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endless desire
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[11/21/05]
so ive become really good at giving off a particular image//
this image where i don't care what people think,
so i say the blunt thing at the awkward
moment or stroll somewhere looking
like an idiot, and it's all ok,
you know? because people
don't effect me?
right?
see: that's silly. others may have fooled me with that game before, and so i learned how to fool myself. the more i think about it, the more i see it as a way of defending against my insecurities. somehow, if i could convince myself and the world that i don't care what they think of me [or the way i dress, or the places i go, or the habits i have] then not only will their opinion not effect how i feel about myself, but maybe others will be less likely to make or voice negative opinions that they know will be unwarranted. for the longest time, i really thought this was working. i really thought i could brainwash myself into believing that i was untouchable, that no one could hurt me unless i let myself be hurt by what they've done. it's just all these walls i've kept building around myself.
and i see everything in metaphors. it helps me make sense of the world. so i imagine myself finding the safest place i could ever be in my mind, which is a place up in mammoth mountains that you can only get to on foot. but when i arrive there, i still don't feel safe, because im so lonely and exposed (ive played this senario many times in my head) so i build a stone wall in my imagination (which takes concentration if im really going to see it in my mind). it's about ten feet in diameter and made of those chilly, white stones you find by rivers. i create a twenty-foot structure surrounding me on the grass beside 1,000 Island Lake, and lie on my back, completely safe from everyone because of my castle. [but while im imagining this, i always get all itchy because the idea of lying on grass (even when surrounded by stone) makes me associate with hives, so then i have to create a quilt in my mind, usually the red one my grandma made me at birth, and lie on top of that, so i don't get itchy].
so when i said, "it's just all these walls i've kept building around myself", that's what i thought of. because ive taken myself to that place many times before when i feel uncomfortable and want to be alone. i have a very practical, proactive (and self-destructive) imagination. it punishes and rewards me. everything creates a picture in my mind; every picture can be altered; everything is an assocation, which is listed somewhere in my mind with more associations that i recall at random times. sometimes, i'll store an association in my mind and not recall it for 10 years. but, haha, other times i recall something instantly and it links me to an array of old memories. i think a lot of people are like this, but just don't know it. the easiest example i can think of is with particular CD. i will have listened to it over and over again during a certain part of my life, so whenever i hear a particular song or artist years later, it takes me back to those times. that is normal. or at least, i think it is. but my brain does that too often. everything i look at can create a million other associatinos, all linked to specific emotions that have the effect to manipulate my goddamn mood. making me very irritable--i feel like the slightest things can bring me absolute peace or absolute unhappiness.
thus, when i said, "it's just all these walls i've kept building around myself" i automatically thought of my stone wall metaphor out in mammoth mountains. ive had this metaphor for several years and if you were to go through my poetry (which is all over the place) you'd see it arises on a number of occasions. though, you would never know for certain if they're all related, because you're not in my mind. and because you probably don't give a fuck.
so i start imagining my imagination building walls around me with stone, one rock at a time, around and around. until the tower around me is unbelievably high, and all the things around me (which would literally be woods, but metaphorically be all the people im afraid are going to judge me) have no possibility of seeing/hurting/conversing/bothering me at all.
but for some reason, it starts to rain. and i didn't control that rain. sometimes my imagination just does things, and i figure it's my subconscious create something, but i really have no fucking cool. anyway, so i usually run with what my mind thinks of next, unless it is unpleasant. so it starts to rain, but ive spent all this time validifying the wall in my mind, because in order for me to visualize something in my imagination, i just have to believe it's there over and over again, until i see it. this was far easier when i was a child. anyway, it's raining, which i thought would be fun, but the tower keeps filling up. and im like, fuck it's raining and the ground's going to be all wet. but that's really the least of my concerns. so the waters filling up and i have to try to get my mind to reverse it.
