I have worked so hard, put in so many hours on the painting, and on the small viking outfit. why would I be disapointed when they are done, because then I can not avoid the truth. . .
the truth. . . I find I can't write it now that I know someone can read it. Doesn't matter how much trust I think I have, I can't bring myself to do it. I pretend that it isn't real, but then sometimes I believe it isn't real.
why is it that teddybears get smaller as you grow up?
Avoidance. . . that is the word for it.
for days now I have tried not to write. tried not to feel, tried to keep myself so busy that there was no time to think, no time to ponder,no time to imagine.
It is amazing the muse that it creates for me. Like the heartache of the incredible poets, the frustration and longing of great singers, the issues that plauge the artist, I can accomplish so much during avoidance. My artistic side thrives. Perhaps that is why I have always thrived off of being so busy that I didn't have time to realize, I only had time to do, perhaps that was/is my motivation.
You dwell excessively on past memories, particularly the bad ones. You blame yourself for your faults, and fear being a bad person. You can be delusional and paranoid, yet hide these things from others and bury your feelings deep, where you can revive them to dwell on them later. You need to stop dwelling on the past, and look to the future.
Ah it is Douglas Adams who said something entirely brilliant along the lines of if the universe were ever to be figured out or explained that it would immediately be taken away and replaced with something far more complex and bizarre, and that some believe this has already happened. It would seem that I have defined what it is like so it has been replaced with something far more confusing and bothersome. Today while in the shower, I felt the need to have it cold. Not freezing drizzle cold, or even was in the refrigerator cold, just a luke warm bordering on colder than that. However when I came to place my hair under this cold water. The temperature difference just above my occipital ridge cause constriction of the blood vessels within my head, this caused a sensation that is previously unknown. It also caused my knees to give way, only for me to catch myself half way to bottom of the tub. I am shaken and nervous and am more convinced that I am at that time where it can not be denied and that I will have to seek medical attention.
My husband confronted me today about having something going on and not telling him. I eventually told him and he is of the notion that my parents need to be informed and that testing should start immediately. Why does that frighten me?
what it is like. . . that wave of forboding comes, not like a tital wave, or hitting a brick wall, but like the gentle tide rolling in, or perhaps likend to when a frog is set in luke warm water that is slowly heated and they don't even realize they are being cooked. It comes in slowly if you watch and fast if you aren't paying attention. Then it speaks to me. It asks me to give in, I tell it no. It tells me of how if I give in I would be helped, I would be safe, I would be found. I tell it about all the horrible things that would happen. All the tests and people who would be frightened. It then demands, I then refuse. eventually it decides the game is no fun and either goes away or it takes me unwillingly. If if takes me, I am siezed by a light weakness in all my muscles. I find it hard to move, but I still can. during this incredibly short period of time, my body tempurture raises, the whole world goes fuzzy, I try ever so hard to unlock my knees and lean gently to the side that looks less painful, my eyes roll back in my head and I collapse. from the moment I start to fall I can not move anything. I am not certain that I even feel anything, but my mind is still there. still alert and aware. I hit the ground, more gently now after practice and learning how to best prepair in the short time I have. If my eyelids to do not entirely close while I am leing on the ground, tears will form and roll down my face to keep my eyes clean. Then I have however long to think. I often think of who is nearby and how to give them a believable lie that they need not be worried when I come out of it. I often meditate, I often daydream, or think about things that I want to tell people or want to hear from people. and the time passes. suddenly I gasp, a huge intake of air, I must not breath enough while unable to move. That is also when the pain of falling, hitting whatever, bruising hits me (this is where that tsumami, brick wall discription comes in well) . If very painful I will curl up in fetal position and lay there. if not I tend to sit hunched over my knees. most of the time I am too weak to stand immediatly.
my confidence in myself is week.
I truely felt like I was going to find the inner strength to talk about it with the medical profesion and that I was going to do it in the morning. it is morning now. four am. I no longer have the will. I no longer have the desire. I do not want to do the tests. I don't want to spend all that time and money for so many tests. I don't want to be poked and prodded in ways that no human should have to endure. I don't want the baffled looks. I don't want the fear in relitives and friends. I don't want to cause that scene. I don't want to start that uproar. I don't want to tell anyone, and I am ashamed for having already told those who know. I should not do that to them. It isn't right.
