"coming down, keeping sane"
Oct. 6th, 2004 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omnia_mutanturyears later, i'm here, and my boyfriend and i have moved into a house, and i realize i'm carrying all this with me still, and that i've all these petty old resentments that i have no idea what to do with, and i've mouthed all the forgiveness i'm going to.
i wonder what words turn into when they have nowhere to go. i imagine a tarry substance, pooling at my fingertips, as the process is stymied, and my hands are heavier and maybe that's why they hurt so much some days, joints stiffened with all the things i'm not saying, stagnation made manifest.
i drive people away to this day, demanding more than i ought, always feeling slightly awkward, like i'm saying the wrong thing, like people start mocking me the second i leave the room. i'm too eager and too bitter all at the same time. i don't like my job, and sometimes i don't like myself, but i like my cats and my sofa a great, great deal.
i miss my little brothers, particularly fiercely right now, when i start to think about tampa and holidays and long for the day when my parents are out of the picture and i can just have them to visit and make a inept turkey and dozens of starchy sides, and try to figure out how to have a family at this late day and time, because for all i love the friends i have and the family
i've chosen, they've all got families of their own, and i don't begrudge them that, but i don't know how to smile sometimes when light talks about tv shows and the environment with his parents and laughs like he likes them. history goes back, not out of obligation or fear, just because it's convenient and he wants to, and i'm afraid that i've forgotten to keep track of whose turn it is to call, and that i'm going to get in trouble for abandoning them for the holidays, and they don't have leverage anymore but inside, i'm still a little girl and they're still telling me i'm not good enough for anything, and certainly not good enough to love.
i'm certainly not unhappy, though the fact that i couldn't handle people not coming over last night might bespeak a fragility i've been pretending i don't still possess. i'll be good at this, and figure out what i'm missing, and how to be better about being disappointed, but there are these little moments, a reprimand by my boss, the wrong hotel, gaming night canceled and it reminds me, like a slap or cold water, i'm not really all that whole, i've just learned how to avoid some of the stressors, and so i can space my disintegrations better than once i could. but i still get angry at myself, for wanting things that i shouldn't want, counting on things i shouldn't count on.
i nearly threw up monday, seeing a friend of my exroommate's, a woman i actually like a great deal, convinced that she must think i'm satan. she said she didn't, and the relief was staggering, and i wonder why, for all my vaunted calm, i still crave approval so much, and it still wounds me to the core that people leave my life, even if i sweep a path for them to show them the way out.
we'll go to mystic, and i'll see the whales, and i'll tell a piece of rock what i've been doing, like tampa's listening, and it's right around now that i really wish i had the kind of faith that has people survive in some form past death. there's another EFO show in the middle of december, and maybe we'll be big enough dorks to go on the cruise next year, and i'll stop being intimidated by the dingy whiteness of the house, and i'll pull this all back together, honest i will.
i wonder what words turn into when they have nowhere to go. i imagine a tarry substance, pooling at my fingertips, as the process is stymied, and my hands are heavier and maybe that's why they hurt so much some days, joints stiffened with all the things i'm not saying, stagnation made manifest.
i drive people away to this day, demanding more than i ought, always feeling slightly awkward, like i'm saying the wrong thing, like people start mocking me the second i leave the room. i'm too eager and too bitter all at the same time. i don't like my job, and sometimes i don't like myself, but i like my cats and my sofa a great, great deal.
i miss my little brothers, particularly fiercely right now, when i start to think about tampa and holidays and long for the day when my parents are out of the picture and i can just have them to visit and make a inept turkey and dozens of starchy sides, and try to figure out how to have a family at this late day and time, because for all i love the friends i have and the family
i've chosen, they've all got families of their own, and i don't begrudge them that, but i don't know how to smile sometimes when light talks about tv shows and the environment with his parents and laughs like he likes them. history goes back, not out of obligation or fear, just because it's convenient and he wants to, and i'm afraid that i've forgotten to keep track of whose turn it is to call, and that i'm going to get in trouble for abandoning them for the holidays, and they don't have leverage anymore but inside, i'm still a little girl and they're still telling me i'm not good enough for anything, and certainly not good enough to love.
i'm certainly not unhappy, though the fact that i couldn't handle people not coming over last night might bespeak a fragility i've been pretending i don't still possess. i'll be good at this, and figure out what i'm missing, and how to be better about being disappointed, but there are these little moments, a reprimand by my boss, the wrong hotel, gaming night canceled and it reminds me, like a slap or cold water, i'm not really all that whole, i've just learned how to avoid some of the stressors, and so i can space my disintegrations better than once i could. but i still get angry at myself, for wanting things that i shouldn't want, counting on things i shouldn't count on.
i nearly threw up monday, seeing a friend of my exroommate's, a woman i actually like a great deal, convinced that she must think i'm satan. she said she didn't, and the relief was staggering, and i wonder why, for all my vaunted calm, i still crave approval so much, and it still wounds me to the core that people leave my life, even if i sweep a path for them to show them the way out.
we'll go to mystic, and i'll see the whales, and i'll tell a piece of rock what i've been doing, like tampa's listening, and it's right around now that i really wish i had the kind of faith that has people survive in some form past death. there's another EFO show in the middle of december, and maybe we'll be big enough dorks to go on the cruise next year, and i'll stop being intimidated by the dingy whiteness of the house, and i'll pull this all back together, honest i will.