but then i start thinking, hmm that's kind of interesting. the original statement, "it's just all these walls i've kept building around myself", wasn't referring to this metaphor at all, but how i defend myself against people, which made me think of the metaphor. and in the metaphor, my defenses we're just about to drown me. and i wouldn't have drowned if i had just stopped pretending that the elements couldn't hurt me, because they always can. they always have a way. why can't i just give into life and live experience the good and the bad, rather than just trying to be by myself or get fucked up so i don't have to deal with. and i wonder if the wall ive been creating in my real life is drugs, because i can retreat and be away from the majority of society and fall inward and experience the world through my disorriented state, which doesn't change the world but just my perception of it. so mean while, im perceiving the world through this twisted state that i put on myself, which somehow makes me feel excused from having to give a fuck about what anyone thinks. i mean, if i can fall behind the excuse, 'oh she's just a druggie' than my actions must have no validity? but that contradicts everything i want! i want validity. i want people to listen to me. i want them to understand who i am. but the further i allow people to understand me, the more that they often...don't. which i may have thought i wanted, but what i really like much better is when someone says, 'wow i feel the exact same way but i didn't think anyone else did'.
when i go to work everyday, i wonder, do they know? do they even have a cool who i am? the crazy things ive thought, the stupid decisions ive made, the revelations ive had about the world, the petty arguments ive held...
i wonder if i give off what i am. that's what i want to do. i mean, i want to give off a less "potent" version of who i am, because im always afraid people can't handle me.
my therapist talks about how i always think im going to "hurt" people. and i guess that's kind of true. i don't think i have positive effects on people in relationships or decisions or...rational thought process...or moralality... or anything like that. i dont know why. i just feel like i notice patterns in my life and that im never very lucky or maybe im just negative?
...
see now this is where i stop. i stop when i don't have anything concrete to say anymore, because ive thought too much. i lost my groove. but you see, usually i don't write like this. i write in poems. i take all this crap that just came out of my head and write it in chopping sentences that are scattered and full of metaphors that don't make sense. i pretty much say everything i just said right now, but in a few little columns. and make these distant sentences...and i could write a poem about a girl in the woods and a wall and a lake, and it would probably be cliche, and it probably has already been done, but somehow i would start off writing about how i felt and it would become about a girl in the woods and a wall. and then i would finish the poem off that way and get caught up about making statements about life, all by being really vague and chopping
and typing in lines
rather than
completely sentences;
and when i can throw in some
weird punctuation//that follows
my train of thought better.
& i'll write about the girl
in the woods
& i'll write about what im
feeling
& i'll feel successful
because i wrote a poem.
when the whole time i just thought all of that shit in like 10 minutes.
that's why im a fucking quack.
and that's why im done pretending im not.
because im sick of trying to make people like me.
why would i care if someone liked me if i wasn't actually being me???
it reminds me of those people who make fake myspaces or livejournals
with someone elses pictures, or better yet! a celebrity's picture!
and then all these people are like, 'oh you're so pretty!'
and they're like, 'yay thanks so much!'
and then you find out it's fake.
and i wonder, why the hell did someone spend that much time to pretend
to be someone else. because it's not as though those compliments can make them
feel any better about themselves if it's not actually about them?
i mean, they have to have some sick control issues
or something.
and i judge that.
and i shouldn't judge that. but i do.
when this whole time, i make about a million facades
hoping they will like me
but pretending i dont care.
but if they do like me as a person, and it's not who i really am, isn't that just as bad as though damn fake picture posters?
never mind.
god
blah
im deleting this shit as soon as im sober. damnit.
and you know what im thinking right now? im thinking, why did i just write all of this? im thinking, should i reread this? i mean, what about all those random people who added me from random communities who are going to think im a quack. and my first reaction is, well they won't read it anyway. and my second reaction is, well what if they do? damnit. and my third reaction is, well i don't give a fuck!
and my fourth and final reaction, ladies and gentlemen, is, that's what this entire post was supposed to be about!
and THAT, my friends, is how you come full circle.
jdfkljdsklz; goodnight.
actually, it's three PM. and i called in sick to work. and im going to go outside and have a cigarette.
because that will make me feel better.
and that's a sad thing.
i could get used to this.
just writing whatever the fuck i want to.
i usually reserve my journal for where i have something meaningful to say.
but i could just do this for ages.
and the funniest part about it is, i'll probably wonder who actually read this. and who thinks what. and then i'll realize that im incredibly self-absorbed. and then i'll realize im still typing when ive been resolved to stop and have a cigarette paragraphs ago.
goddamnit.
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061025
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