My breasts have hurt for the last two or three nights, natually the first place my mind went was to pregancy. Any woman in childbearing age thinks first of that when anything, anything at all is wrong. But there is no child developing in my womb. After confirming this no child thing, I began to ponder other possible sources of feeling like I might be pregnant. . .
Are memories meant to save us from the same mistakes, or are the meant to hinder our ability to face the future unprejudiced? I am not certain, but I am vividly now recalling a time when I was convinced I was pregnant. Test after test for so many months revealed nothing. Everyday I felt a little worse but never so bad that it warrented seeking help. My body tried to warn me then, it is trying to warn me now, before it is too late and the damage is permanent. I know there is something wrong and haniously I recognize the symptoms.
Why am I so terrified to share this? Why am I so afraid to believe in these? So it might be years of useless testing, that leads everyone to believe that I am merely depressed and making a grand illuision for attention, It might also be that I say something and they find it, long before the pain starts long before it is years of continual major medical effort to bring life back to a semblence of an order that is still never the same. why would I be afraid of preventing that? and if I am not afraid, why can't I simply call up the doctor and tell him, tell him everything.
I know that is what I need to do, today when I realised yet one more thing that brings me full circle I knew it was time to say something. to do something.
All I really want to do is cry out for a nice safe cage. I feel like custer the cowardly dragon. I cry for a nice safe cage, but when the real danger is there I shall simply take care of it, Do what I must. and I guess now I must.
I am trying to convince myself here. I know I should, I know I could, but I don't know if I will. It would help immensely if I could hear your words of encouragment or discouragement. Or maybe just your words. . . You know who you are my audience of one, you know I expect to hear nothing unless I ask. I am asking. I value your emotional support, and want your strength behind me as I face again the things that have become my greatest fears.
oh what tangled webs we weave when at first we practice to decieve.
I was overcome at work, they found me, they told my husband
the next night I was overcome by pain. I went to the ER, but could not tell them of the fantoms that attack me. they found a bladder infection, they found some reason for pain. so I have seen the doctor like I told my employer I would. I though it was a win win situation, but now my employer would like a note saying I am fine and can work safetly. Now how to accomplish getting this doctors note without connfessing of my latest brushes with unconciousness, and not alarming my family I am uncertain.
Ah, here I am again, unable to tell anyone. The universe is against me speaking my mind, against me sharing this thought, this line of reasoning. Is it my mind that causes this error, do I have that much control? I know someone knows this url, that my audience of one cares deep enough to be hurt by what it is I write. To be confussed and unable to help. Or to help by telling someone to question the truth, to force upon me the help that I may need. Perhaps I fear that my audience is more than one. That I have inadvertantly left a trace that is eassy to follow to those who would not be kind, who would not be helpful, who would not respect my privacy or come to me about what it is that they have found and what it is that they have read. yes, I fear that more. I fear that if it has been found, thye are reading it in secret, laughing behind my back at my pathetic state, never letting on that they can read my inner soul, that they have found my true illusion of honesty. Simply reading it uncencered, unfeeling, calliously taking my fears for granted, as if feelings were something that don't actually exsist in other humans. ah, and that is why I try not to feel. I am endlessly poor at trying not to have emotions, to be purely logical, yet loving and lovable.
why can't I publish this? Is it wrong? is it only a further self deceptive lie?
is it beacuse someone is likely to read it and do something?
isn't that the point?
then why do I fight it?
why don't I give in myself? to go tell them what is going on?
seek the help
end the bruising
end the confusion
ok I give up I'll publish in the morning
Sleep will not overtake me tonight, as much as I desire it. It is an illusive dream, a fantasy that is just out of reach. Perhaps it is the drugs keeping me a wake, but more likely it is my mind, on it's never ending track through my brain trying to decipher the questions of how and why and if. Tonight it rests squarely on the ideas of the "blackouts" or the times when my body seems to maintain conscious thought while temporarily disconnecting all voluntary control. I am terrified to tell anyone. Afraid that they are not real, that there is no medical purpose. I seem convinced that all the medical tests in the world would find no reasoning, leaving me drained and exhausted and humiliated. Why would I seem so convinced that there is no medical reason? Is it perhaps that it is all an illusion, not in a conscious sense but more of my psyche crying out that I am in need of medical attention. "If you give in they will find you, they will help you," Is that what it meant? Is it I, in some higher form creating the necessity to seek medical attention for things I would not, myself, notice, for things that are generally undetectable? And if it is than all of this is really in my head, and in an odd cosmic way they would have been telling me the truth all along. “It’s all in your head, you are making it up for attention.”
