Gotta journal it, and obscurely no less...so yeah, definitely skip this if your're reading, as it'll make NO sense to anyone but me
It was so cold it hurt to breathe today. During my lunch window, I made a phone call re: MBPD-$ that was sooo awful I actually cried. I don't cry. I'm not an irrational OR emotional person like that by nature. But that phone call, and the person with whom I spoke, reached deep inside me, found the soft spot, and plucked it out. Frothing from this sad-fest, I poured out my "current situation" which put me where I was this afternoon; stressed, running a higher fever, and worked OUT. Dunno if it was the tone of voice or WHAT; but every "issue" I have just regurgitated all over the poor voice on the other end of the phone.
Yeahhhhh, I'm winning the "minimizing-stress" game. Jesus. Who did I honestly think I was fooling? I soldier on, however, honestly clinging to the notion that believing truly is half of being. And if I believe I'm "well" then I will be. No man is an island, and yet watch me do my volleyball with a Sharpie trick. I'm good at that. It got so bad, in fact that I told him "Ya know, THIS IS NOW one of my only social outlets. How does that make YOU feel?"
I really am losing it. I want to label myself manic-depressive even though all my doctors piled in one room would disagree. How do they know?! I'm good at showing the world (in real life) who I want them to see. I can play happy like nobody I've ever met, and am the best at it, bar none. What's sickening about this, I realized tonight, is that I'm finally forced to ask myself: Why do I "play happy" when I'm really not? (Again, this is real life.) I've come up with several answers, but none of them seem to "fit" the way I view myself, which has proven to be so frustrating. Yes, I like my hermit-ish lifestyle. I really do. Yes, I do have a handful of phone numbers I can call if I /need/ to. No -- I NEVER call those numbers, especially when I need to. It's all rolled and stitched neatly into that thespian happy package I've got going on. While it proves most helpful in the workplace, socially I'm almost flat-lining. I've chosen this. I vehemently protest that I love it (nay -- I FIGHT to stay this way), and yet days like today come from out of the clear blue sky, forcing me to look closely into the mirror that is me. Do many people do this? Do people evaluate, check, examine, wonder, LOOK, pontificate and then, articulate what they see staring back at them?
So much for affirmation. And here I go. No one on the outside can give me the *right* affirmation; that has to come from me. I have to love myself before I can love others. If I'M not happy, no one with me will be either. I have to take care of things myself, because I wouldn't wish this hell on anyone. To thine own self be true.
This horseshit may be true, but what I've horribly neglected to do is make room for other people, while chanting THOSE mantras for YEARS.
It all has roots, which I'll forego in this entry (since again, I know from where they came and why). But at what point do I change? HOW do I change? People WANT to like me, and befriend me. It's so obvious; at work, here at the condo...everywhere I go, the "regular stops" know what I want, they smile when they see me, and I always...ALWAYS feel like a human fraud. Like I'm a cyborg, going through the happy-face motions, but no real feeling put behind the smile. I could say that I'm over-analyzing it, but no. My life is proof of this. Just because things happen, and weird occurrences just ARE in my world doesn't mean I'm at all a social creature.
It doesn't hurt that my inner masochist is trying to kill me; and succeeding. After whacking myself over the head with one, irrefutable truth, what did I do today first thing? Had a dream last night about a get-together in an Italian restaurant. The attendants (and the dream) are inconsequential; the fact is, I made contact with someone poisonous (and also, someone I swore not to ever make FIRST contact with again). In some sick, twisted way, I'm perpetuating my own little hell. What's worse is that I don't know how to stop it. Because throughout my whole self-discovery phase, that whole "why are men crazy" year that I took off from dating, and all the research, time and effort I've spent in one direction has entrapped me there, clutching me with its unforgiving arms, and not allowing me to explore healing.
I need to heal. And I don't know how. But I do know that since I have the whole I'm FINE solo thing down to what can only be dubbed an art, I should get busy with that healing thing. I've got to STOP taking sleeping meds at unGodly hours just to "avoid" the rest of the day. I've got to stop "refusing" invitations because I prefer the solitude of home, when I need the stimulation of others. But most important, if I don't DO THIS, I have no doubt I'm killing myself.
Chaos theory and living in it
I also realized today (woo...the past 12 hours have just been one, huge epiphany) that in almost every serious aspect of my life, I absolutely, totally avoid anything unpleasant. Unless it happens HERE. How STUPID and CRAZED is that?! I looked back through my entries, reading my ramblings about this, that, the other, and although for the most part, I'm goofy and semi-happy (at the worst, satisfied), the anger I do feel manifests HERE. Not in real life. Not at work. Not with the people with whom I come in contact daily. Definitely not directed towards those who so richly deserve it. I've gotta face the fact that ya know, there are WACKOS on the net just like in real life; but I'm avoiding "real life wackos" BECAUSE of the net-ones. Or at least I have myself convinced this is true. Meeting some of them in real life has kinda soured my taste for any of it, quite frankly.
The only redeeming thing about ALL this is that I'm not alone, NOR am I the "worst case" I've seen. I'm not even close. But no one else should matter. Yes, I'll add that to my "solo-theory" list.
Apathy and her handmaidens
It's not rubbing off. I wish it would. Global apathy, and things MOST people think are so important aren't "catching" with me. I'm not buying into the commercialization -- subliminal or not -- of the whole ruse the entire world seems to be right now. Nobody cares.
Hell, what's new? Like I've never said that in an entry. I don't mean as it relates to me, although yeah, it does. I mean in a global sense. Nobody CARES unless they directly benefit. Nobody CARES, not even when they see someone on their hands and knees, struggling for that last, precious breath of life. We live in an apathetic, mememememememe society that needs "things" and wealth, "bragging rights" and a false sense of BEING someone to be content. Because let's face it; this generation AIN'T happy. If I step back, and view the earth, say, from the moon, all this running around crazy, trying to keep up with the Jones', not caring, the selfishness, the uncaring, the...well, APATHY makes me sad. Nothing I ever say or do will make it better. No random acts of kindness -- at this point -- bring me satisfaction like they used to because I think "NO ONE else does this; why should *I*?"
There are a handful of people who care. And that hand grows smaller every time I look at it.
Yeah, so I'm feverish, trying to get sick (how DOES one "try" to get sick?!), and really shouldn't journal when I feel this way. Although I was sorely tempted to cite specific situations right here, in El Jay communities, for example I realized that to do so would open a can of worms which I wish to remain closed. For my journal's peace of mind.
Ooooooo okay, so now my journal has a mind. Weee.
I'm becoming more morose than expected, so perhaps I should hang up the penning spurs for the night. I'd absolutely intended to journal what happened today and then THIS came out. Just like that phone call. Just like my declining an invitation. Just like...the road to hell, and those intentions.
All that glitters isn't gold; and the whole world is turning into Los Angeles, which is CRIMINAL. Bah. I'm gonna sleep on all this, and resist the urge to edit me.
You were warned, but oh no. Happily, I doubt even 1/10th (if that) on my little list read through that garbage. Tis the beauty of journaling too much (or typing too fast without editing my thoughts).