed… no, that's not giving him enough credit. He knows me very, very well, and I'm every bit as overwhelmed and terrified now as he was two years ago when I held his hand and cajoled and nagged him into completing his own applications, knowing all the while that in doing so I was setting him up to leave me. He insists that he's going to do the same for me. And he knows me so well that he can manipulate me completely overtly and with light-hearted references to pushing my buttons, and still have me completely under his thumb. He checked on all the deadlines for each of the schools I want to apply to and helped me (read:bullied) put together a to-do list , and told me he'll be disappointed if I don't get everything done on time. Flagrant manipulation, and it worked like a charm. I don't think it's a good idea to lean on him or give him such an important role in my life, but at the same time I hadn't so much as looked at a GRE schedule before I talked to him, and now I've scheduled my GRE, written emails requesting my letters of rec, and started three different applications. And he's called three times in less than 48 hours to make sure I'm on schedule. I love him more than I can say, and I'm so afraid that's just going to bring me more pain.
So now, I need to figure out how I'm going to comport myself as a sexually active adult, explain to a sweet, gentle guy that I'd love to be his friend but won't even consider anything more, and try to keep some significant emotional distance from the man I love even as he forcefully inserts himself into my life entirely at his expense and for my own good. God, I'm so confused. Sometimes I think things were easier when I was all awkwardness and bad hair and got noticed at best once every couple years. I have no idea whatsoever how to deal with positive male attention, and I need to figure it out, quick.
He's only 20, and I was just supposed to be earning a bit of spending money by helping him with a research paper, but somehow I got distracted. There is an incomparable strangeness here, it goes without saying that I didn't feel at all like myself at the time, but I'm surprised by how strong and capable I did feel. There wasn't even a trace of the shrinking, guilty, unworthy feeling that I've always had any time any guy shows even the slightest interest in me. Instead I felt confident and somehow almost… superior? Not quite, but I'm not sure how to describe it. Maybe I just felt like I was on equal footing with someone for once, and I'm so unused to the feeling that I have trouble recognizing it. I felt self-controlled and in control of the situation, which makes my choices even stranger and more suspect. And I specifically informed him that he would not be seeing me again, and that I didn't want him forming any sort of attachment. And I meant it. Who am I and what have I done with myself?
All the same, I resolved not waste too much of my time moping and feeling guilty about it. I refuse to just sit around and mourn the loss of David, or try to save a place for him in my life. Errors in judgment aside, that night was a good exercise in both; I had a genuinely good time, and sleeping with someone else goes a long way to ensuring that David won't share my bed again, even if he did feel the momentary impulse to do so. I'm still pretty conflicted about that last one, but I expect it will be better for me in the long run.
Then a couple nights later, I was hanging out with John and we stayed up until the wee hours of the morning talking and… cuddling, I suppose, though I didn't think of it in those terms at the time. I enjoy his personality quite a bit, I'm not even remotely attracted to him, and he's been eager to spend time with me lately. All of this had me very happy and hopeful; it's so hard to move from acquaintances to friends, and I thought it was a sure bet with him. But, no. Apparently his interest is at least partly romantic. And, like an idiot, I didn't notice until way too late. He was so subtle about it, everything had a double meaning, and at some point I just realized that while I was exulting in having a friend I could share some simple, uncomplicated affection with, he was over there thinking of this as a date, and trying to take things somewhere I really didn't want them to go. If I had caught on sooner, or stayed calm at least, I'm sure there was a graceful way to deal with the situation. I was completely incapable of that, though, and instead worked myself into a hard little knot of anxiety that blossomed into a full blown panic attack the next day. I'm sure I confused him to no end.
I'm still trying to figure out what frightened me so much about it. I felt completely powerless and incapable of doing anything right, and I'm not sure whether that was cause, effect, both, or neither. And the thing is, I need to figure this out. I recognize it as the same thing I felt with Ben, and that didn't go so well for me. John's a sweet guy and he deserves a tactful, honest explanation. I have no idea what I'm going to say the next time I see him.