Only the type of attention indicated is not at all the type I may be trying to achieve. Years before GPS over took my body, nearly shutting the system down permanently, I cried out like this. I knew there was something wrong, I could feel it in my body mind and energy. I tried to warn me. I tried to help me seek the attention needed. But I gave in willingly to it then.
Now I can not seem to give in willingly, emotionally battered from the time before. I know they are there. I know they speak loudly to my soul, and I can not bare to make it conscious. I will not give in willingly and it will not allow me to push it off, to ignore it. Am I that in need of its voice, of its warning, of its desperate attempts to bring me into the hands of those who may be able to help?
Is that why it starts slow and becomes more frequent? Is that why I can feel it wanting to take me over in places where it can not and will not be overlooked. Is that why it calls at work, at the park, during the carnival? Is it that keenly aware that if not seen I will not tell? Is that why there must be bruises and marks?
As a continual reminder that it will be seen, that someone will question and the truth will come out? Or if not the truth at least the reason will be detected and treated. After all isn’t that why it is here?
Social analyst say that there are currently three major trends unfolding in American society today.
First, the number of voluntary pregnancies has risen, secondly, growing numbers of people are getting married, and third, people are switching religions?or belief systems?at unprecedented rates.
Some say it?s the war, others a form of subdued mass hysteria, and some even suggest that a collective fear response to the contemplated possibilities of massive deaths due to war might account for this behaviour. As if people possesed an internal mechanism that incites them to replenish their numbers when treathened.
People are also skipping the traditional wedding ceremony, and are either eloping, or just obtaining a marriage license.
andy quinones
Aha! Blu Iguana has touched on the very issue which is near and dear to me. Whether or not symbolism has lost it's effect ,for me, is moot. I do not know what the American experience is ( I live in Trinidad), but certainly people use symbolism as justification for the fact they they are ignorant of the origin and reason behind a concept.
Funerals, weddings, and worship are made into near commercial events with the trappings, clothes and props taking centre stage. This is all well and good for the parasitic industries which prey on people's reliance on ceremony , the decorators, the caterers, the dress designers, the wedding cake baker.... but if we just step back for a moment and examine the import of what is transpiring , we may well concluse as the great playwright did, that all the world is a stage and that our most important life decisions are merely fantasy based for the pleasure of the audience.
In my opinion, the greatest single failure of American education is that people come away unable to distinguish between a symbol and the thing the symbol stands for.
Marriage:
Early in our history, marriage simply didn't exist, in fact it is a relatively recent development (by "recent" I mean after the dinosaurs died and before the Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan show). Marriage was originally conceived (no pun intended) as a way to signal the presence of a special bond between two people. At that time, marriage had no special significance itself, it was merely a social signaling device, and to some extent it also represented a contract with mutual obligations . In those times marriage stood as a mere symbol for something of actual substance -- a relationship between people that would have existed whether or not the symbol of marriage was also present .
Today marriage (the symbol) has become a thing in its own right, in some cases (and in some minds) replacing the thing it once only represented. It has become a multi-billion dollar industry, and only the most perceptive individuals remember that it was supposed to have symbolized something more important, more fundamental than itself -- a particular kind of human relationship. This reversal of symbol and thing has become so profound that one commonly hears a remark like "Marriage is what I really want!" as though marriage were anything more than a weather forecast or a road sign.
Naturally enough, this confusion of empty symbols and actual things has led to a rather well-documented disenchantment with that institution, even though the disenchantment is based on an error in perception. The reality of a human relationship between people (usually) of opposite sexes is quite different from the packaged perception called up by the word "marriage," to the degree that people often forget that they will have to build the thing (a human relationship) after achieving the symbol for the thing (marriage).
