i've been eating my feelings all day, alone working on my project, feeling entirely inhuman. No one to call, of my own doing. what would I talk about: sorry I have completely alienated you but now I need someone to lean on so give over? this strange numbness, the physical shit going on that's part withdrawal and part just my weird health state. some say i need to talk about some things but I'm unclear about what, so i guess I need to typographically dig through this layer of top"soil" (I thought soil had mostly good connotations). I know the sadness is there, always, lurking, and I can feel it more and more as I type, but it's just so very odd feeling, beyond description, except for the heavy emptiness about it. Disconnected, lonely, so lonely,(ok here come the tears) so weird, so freaky, just wrong, just bad, just "off". Here in the ether dwell genuine kind hearts, truly caring, but it doesn't connect to me. I don't even know where or how to begin to feel human, I don't know what that means, what it might look like, I feel like I just was born faking it. No desire to do anything, mystified by this no desire: shouldn't I feel something strong (or ok weak) for anything, why so much nothing? Is this just simply coping with what life was handing me? Did I just decide I needed to cope and switched into full-on cope mode? Did I come into the world screaming and never stop? Did no one hear this screaming and wonder why and decide to help? Was I not worth listening to (more tear, flood flood). Apparently I've screamed myself silent, I guess that's what happens when you think no one hears or worse, cares to hear. It happened today, I got a call from someone, they asked how I was 'No, really" so I sort of said in a way I thought they could manage and they then proceeded to talk about themselves. The loneliness is horrible . The agony of being with others is horrible. I don't know which is worse. Feeling my pain or someone else's. Ironically, it's all my own, I just keep channelling myself through others. My tear ducts needed some cleaning, I've been holding a lot in, afraid of what really saying would do. So afraid. So convinced of pending doom. So convinced of my innate wrongness. My entire blog is redundant, what does being heard mean? Does having a witness to my own stuff (that I believe - how's that for messed up?) end up making any difference, does being seen/heard heal me? Am I healable? What did I do to bring this on anyway, must have been a bad move karma-kly (Karmally? Karmal? Caramel?).
Nothing like some random mind stream of write to get me some crying done.
Diez anos - I had just finished bathing, standing before the steamed-up mirror brushing my hair when it hit me: the fetus inside the belly of one of the sisters whose li...
4 months ago