And I didn't get much of a chance to think about it before being distracted; a couple nights after that, David called. We talked from 8:30 until well past 5 in the morning. He told me about his new (largely failed) romance, and it's obvious that she's taking advantage of him and he thinks he deserves it after what he put me through. I don't know what to say to him about it, past explaining that if I don't hold it against him, then certainly no one else has the right to any sort of punishment, and I sincerely want him to be happy. Telling him all that, however, made him cry, which left me even more flummoxed and stuttery. He sobbed, to the point he couldn't even speak, and was less in control of himself than I've ever seen before, completely unselfconsciously heartbroken. I don't know if it was about her or me or both. When he recovered enough to communicate intelligibly, he told me that of all the girls he's been with, I'm the one he thinks the most of, and then went on to enumerate my virtues. I had no idea how to respond, especially when he went on to say that he loves me and always will. Which isn't that strange of a thing for an ex-boyfriend to tell you, except that he never directly said he loved me when we were dating. Unsurprisingly, I was crying by this point as well.
We went on to exchange some truly ill-timed tenderness and encouragement, and eventually recovered with some light jokes (all of which hinged on our knowing each other so well, but neither of us addressed that part). We talked about music and exchanged some songs, listened to a couple together and cried shamelessly during the sad ones. I think he might still be in love with me, and I don't know what to make of that after months of trying to reconcile myself to the idea that he never was. I did my best to be gentle and honest, but still self-controlled and aware of the situation we're in. There is too much history, too many things in the way at this point, to pretend that just caring for each other fixes anything.
It still felt incredible to hear it.
He's promised to help me get my grad school applications in, despite my telling him several times not to. I hadn't told anyone about dropping the ball with all that, but somehow he must have guessed… no, that's not giving him enough credit. He knows me very, very well, and I'm every bit as overwhelmed and terrified now as he was two years ago when I held his hand and cajoled and nagged him into completing his own applications, knowing all the while that in doing so I was setting him up to leave me. He insists that he's going to do the same for me. And he knows me so well that he can manipulate me completely overtly and with light-hearted references to pushing my buttons, and still have me completely under his thumb. He checked on all the deadlines for each of the schools I want to apply to and helped me (read:bullied) put together a to-do list , and told me he'll be disappointed if I don't get everything done on time. Flagrant manipulation, and it worked like a charm. I don't think it's a good idea to lean on him or give him such an important role in my life, but at the same time I hadn't so much as looked at a GRE schedule before I talked to him, and now I've scheduled my GRE, written emails requesting my letters of rec, and started three different applications. And he's called three times in less than 48 hours to make sure I'm on schedule. I love him more than I can say, and I'm so afraid that's just going to bring me more pain.
So now, I need to figure out how I'm going to comport myself as a sexually active adult, explain to a sweet, gentle guy that I'd love to be his friend but won't even consider anything more, and try to keep some significant emotional distance from the man I love even as he forcefully inserts himself into my life entirely at his expense and for my own good. God, I'm so confused. Sometimes I think things were easier when I was all awkwardness and bad hair and got noticed at best once every couple years. I have no idea whatsoever how to deal with positive male attention, and I need to figure it out, quick.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Collapsing rooms
The way I deal with extreme emotional unrest is to compartmentalize. I suppose this is still a fairly new coping mechanism for me; it’s hard to say for sure, because I wasn’t entirely conscious of it at first, but I think I started a couple years ago. When I feel something that’s simply too much to take, I put it out of my mind during the day, when I’m out with people or when anything needs to get done. And then, when my responsibilities are taken care of and I’m alone, I let myself wallow in whatever anxiety or hurt I’ve been putting out of mind, give myself free reign to cry and sulk and generally be a big, blubbery mess. Overall, it seems to be a pretty good strategy. These past couple years I’ve been able to keep up with my practical responsibilities without totally cutting myself off from my emotions when things get rough. It seems to have broken my previous cycle of oscillating between irrational, purely emotional decision-making and total emotional shutdown and denial. Which is good, because neither of those ever worked that well, and this new system seems to have worked for a while. Except right now, it isn’t.