Then, after people waste precious time seeking "marriage" and discovering that marriage is nothing by itself, they complain they have been failed by "marriage." This is advanced puppetry, and no one seems willing to follow the strings.
But marriage itself (as it is practiced in modern times), by virtue of having taken on a life of its own, is in its turn a symbol for something more basic: We live in a time where symbols for things have largely replaced the things themselves , and this tendency exists in direct proportion to people's inability to distinguish between symbols and things.
From Blu
borrowed from weblog http://andyquinones.blogspot.com/
My will was not enough. I held out for two hours. but at 6pm it took me and I lay on the floor aware but unable to move, not breathing as well as I should. I knew they were looking for me, that my client was waiting. We, my internal voice and I, went round and round before it took me. I keep talking to it hoping to distract it. It kept talking to me telling me I had to give in, that I couldn't resist. several times it nearly came and somehow I stopped it. finally we were nearly yelling at each other. I said, "not unless you take me by force!" it said, "fine" and then I collapsed.
I am fighting hard now. trying to resist, I have to work now. I can't call in sick, I just told them I would be there. I prayed that my massage would cancel but it won't. What if my will won't work? what if I can't hold out? what if I am the wolf?
The boy who cryed wolf. . . was that what I am afraid of? is that why I can not tell anyone? I cryed wolf so many times, when they came to look they only saw sheep, perhaps a rabbit. It is not that I thought it was a joke or that there was no wolf. It is that the wolf was in sheep clothing. He gently stole away one sheep at a time untill the heard was gone. until there was nothing to watch, nothing to defend. The shepard was left with only the rabbit and no sence of purpose. What does a shepard do with out sheep?
Now that I have new sheep, and everyone knows for certain that there really was a wolf, they look closely but still only see the sheep and still vididly recall not believing, and still do not believe. I will not call, I can not call for them to see the rabbit, and miss the wolf hiding benieth the hides of what he has already massacured.
Time. . . space. . . irrelevancy?
Every path I can imagine would make me happy, aside from the one where I sit here and do nothing, never decide which path to take. My heart is everywhere. I like Mankato and I love the jobs I have here, But I yern to be in Troumald, this tiny little town where I could commune with nature on a regular basis, Where I am nearly smothered by the best of friends and family. . . .hmm. . . is that a fruedian slip? smothered? Do I fear being smothered and pushed back into the person that everyone thought I was?? or is that what I long for?
I was really happy. . . almost every moment of everyday I was happy. And now, although I am not necessarily unhappy, I don't walk around a goofy grin, but at the same time I hid a terrifing illness, afraid that noone would believe me. . . and I didn't want that kind of attention. I wanted eveyone to remember me as this incredible smiling. . .
There is no direct yerning in my soul at this moment. No aching need. I feel almost healed, temporarily free from the symptoms of emotional unrest. My body and mind sorted somthing out whilst I slept the other day. Apparently it was what I needed although I am not entirely certain what it was that was sorted out. I drempt of being alone. . . with someone, of being alone with my desire, yet I was not permitted the chance. Everything I may have wanted could be handed to me if we could but find the time without our families.. . Our families were always keeping us in our familiar roles, keeping us from exploring what we would have definatley explored without their constant presence. Apparently the desires family was more so present than mine and my parents more so than my husband and son
It's not a family trait.
It's nothing that I ain't
and it didn't come from scaling with holey rollers
it's an early warning sign
it keeps my life in line
but it's so hard to define
never mind.
It's just a spirit thing
it's just a holey nut
it's like a circut judge in the brain
It's just a spirit thing
It's here to guard my heart
It's just a little hard to explain.
it pushes when I quit
it smells a counterfit.
sometimes it works a bit like a teliprompter
when it's teliprompting you
I pray you let it through
and I'll help you with the how
but for now
It's just a spirit thing
it's just a holey nut
it's like a circut judge in the brain
It's just a spirit thing
It's here to guard my heart
It's just a little hard to explain
I hate my family. I hate the way they interact. I am not sure what changed, but they are petty and jeous and hurtful. I no longer want to be around them. I no longer want to hear there witty comments and playfully snide remarks. Why can't they be nice? Why can't they see the good in it? Why do I care?
