Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Monday, May 15, 2006
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
a thing about commitment
What is it about me and fear?
Right now I am terrified that the people who say they care are all lying. Why I feel this, I have no idea. They have really no reason to do it unless it's part of some elaborate plot, and I'm not a real big fan of conspiracy theories. Well, except for God.
God is a conspiracy theory I can get behind.
I find that every time I let anyone close enough to me that they have the power to hurt me, there is some little trigger that flips and says - watch out. stop trusting. they don't care. not really.
I decided today that I will believe. I will believe. I am not going to screw this one up. Friends like this are hard to come by.
Right now I am terrified that the people who say they care are all lying. Why I feel this, I have no idea. They have really no reason to do it unless it's part of some elaborate plot, and I'm not a real big fan of conspiracy theories. Well, except for God.
God is a conspiracy theory I can get behind.
I find that every time I let anyone close enough to me that they have the power to hurt me, there is some little trigger that flips and says - watch out. stop trusting. they don't care. not really.
I decided today that I will believe. I will believe. I am not going to screw this one up. Friends like this are hard to come by.
Wednesday, May 3, 2006
self analysis the second; just here
I can take insults with the best of them. A few seconds to internalize, to turn a hurtful remark into constructive criticism; or to dismiss it out of hand. Years of school have taught me well. Insults, I understand. Insults, I expect. Sometimes I anticipate insults that weren't forthcoming, and I always take the first opportunity to laugh at myself. It's the whole thing about laughing and the world laughing with you. And it sure keeps you from crying.
It's compliments that I have issues with. They leave me feeling unsure and shy, not knowing what to say to convey to the person just what their words mean to me.
And I really have a problem with comments regarding my looks. Lately I have had people telling me I'm pretty. I don't know what to do with that. I have never thought of myself as pretty. I have never thought of myself in terms of my looks at all. And now, all of a sudden, I have more positive remarks than I know what to do with. I have been told that I'm "cute and smart"; someone wondered how I was still single; someone else dissected me within an inch of my life with effusive epithets that left me giddy and breathless.
I can't help but imagine whether these friendships would have been the same no matter how I looked. I've taken all my self-esteem and locked it up in a little box that can be touched by no one, including myself.
I'm so terrified of being hurt. I guess I can understand that, what surprises me is that I am still terrified. I was over all that, I'd thought. You learn to get along by yourself, building with agonizing care all the facades and the masks that keep you immune to jeers and jibes. You learn to love being by yourself; spinning imaginary conversations with people both real and imaginary, weaving this perfect alternate universe in which you are the star. And then you catch a glimpse of what it's like not to be alone and all your fantasies satisfy no longer.
Is this what they call heart-hungry?
I can't handle risk. It may seem different to someone looking in from the outside (which is an effect I have worked on right from the memorable "Can I take your picture" moment way back at the tenth standard farewell), but the truth is, I can't do anything that could end up with me getting hurt in any way, unless I've first barricaded myself in for all contingencies and covered all my bases. The one time in years that I neglected to do this, I ended up flat on my face.
Is it a message? Yes. I'm going to say it's a message that indicates that I should try to let down walls more often. Once bitten, twice shy, I know. But I'm going to have to start taking risks at some point in this existence.
I try, you know. I try to take risks. My current definition of risk is pushing boundaries of social acceptance. Flamboyant exhuberance. My decision to wear two different earrings in each ear soon after the picture incident. My decision to shave my head. Flout convention! Public ridicule, I can handle. I have. With aplomb I can make myself appear silly and childish and immature, and enjoy the fact that it's just a show. A show for people to enjoy.
I just can't let myself out. It took me a while, but I have slowly come to love myself, to love the way my mind thinks, to love talking to myself as I walk down the road, to love bursting into song and dance for no reason. I love that I can enjoy so many different things. I love that I can't stand being pigeonholed. I love that I can still be passionate about the little things.
I realized that what I'm afraid of is that no one else will love those things about me. Why the need for love? Why such a need for love? I keep thinking "desperate". I can't forgive in myself this need for self-validation from the outside. Why can't I be self-sufficient? Being dependent on someone else for my happiness scares me. Being dependent on anyone scares me. Addictions scare me. I go through phases where I go junkie on new things that capture my heart. I jump in headlong and head-first, and gorge myself until it finally becomes a surfeit; and then I can let it go with no regrets.
Now, for the first time, here's something I can't let go of with no regrets. I don't even know if I want to let go of it. I've always kept out of my emotions; tried to cauterize wounds as swiftly as possible, let things go as fast as I can. I try so hard to be perfect. I don't know why.
This is all so new. I can't grasp the idea of people liking me - actually liking me. Why is that? Why do I anticipate the time when they will tire of my enthusiasm and my fluctuating moods and fancies and leave me by myself, as always? So little self-confidence. It makes me cry. If this were a letter it would be smudged with tears by now.
I want to thank two people here (i'm always thanking people, aren't i. it's another defense mechanism. my motto is, make everyone you care about believe they are special. love is all about the little things) I want to thank two people, each of whom I've known for less than a month, but who have made me feel I'm not as worthless as I believe. A big big hug for momma and paw. A big hug, and all my love.
Loving people is so easy. Telling them so they can stomp on your heart? Now that's hard.
That was such an apt last line, wasn't it? I should by rights have ended this here. I still have to get one thing out of my system, though. The same thing that's been in my system so long.
