NOSTALGIA IS A WEAPON

So I’m having a bad night. But in this badness I see a clarity, a question I want to ask. This is not fishing, you don’t have to comment if you don’t want to. Here’s the question: Why do you like me? What about me makes me a like-able person? Or in the instance that we’re friends: What qualities about me make us friends? Why do you enjoy my company?

I’m just sitting here, mulling over myself, and I just wonder: Why do I have so many wonderful friends when all I can see is a constant fuck-up? I haven’t accomplished anything with my life. What’s my worth? I ask only because I can’t see it myself, my reason for living. I’m all for the constant betterment of self, but I see nothing that I’ve done to better myself that’s worthwhile. What am I to you? Hard question, I know,  but all answers will be appreciated. I just…. I need to find a way to define myself, and since I can’t come up with a definition on my own, I look to you to help.

Who wants to hear about the really stupid thing I did? I hope that’s everybody, ’cause here we go: (more…)

So this is my 100th post, and I feel like I should have something important to say. Yet the only thing I can think is that I’ve been writing too much. I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether that’s true or not. I’ve been in and out of two relationships at this point, and made no further distance in my place in the world. I feel like I’ve failed, and I also feel like I’ve made some sort of movement. I’ve grown closer to friends that had become distant, I’ve gotten help for my disease (and that’s what it is, dammit, a disease), and I know where I DON’T want to be. So maybe that’s progress.

Either way, I owe a lot to you, my readers. Without some of you I wouldn’t have made the little bit of progress that I have. This post is meant to represent a “thank you”, to Enjelani, Msmo423, Trump48257, Random, and Syndromes. When I have no one left in the world, you guys are still there, and I cannot thank you enough for that. You’re the reason this blog will continue to be, through good and bad. Thanks, guys.

So we just hold on fast

acknowledge the past

as lessons exquisitely crafted

painstakingly drafted

to carve us as instruments

that play the music of life

Last entry is proof-positive that I should not post whilst having a panic attack, given that I end up writing as though I’ve consumed a pound of magic mushrooms. Yeah, I get a little weird when I’m freaking out. Lesson learned.

I just spent the last hour talking to a good friend whose asshole boyfriend just broke up with her. On her fucking birthday. No reasonable discussion, just a “I’ve met someone else and I don’t want you in my life anymore, don’t ever speak to me again” situation. There is such a thing as a good way to break up with someone, and that’s surely not fucking it.

In the course of our conversation, I spewed out the following:
From what I can tell you took the extra steps to try and make it work because you really wanted it to, and how can you fault yourself for that? It makes you exemplary that you were willing to do that for someone. Most people don’t give a shit, and you gave more of yourself than most. That speaks a great deal about what a wonderful person you are.

For the first time I’m thinking that maybe I should take my own medicine. Maybe I really did everything I could to salvage my failed relationship, and maybe I shouldn’t blame myself for it anymore. I’m not saying I’m a wonderful person, far from it, but maybe I’m not always the fuckup I think I am.

That or I just need sleep.

I feel on the verge of something. Something great, maybe. I’m raw and fractured. There’s this dam inside that’s just waiting to burst. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells, and I’m scared, I’m scared of a misstep that will cause me, not them, to break. There’s something there, on the tip of my tongue, some sort of brilliance and I’m reaching, reaching, reaching and I just can’t reach far enough because no I can’t reach it. The flowers my mother has planted have grown nicely, their little purple petals waving at me, and each one cuts me like a sharp broken edge of glass. Beauty hurts and there’s this goddamn itch that I can’t find, can’t scratch and it won’t go away. This pain is here, too, it started in my stomach, but it’s tiny tendrils have reached out and twisted around everything. It’s there in the clenching of my teeth, in my lungs as I feel short of breath. It’s there in the fact that there’s nobody to call, no one is awake, there’s no one there. I cannot smoke these cigarettes fast enough. And here it is again, that brilliance, that epiphany, that realization and again I’m reaching, reaching, reaching and…..