You know that space between sleep and awake? that is where everything was gained and lost. I am left uncertain of all the things I was certain of and pondering things that no one else seems to have experienced. What about those utterly familiar "alien landscapes" or the picture of the tree in the wind where I could see the seprate molecules, like tiny rectangles all perpetually in motion, locked into a continually changing shape? What do they mean? Why are they so vidid yet unreachable? why are they filling my thoughts now, when I barely gave them a second glance then? I mean after the fact. I know I stared wide eyed unable to look away when I was there, and yet it didn't seem odd then. Merely breath takingly beautiful. . . I can not forget, but I can not wholey remember
perhaps I was ment to die during the coma, without saying goodbye, without changing my life. without questioning my truths. Perhaps I am still here by mistake. Perhaps I am only here because of kicking and screaming and refusing to go. If I had gone then I would have lived an exeplory life. One that would be envied. One that everyone would be able to praise at my funeral. Now I am a mess. I am only a shell of what I used to be. I am frightened and confused and unsure. if't not having what you want it is wanting what you have. I had that. true happiness. Now all I have is questions. As if my god has left me, as if he said, if you are going to stay here then you will learn the hard way. Perhaps I should have left when the leaving was good. Now noone could say anything about me other than that I was sick and it fucked up my life. I was strong and I lived through it but I was never the same, never as happy, never as carefree, never as friendly, never without my hidden demons that don't hide well at all. It is all I can do to wonder why I couldn't have left peacefully into a peaceful place. Why would I have been left here with nothing more than a broken will, and a scared, frightened, unforgivable mind? what purpose could it have? what need could there be of my innsolence and contempt for my great wealth of family, friends, and good fortune? why can I not be what I once was?
I'm disapointed. I have been online for several hours dicussing plans to leave my husband for one of my girlfriends. She would have made a great wife, she was going to leave tonight and get here in time for us to take off for the weekend and get to know each other better, but she can't leave. there is too much at stake for her. oh well it would have been interesting.
yup, I am bisexual. I haven't actually tried anything lesbian, but it doesn't scare me, it doesn't discust me, in fact it very much so intruiges me. Logically there are all all sorts of reasons that it is easier and better to live with a woman. I want to feel breasts and see what it is that is so enticing about them. I want to feel a clit in my tounge and understand what it is that makes a woman squirm so with so little action. There are so many reasons. I think I am bisexual because I still have a strong need to have the rough passion of a man's cock deep within me. yup, I think I could leave my husband for a woman, but still occasionally take a man into my bed.
It happened again. Twice. and this time it left bruises. I told everyone that I had no idea where they were from. It doesn't matter that I fight it anymore. It still takes me. It stilll forever leaves me shaken and moody and longing for the few peaceful months when there was nothing and there was no internal battle with myself. I keep telling me that it is all in my head that if I believe hard enough that I can change it. That I can hold it off. Sometimes it works. The conversation at work ended with my will winning. Why does it sometimes listen and other times say enough and just take me if I am standing or not. Why do I no have the power to just give in anymore. I used to save myself all the pain and lay down when I could feel it comming. It saved the bruises, It saved the pain, it saved the explainations. but because there were no marks no one believed me and maybe that is why I fight, because I want there to be proof and a record even if noone knows about it now.
today at work I had an internal conversation with myself.
"it is coming"
"now is not a good time"
"it is starting"
"I don't want it to start"
"you should give in to prevent the pain"
"I should resist to prevent the confusion"
"you should give out and let it come"
"they do not need to know"
"you should give in here and now, there is logic to it and help immediatley"
"they do not need to know, it doesn't need to happen"
"it can take you over by force"
"It can wait"
"now is a good time"
"I will not go"
"you may not have a choice"
"I will not go, not willingly"
"if you give in now you would fall safetly, with the least amount of damage done"
"if I give in now it makes a big mess of confusion and explaining"
"if you give in now you will not have to face the weekend"
"if I give in now I will miss the fun"
"let it happen"
"not willingly"
It did not come, but it is always there and will not leave. Not until I let it come and let it go.
There was so much to say and no one I wanted to tell. I want to hide away in a secret little cave that is my mind, only I don't like it there either. I am neither good nor bad. I am neither right nor wrong. I am neither loved nor hated. I am niether.
Thursday, July 25, 2002