*heap big sigh*
It's not love. Or if it is, it's the love I always feel for the kindred spirit. That swelling of my chest when I think of them, the smile on my face. To find four people like that in the space of a month when I've known perhaps only one my entire life till now can be a little overwhelming. And now; now that I have these people who can always pick me up, who understand what I'm saying, who seem (incredibly, astonishingly, exhilaratingly) to care about me for some incomprehensible reason; and I've finally relegated the imaginary one to some neglected recess of my mind; it's scary all over again. Only when you have something are you afraid of losing it. These are not the kind of things I'm likely to take for granted, thank goodness. Thank God for my peeps. Thank you, God. You did good.
And the man? I'll get over it. It'll take a while, but I will.
It's compliments that I have issues with. They leave me feeling unsure and shy, not knowing what to say to convey to the person just what their words mean to me.
And I really have a problem with comments regarding my looks. Lately I have had people telling me I'm pretty. I don't know what to do with that. I have never thought of myself as pretty. I have never thought of myself in terms of my looks at all. And now, all of a sudden, I have more positive remarks than I know what to do with. I have been told that I'm "cute and smart"; someone wondered how I was still single; someone else dissected me within an inch of my life with effusive epithets that left me giddy and breathless.
I can't help but imagine whether these friendships would have been the same no matter how I looked. I've taken all my self-esteem and locked it up in a little box that can be touched by no one, including myself.
I'm so terrified of being hurt. I guess I can understand that, what surprises me is that I am still terrified. I was over all that, I'd thought. You learn to get along by yourself, building with agonizing care all the facades and the masks that keep you immune to jeers and jibes. You learn to love being by yourself; spinning imaginary conversations with people both real and imaginary, weaving this perfect alternate universe in which you are the star. And then you catch a glimpse of what it's like not to be alone and all your fantasies satisfy no longer.
Is this what they call heart-hungry?
I can't handle risk. It may seem different to someone looking in from the outside (which is an effect I have worked on right from the memorable "Can I take your picture" moment way back at the tenth standard farewell), but the truth is, I can't do anything that could end up with me getting hurt in any way, unless I've first barricaded myself in for all contingencies and covered all my bases. The one time in years that I neglected to do this, I ended up flat on my face.
Is it a message? Yes. I'm going to say it's a message that indicates that I should try to let down walls more often. Once bitten, twice shy, I know. But I'm going to have to start taking risks at some point in this existence.
I try, you know. I try to take risks. My current definition of risk is pushing boundaries of social acceptance. Flamboyant exhuberance. My decision to wear two different earrings in each ear soon after the picture incident. My decision to shave my head. Flout convention! Public ridicule, I can handle. I have. With aplomb I can make myself appear silly and childish and immature, and enjoy the fact that it's just a show. A show for people to enjoy.
I just can't let myself out. It took me a while, but I have slowly come to love myself, to love the way my mind thinks, to love talking to myself as I walk down the road, to love bursting into song and dance for no reason. I love that I can enjoy so many different things. I love that I can't stand being pigeonholed. I love that I can still be passionate about the little things.
I realized that what I'm afraid of is that no one else will love those things about me. Why the need for love? Why such a need for love? I keep thinking "desperate". I can't forgive in myself this need for self-validation from the outside. Why can't I be self-sufficient? Being dependent on someone else for my happiness scares me. Being dependent on anyone scares me. Addictions scare me. I go through phases where I go junkie on new things that capture my heart. I jump in headlong and head-first, and gorge myself until it finally becomes a surfeit; and then I can let it go with no regrets.
Now, for the first time, here's something I can't let go of with no regrets. I don't even know if I want to let go of it. I've always kept out of my emotions; tried to cauterize wounds as swiftly as possible, let things go as fast as I can. I try so hard to be perfect. I don't know why.
This is all so new. I can't grasp the idea of people liking me - actually liking me. Why is that? Why do I anticipate the time when they will tire of my enthusiasm and my fluctuating moods and fancies and leave me by myself, as always? So little self-confidence. It makes me cry. If this were a letter it would be smudged with tears by now.
I want to thank two people here (i'm always thanking people, aren't i. it's another defense mechanism. my motto is, make everyone you care about believe they are special. love is all about the little things) I want to thank two people, each of whom I've known for less than a month, but who have made me feel I'm not as worthless as I believe. A big big hug for momma and paw. A big hug, and all my love.
Loving people is so easy. Telling them so they can stomp on your heart? Now that's hard.
That was such an apt last line, wasn't it? I should by rights have ended this here. I still have to get one thing out of my system, though. The same thing that's been in my system so long.
*heap big sigh*
It's not love. Or if it is, it's the love I always feel for the kindred spirit. That swelling of my chest when I think of them, the smile on my face. To find four people like that in the space of a month when I've known perhaps only one my entire life till now can be a little overwhelming. And now; now that I have these people who can always pick me up, who understand what I'm saying, who seem (incredibly, astonishingly, exhilaratingly) to care about me for some incomprehensible reason; and I've finally relegated the imaginary one to some neglected recess of my mind; it's scary all over again. Only when you have something are you afraid of losing it. These are not the kind of things I'm likely to take for granted, thank goodness. Thank God for my peeps. Thank you, God. You did good.
And the man? I'll get over it. It'll take a while, but I will.
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