I’m not afraid of commitment, of getting lost in someone. I’m afraid of getting lost in someone who is unable or unwilling to get lost in me.
Spent part of the weekend moving the furniture up into my room. More furniture, yet somehow the room seems bigger. I should be happy that this process is finally getting done, but I’ve found I’m quite discontent. I’m convinced that there are memories residing within this woodwork, living/breathing memories that I’m not really in the mood to face. Too bad, apparently; here they are, sitting right in front of my face wearing bright neon jumpsuits and waving their arms while screaming “Look at me! Look! Right here! Me!”.
Good lord, it’s been over six months and, despite my attempts, I’m still not completely over this. Yep, Mitchell keeps entering the picture. I bet you’re all as sick of hearing about him as I am. Like it or not, he seems to be popping up in various places lately. My therapist and I think we’ve stumbled onto a small revelation: my sleep problem may be related to the absence of someone there to hold me (hence: since Mitchell left my sleep has been off). All the more reason to be putting myself out there in hopes of finding someone new, except that I’ve become a hermit as of late. Not really in the mood for that kind of thing. The whole Charlie mess really bothered me.
Back to work. Rick’s been parking in the driveway for the last three weeks while my boxed possessions take up his spot in the garage. Now that we’ve got the furniture moved it’s time to clean out the boxes. Oh boy, do I have a lot of shit. Now that I’m on a deadline it’s all about emptying and shelving, rather than sorting and positioning. It’s maddening, truly maddening for me to shove random books on a shelf un-alphabetized and unorganized. There’s time for that later, I suppose. Still, it feels like I’m taking one mess and, instead of just cleaning it up, making another in its wake. Frustration. Sigh.
Tonight is one of those nights when I feel I am truly alone. There’s this overwhelming feeling that, no matter how great a support system I have, I’ll always fail because I’m incapable of holding myself up. I’m hyperemotional. I’m on the verge of tears, and I have no idea why. I really don’t feel all that down, all things considered. Just alone.
There’s this constant monologue running in my head, the voice that does all my thinking for me. Lately I’ve been unable to make it shut the hell up, and it’s getting rather exhausting. I need a break from myself, if that makes sense. I need other things to occupy my mind with so I can silence the perpetual commentary.
I’ve also been bandying about this idea about my relationships with other people. I’m grateful for the fact that I have people out there who love and care for me. But, in addition to the wonderful comfort, there’s this other side. Being loved is terrifying, and painful. It means that I can fail people. One of my greatest fears lies in the failing of others, the possibility that I’ll be the bad friend/son/lover/etc. That, no matter how hard I try, I’ll fuck it up, or that the effort will not be good enough.
Sigh. This was supposed to be an entry linking to Zefrank’s video blog. I spent several hours there today, laughing and appreciating his perspective. Wit combined with intelligence go a long way with me. I think I’ve developed a small internet crush.
So yeah, go check out his site. Sorry about all the other stuff. I’m just in a mood.