It’s cold and I am alone and I am lonely.

When my brother told me yesterday that he was having a party, I panicked. Parents out of town + brother having a party = not good. He says it’s a small party. How small, I ask. Oh, maybe fifteen people, says he. Fifteen people is not small. More panicking. It’s fine, he says. And then adds: oh, can you buy us alcohol? Yikes.

So I worried about this damn party all day, but when the hour of 9 finally came, six people showed up. And they didn’t want to drink, so I didn’t have to buy them alcohol. And one of them brought some weed. Which of course I am totally down with, having been good and sober for two months. We smoked, they played video games, I drank a lot of red wine and stayed up till 7 am when I suddenly realized it was daylight outside. So the big party turned out to be nothing, and I’m sure the hair I pulled out worrying about said party will grow back in a few weeks. Hooray!

Can you tell how incredibly bored I am? And that I’ve been reading Miss Doxie?

This is particularly damning for AT&T. Cooperating with the government in using illegal wiretaps on millions of Americans? Bad move, guys. Major props are due to Qwest and T-Mobile for refusing the NSA. I’d switch based on that were I not stuck in a Verizon contract.

The meat of the issue is this: whose right is it to listen in on my private phone conversations, or read where I’ve been on the internet? I don’t want to hear any bullshit about protecting America, this is outright “Big Brother” behavior. Yes, I can agree that we needed more security after 9/11 etc., but between this and the Patriot Act we’re talking about stripping away, bit by bit, the freedoms we enjoy as Americans. Having just seen V For Vendetta last week, this doesn’t point to good things for our future. Do I want someone telling me how to think, how to behave? Fuck no.

Playing devil’s advocate, do I have a better suggestion for national security? No, I don’t. I don’t know how to separate the millions of people from the few that need watching. But I think there simply has to be a better option.

This daily (and sometimes hourly, it seems) posting has gotta stop. I’m likely to become boring soon. Methinks I need a life.

The new therapist is definitely a thumbs-up! Very personable, very intelligent, slightly sarcastic and amusing. She seemed to pick up on where I was coming from immediately, and prompted me to talk about things I wouldn’t normally have brought up on a first visit. I can’t see her again until June, but in the meantime she wants regular emails and phone calls to let her know how I’m doing, and to help establish a relationship. Yay!

I found this article fascinating. I’m all for the use of drugs like ecstasy for terminally ill patients. Nothing wrong with providing a better quality of living while you’re still here, though I do think the argument about altering peoples’ consciousness is an interesting one. However, having used drugs of this kind, I’d say it’d be more of a positive thing than a negative one. If it really makes you feel better for the short time you’re still alive, then does it really matter that it’s drug-induced? If I argue against that, I might have to argue against the prescription drugs I take every day.

Now if they’d only do more testing on hallucinogens for psychiatric purposes…

So that damn enemy really has returned, as I’m now in a full-on depressive state. I’ve been all about obsessing past failures and the way I’m going to fuck up the future, what a bad friend I’ve been to many a person, and how I just hate myself in general. I’ve also come very close to crying several times in the last few days, which almost never happens. There was a period where I didn’t cry for something like eight years, and yet I’ve felt my eyes welling up more than once recently. I hate crying. I know lots of people consider it a release, but it just makes me feel sick, sometimes to the point of throwing up. I’d just rather not, thanks.

Guess the Zoloft isn’t working as well as I’d thought.

New therapist visit tomorrow, wish me luck.

(My mother, with not one drop of racism in her, after seeing a news article alleging police brutality (which included some choice quotes)):

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna become a cop so I can beat some black people ass!”

I laughed so hard I almost peed. I mean, WTF, Mom? I suppose it’s one of those “had to be there” moments, but if you know my mother then you know how funny and ridiculous that is.

In other news, I just updated the “about” page with a few bits, but let’s face it, I’m awful at describing myself. I’m looking at you, dear readers, to give me suggestions on things to add to it. Any input is welcome.