"you'd never know it to look at me"
May. 12th, 2004 08:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
omnia_mutantureureka. (best word ever, by the way)
so, i figured it out, which comes as a great relief, as it usually does when i finally realize why i'm behaving in a manner i consider not like me. it's about the ability to apologize, and not having it, and that's mostly it. i'm so concerned with the presentation of self, that having misstepped or misspoken, particularly to someone who has no reason to give me the benefit of the doubt, makes me realize how little i actually can control sometimes. (of course there's the wanting to be liked factor, i'm certainly not underestimating the strength of that). but as i poke around in the swamp that is my recollection of the years i was in college, i wonder if there are apologies i should be making, or should have made and can't anymore, and current events coincide oddly with that.
and that makes it sound so simple, as though i cut a path through college, offending and hurting people, playing villain to everyone's victim, and it certainly wasn't that. i had moments of happiness, i had moments when i helped people, i had moments of peace, and moments of joy in learning. i fear what i cannot remember, or what i halfremember or misremember, and knowing what i know, i can barely trust the memories i do have.
other terrifying realization, which may or may not be true. at the EFO show in Pittsfield, people kept looking at me funny. now i realize that often when i think people are looking at me funny, they aren't, so this may all be overblown paranoia. going to the bathroom, part of the mystery was uncovered when i found out from the mirror that a) i'm covered in pretty obvious bitemarks and b) my tits are hanging out. not pornographic, just prominent. going back to my seat, however, i realized something additional. i was also the only person there entirely in black, or with visible tattoos. now, i know i'm neither goth nor punk anymore, the brown birkenstocks and the swishy hippy skirts are proof enough of that, if my disavowal of either scene wasn't enough. but i'm also not entirely mainstream, unless i deliberately attempt to look it, and according to friends, i don't even really succeed then. so what happens when i move out of here? what's the rest of the world like? it's not that i feel being judged based on my appearance, part of the reason for the modification is that i want my appearance to be as close to what's inside me as i can make it.
i'm contemplating adding a job i can wear sandals to my list of life-time goals. (which currently only includes the ability to do laundry without getting dressed)
i ended up taking my migraine medicine again last night, after light pointed out to me that maybe a headache that involved vomiting could be considered serious. i woke up in the middle of the night, and couldn't feel my cheeks. eventually i remembered this has happened the other two times I've taken the medicine, but it's a terribly odd sensation, and for a woman who has lost more than what she considers her fair share of facial sensation or integrity over the past eighteen months, waking up to further loss of sensation is not the most calming thing in the world. blessedly, i remembered its cause, rolled over and snuggled with my cat and fell back asleep.
in other news, i'm looking for a professional massage. anyone in the area have any names to suggest?
so, i figured it out, which comes as a great relief, as it usually does when i finally realize why i'm behaving in a manner i consider not like me. it's about the ability to apologize, and not having it, and that's mostly it. i'm so concerned with the presentation of self, that having misstepped or misspoken, particularly to someone who has no reason to give me the benefit of the doubt, makes me realize how little i actually can control sometimes. (of course there's the wanting to be liked factor, i'm certainly not underestimating the strength of that). but as i poke around in the swamp that is my recollection of the years i was in college, i wonder if there are apologies i should be making, or should have made and can't anymore, and current events coincide oddly with that.
and that makes it sound so simple, as though i cut a path through college, offending and hurting people, playing villain to everyone's victim, and it certainly wasn't that. i had moments of happiness, i had moments when i helped people, i had moments of peace, and moments of joy in learning. i fear what i cannot remember, or what i halfremember or misremember, and knowing what i know, i can barely trust the memories i do have.
other terrifying realization, which may or may not be true. at the EFO show in Pittsfield, people kept looking at me funny. now i realize that often when i think people are looking at me funny, they aren't, so this may all be overblown paranoia. going to the bathroom, part of the mystery was uncovered when i found out from the mirror that a) i'm covered in pretty obvious bitemarks and b) my tits are hanging out. not pornographic, just prominent. going back to my seat, however, i realized something additional. i was also the only person there entirely in black, or with visible tattoos. now, i know i'm neither goth nor punk anymore, the brown birkenstocks and the swishy hippy skirts are proof enough of that, if my disavowal of either scene wasn't enough. but i'm also not entirely mainstream, unless i deliberately attempt to look it, and according to friends, i don't even really succeed then. so what happens when i move out of here? what's the rest of the world like? it's not that i feel being judged based on my appearance, part of the reason for the modification is that i want my appearance to be as close to what's inside me as i can make it.
i'm contemplating adding a job i can wear sandals to my list of life-time goals. (which currently only includes the ability to do laundry without getting dressed)
i ended up taking my migraine medicine again last night, after light pointed out to me that maybe a headache that involved vomiting could be considered serious. i woke up in the middle of the night, and couldn't feel my cheeks. eventually i remembered this has happened the other two times I've taken the medicine, but it's a terribly odd sensation, and for a woman who has lost more than what she considers her fair share of facial sensation or integrity over the past eighteen months, waking up to further loss of sensation is not the most calming thing in the world. blessedly, i remembered its cause, rolled over and snuggled with my cat and fell back asleep.
in other news, i'm looking for a professional massage. anyone in the area have any names to suggest?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-05-12 03:10 pm (UTC)www.livecentered.com
julie's the awesome massage therapist that i've been going to. she's not exactly local to you... but it's a good excuse for you to come see me!