I’m not entirely sure what’s going on with me. After more than four years of therapy largely focused on being aware of and honest with myself, that’s a strange and unpleasant thing to realize. I’ve had trouble putting my anger and hurt away for a while now, and worse, a lot of the time I can’t seem to fully feel anything when I’m alone and it’s safe to feel. Or, maybe, I’m afraid to feel any of it? I’m not sure. Which is in and of itself scary and anxiety-provoking. I’d gotten very used to being clear on what I was feeling and what I wanted, even if I couldn’t always do anything about either of them. I’m incredibly anxious right now, almost fearful, but I can’t say what about. It’s almost like there’s too much that I don’t want to feel, and I’m afraid of it on this peripheral, pre-conscious level, so I don’t quite feel the full impact of it but instead there’s this incredible stress of keeping it at bay.
And those times when I do feel it are really, really bad. Maybe it’s the build up of setting it aside for too long, but that hasn’t been an entirely conscious choice here lately. I’m being far too abstract for this to be clear. An example: right now, I’m sitting in a cafe full of quiet, studious people enjoying a peaceful afternoon. And I feel, on the whole, pretty good. I’m chatting intermittently with a friend on Facebook, and when he asks how I am, I surprise myself with how much sincerely positive stuff there is to say about my life right now. But a moment later, I look across the room and think about how many times David and I sat on that couch over there, sharing chamomile tea, and then I have to clamp down on that thought, and I can feel something huge and awful just on the periphery of my awareness.
And all of that sounds like good, effective compartmentalizing, but I’m not consciously choosing any of it, and I’m afraid to face that big, awful chunk of unprocessed emotion even when I’m in a good situation for it. It’s snuck up on me a couple times, and I haven’t coped well. This isn’t the usual melancholy that’s embarrassing and undignified but ultimately just part of life, the sort of thing I secretly get a kick out of. It’s… overwhelming and terrifying. I want to sort through it and analyze it here, but I can’t even begin because I haven’t faced up to enough of it to know what’s there. It’s way too much for me right now, and I don’t know yet how I’m going to deal with it.
On a completely unrelated note: I promised an updated version of that last poem, and though I’m still not quite satisfied with it, it’s much closer to done.
An Inquiry into the Basic Nature of Fluids –
Water Flowing Apart
I wanted to know if water
scooped from a stream
knows what it’s lost or
does it just feel
smaller
diminished, not divided
is it content to fill a space
or does it remember the flow
you won’t speak of it
these rivers beneath our skin
yours are gears and keys and bits of wire,
so very clever,
but they will never flow
like water that is poured
a measure in your glass, in mine,
and I will always wonder
do they know each other
sitting side by side
you have brought me more
poured out until
water, which can’t remember
how it came to be,
knows it is
full
to the brim
but still you insist
a watchmaker’s wasted hauling water
the drops between us,
sips and spills,
must be the loneliest of all
I’m not entirely sure what’s going on with me. After more than four years of therapy largely focused on being aware of and honest with myself, that’s a strange and unpleasant thing to realize. I’ve had trouble putting my anger and hurt away for a while now, and worse, a lot of the time I can’t seem to fully feel anything when I’m alone and it’s safe to feel. Or, maybe, I’m afraid to feel any of it? I’m not sure. Which is in and of itself scary and anxiety-provoking. I’d gotten very used to being clear on what I was feeling and what I wanted, even if I couldn’t always do anything about either of them. I’m incredibly anxious right now, almost fearful, but I can’t say what about. It’s almost like there’s too much that I don’t want to feel, and I’m afraid of it on this peripheral, pre-conscious level, so I don’t quite feel the full impact of it but instead there’s this incredible stress of keeping it at bay.
And those times when I do feel it are really, really bad. Maybe it’s the build up of setting it aside for too long, but that hasn’t been an entirely conscious choice here lately. I’m being far too abstract for this to be clear. An example: right now, I’m sitting in a cafe full of quiet, studious people enjoying a peaceful afternoon. And I feel, on the whole, pretty good. I’m chatting intermittently with a friend on Facebook, and when he asks how I am, I surprise myself with how much sincerely positive stuff there is to say about my life right now. But a moment later, I look across the room and think about how many times David and I sat on that couch over there, sharing chamomile tea, and then I have to clamp down on that thought, and I can feel something huge and awful just on the periphery of my awareness.
