(no subject)

So, intellectually, I understand that there's no point of comfort I'm going to find in social situations. Emotionally, I often walk away feeling somehow like I've failed, that there was something thing that I was supposed to do or say that I wasn't sharp enough to figure out.

Once upon a time, I used to be better at this, when I was a demanding friend or a demanding girlfriend and say, I really need someone to be focusing just on me for the whole party. And I'm better now, in many ways, and I'm even mostly not crazy, so the press of people doesn't feel like a threat to my sanity, now just to my ability to relax. And I don't ask anyone to sing me ballads of my own identity, so I can doublecheck my performances, and I worry less about people inferring the wrong things from what I'm implying.

It's possible I'm not better so much as I've gotten enough told no often enough that I understand it's an unreasonable thing to ask of many people and so I've learned different things about permeable boundaries. (the emotion sort, not the bad-touch) kind.

On the other hand, I'd crawl across broken glass for praise, and the few people who have really grokked that in my life and learned to do so in a non-patronizing tone , have been some of the people closest to me. Light has caught on to the fact that when I say "Doesn't the house look awesome?" he should tell me I did a very good job. Asshat pushed a very specific set of buttons, and once he learned those, he pushed them over and over again, and in hindsight, it may have been a little bit like someone pounding the door-close on an elevator.

I made good cookies, I was wearing awesome underwear, I was helpful to Purple and she told me so. I tended to my own needs when they became apparent, I even was brave(for me) and went down to the galleria and looked at many pretty pieces of art before I went home.

And now, the wind is wuthering, I'm being swarmed by cats, and it's time for some tea and arisia work.

(no subject)

So, intellectually, I understand that there's no point of comfort I'm going to find in social situations. Emotionally, I often walk away feeling somehow like I've failed, that there was something thing that I was supposed to do or say that I wasn't sharp enough to figure out.

Once upon a time, I used to be better at this, when I was a demanding friend or a demanding girlfriend and say, I really need someone to be focusing just on me for the whole party. And I'm better now, in many ways, and I'm even mostly not crazy, so the press of people doesn't feel like a threat to my sanity, now just to my ability to relax. And I don't ask anyone to sing me ballads of my own identity, so I can doublecheck my performances, and I worry less about people inferring the wrong things from what I'm implying.

It's possible I'm not better so much as I've gotten enough told no often enough that I understand it's an unreasonable thing to ask of many people and so I've learned different things about permeable boundaries. (the emotion sort, not the bad-touch) kind.

On the other hand, I'd crawl across broken glass for praise, and the few people who have really grokked that in my life and learned to do so in a non-patronizing tone , have been some of the people closest to me. Light has caught on to the fact that when I say "Doesn't the house look awesome?" he should tell me I did a very good job. Asshat pushed a very specific set of buttons, and once he learned those, he pushed them over and over again, and in hindsight, it may have been a little bit like someone pounding the door-close on an elevator.

I made good cookies, I was wearing awesome underwear, I was helpful to Purple and she told me so. I tended to my own needs when they became apparent, I even was brave(for me) and went down to the galleria and looked at many pretty pieces of art before I went home.

And now, the wind is wuthering, I'm being swarmed by cats, and it's time for some tea and arisia work.

bang along the bars of her rib cage

Another day, complete with a random breakdown. It turns out that good therapy is also hard. And that I hate looking vulnerable or needy. And that I hatehatehate letting people's opinions of me matter, but I'm not very good at keeping them from mattering. And maybe it's just overweeningly selfish of me to want to have a dog and a jobby-job at the same time. And that I'm ready for a couple softballs, pitches thrown where i can hit them out of the park, rather than employing other weak sports metaphors. There's only so much bunting one girl can handle.

I don't know what story I want to tell, other than Light's wife, some awesome people's friend, Mech and Media's big sister, and the cats' monkey. I want to cook and eat good food, watch bad tv shows, read a wide variety of novels, and find peace where I can. I want to feel a little less buffeted about, and a little less cast adrift.

I feel like I'm making the right decisions, sometimes for the wrong reasons, and I'm still feeling like I'm treading water. I ended a relationship that wasn't working, I've changed to a snazzy hospital for the preventative cancer care, and a therapist that is hard to lie to, I got the promotion, I put myself out there, I've started going to the gym, I cook like a rockstar, I've gotten into the class, I've amassed an army of squishables, and I've covered a hell of a lot of my skin with enough tattoos to keep me real even when my conviction fades.

Once upon a time I wrote a mediocre villanelle, because I got overattached to the line "fear still means fuck everything and run." I'm trying like hell to stand my ground, and I know it's getting me a hell of a lot, but I'm always counting the losses instead of the wins. I think even when I'm not desperate, which I'm not, I still carry the stink of years spent scrambling for every moment of solace I could wring out of my life.

I don't know if there's a way to ask for reassurance without seeming desperately needy. I don't know if I want the reassurance or the impression of not being needy more.

I've made navaho stew, chickpea cutlets, salad and prepped the veggies for indonesian sweet potato soup. I made key lime cake, molasses cookies, chocolate chip cookies and almond butter cookies this week. I'm plowing through the Seanan McGuire book Purple lent me, I've returned all my library books and paid the fees and tomorrow, I get to have cake day.

I'm going to make beauty out of this, dammit. Any part of the universe not on board with this plan can go screw.

bang along the bars of her rib cage

Another day, complete with a random breakdown. It turns out that good therapy is also hard. And that I hate looking vulnerable or needy. And that I hatehatehate letting people's opinions of me matter, but I'm not very good at keeping them from mattering. And maybe it's just overweeningly selfish of me to want to have a dog and a jobby-job at the same time. And that I'm ready for a couple softballs, pitches thrown where i can hit them out of the park, rather than employing other weak sports metaphors. There's only so much bunting one girl can handle.

I don't know what story I want to tell, other than Light's wife, some awesome people's friend, Mech and Media's big sister, and the cats' monkey. I want to cook and eat good food, watch bad tv shows, read a wide variety of novels, and find peace where I can. I want to feel a little less buffeted about, and a little less cast adrift.

I feel like I'm making the right decisions, sometimes for the wrong reasons, and I'm still feeling like I'm treading water. I ended a relationship that wasn't working, I've changed to a snazzy hospital for the preventative cancer care, and a therapist that is hard to lie to, I got the promotion, I put myself out there, I've started going to the gym, I cook like a rockstar, I've gotten into the class, I've amassed an army of squishables, and I've covered a hell of a lot of my skin with enough tattoos to keep me real even when my conviction fades.

Once upon a time I wrote a mediocre villanelle, because I got overattached to the line "fear still means fuck everything and run." I'm trying like hell to stand my ground, and I know it's getting me a hell of a lot, but I'm always counting the losses instead of the wins. I think even when I'm not desperate, which I'm not, I still carry the stink of years spent scrambling for every moment of solace I could wring out of my life.

I don't know if there's a way to ask for reassurance without seeming desperately needy. I don't know if I want the reassurance or the impression of not being needy more.

I've made navaho stew, chickpea cutlets, salad and prepped the veggies for indonesian sweet potato soup. I made key lime cake, molasses cookies, chocolate chip cookies and almond butter cookies this week. I'm plowing through the Seanan McGuire book Purple lent me, I've returned all my library books and paid the fees and tomorrow, I get to have cake day.

I'm going to make beauty out of this, dammit. Any part of the universe not on board with this plan can go screw.