And all of that sounds like good, effective compartmentalizing, but I’m not consciously choosing any of it, and I’m afraid to face that big, awful chunk of unprocessed emotion even when I’m in a good situation for it. It’s snuck up on me a couple times, and I haven’t coped well. This isn’t the usual melancholy that’s embarrassing and undignified but ultimately just part of life, the sort of thing I secretly get a kick out of. It’s… overwhelming and terrifying. I want to sort through it and analyze it here, but I can’t even begin because I haven’t faced up to enough of it to know what’s there. It’s way too much for me right now, and I don’t know yet how I’m going to deal with it.
On a completely unrelated note: I promised an updated version of that last poem, and though I’m still not quite satisfied with it, it’s much closer to done.
An Inquiry into the Basic Nature of Fluids –
Water Flowing Apart
I wanted to know if water
scooped from a stream
knows what it’s lost or
does it just feel
smaller
diminished, not divided
is it content to fill a space
or does it remember the flow
you won’t speak of it
these rivers beneath our skin
yours are gears and keys and bits of wire,
so very clever,
but they will never flow
like water that is poured
a measure in your glass, in mine,
and I will always wonder
do they know each other
sitting side by side
you have brought me more
poured out until
water, which can’t remember
how it came to be,
knows it is
full
to the brim
but still you insist
a watchmaker’s wasted hauling water
the drops between us,
sips and spills,
must be the loneliest of all
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Hey, look, I still have a blog!
...And a year and a half later, I decide to come back to it.
I got a comment notification email a couple days ago from someone I've never met, and I have absolutely no idea how she found me, but it was encouraging and uplifting and just the nudge I needed to un-abandon my blog. (Thanks, Toyah. I was confused but very touched, and I'm glad this all is worth something to someone other than me.) I'd already been thinking lately about the sort of things I usually write here, my motivations for self-examination and sharing, and wondering whether or not to come back and post some more.
I hesitated to come back, because, well, blogs are kinda silly, "for people who like to hear themselves type" as David once put it. But I've got all these thoughts, and writing them all out can only help me sort through them and maybe figure out the things I've been missing, so why not? I'm not going to start anything too big tonight, seeing as it's already pretty late, but I've got (eek!) a poem that I've been staring at for a couple hours now, and I thought I'd share. It's really just a rough draft, but I couldn't say right now if anything more will come of it any time soon. This all just sort of fell out of my head as is, and I've got a strong suspicion I won't like it much in the morning and will feel the need to pick it to pieces, but for the moment, I have no idea what to do to improve it. So:
An Inquiry into the Basic Nature of Fluids –
Water Flowing Apart
I wanted to know if water
scooped from a stream
knows what it’s lost
or does it just feel
smaller
diminished, not divided
content to fill a space
no memory of the flow
when the pitcher is poured
and you and I each hold a glass
do they know each other
sitting side by side
you could have taught me or
together we might have learned
but you’re so certain
a watchmaker’s wasted hauling water
water measured in sips and spills
must be the loneliest of all
I got a comment notification email a couple days ago from someone I've never met, and I have absolutely no idea how she found me, but it was encouraging and uplifting and just the nudge I needed to un-abandon my blog. (Thanks, Toyah. I was confused but very touched, and I'm glad this all is worth something to someone other than me.) I'd already been thinking lately about the sort of things I usually write here, my motivations for self-examination and sharing, and wondering whether or not to come back and post some more.
I hesitated to come back, because, well, blogs are kinda silly, "for people who like to hear themselves type" as David once put it. But I've got all these thoughts, and writing them all out can only help me sort through them and maybe figure out the things I've been missing, so why not? I'm not going to start anything too big tonight, seeing as it's already pretty late, but I've got (eek!) a poem that I've been staring at for a couple hours now, and I thought I'd share. It's really just a rough draft, but I couldn't say right now if anything more will come of it any time soon. This all just sort of fell out of my head as is, and I've got a strong suspicion I won't like it much in the morning and will feel the need to pick it to pieces, but for the moment, I have no idea what to do to improve it. So:
An Inquiry into the Basic Nature of Fluids –
Water Flowing Apart
I wanted to know if water
scooped from a stream
knows what it’s lost
or does it just feel
smaller
diminished, not divided
content to fill a space
no memory of the flow
when the pitcher is poured
and you and I each hold a glass
do they know each other
sitting side by side
you could have taught me or
together we might have learned
but you’re so certain
a watchmaker’s wasted hauling water
water measured in sips and spills
must be the loneliest of all
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
