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May. 17th, 2003 03:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zana16Damn it. I knew it was going too well. Just crashed. The following is just a repeat of all the angst I've ever produced. Fuck fucking mood swings.
My life has become a well-balanced drill of putting cards in order, papers in order, untangling the strings but there is no end. My eyes burn at the computer screen as I try to draw meaning out of pixels, wonder what is the point. The need for order pounds into me like my father's voice, but he is across the ocean thank god and cannot yell at me for leaving these loose ends unordered, for purposely sabotaging my careful plan in a need to be free free free. The voice pounds, it constricts my heart, a heart I can feel is dying. Medical science just doesn't see it yet. Order, order, order until my eyes burn and my back aches and I have been sitting in an office all day--and nothing is accomplished. Nothing. I want to escape to my dreamworld or a bookworld but I feel it would be an insult to the author to use her book in any way but for appreciation of a good story. My dreamworld is overrun, my characters are more real than I am, it is only Toni I can feel when Rick kisses me, but Rick is real and Toni is just a figure of my unconsciousness. I never compare boyfriends against former ones; I don't think it's fair. But I'm holding Rick up to an unattainable standard. Which is why I don't date Rick anymore and when I tried to explain I started laughing because it actually was a case of "It's not you; it's me". I'm so afraid of becoming addicted that I don't know how to live. Another chocolate marshmallow, another sick feeling of preservatives sliding abrasively down my throat, heavyness in my body, weighing me down but it is safe, safe. If no one touches me I cannot burn, but if no one touches me I cannot hurt. Damn him the nightmares only come once a year or so but I wish I could see his face I wish I could explain I wish my father hadn't said he'd kill the bastard cause I'm afraid even to let the memories come then, I don't want to see my father violent. I keep asking myself how I can work against the death penalty, when I dream about plunging that knife deep into his chest, I feel no remorse but I know it's wrong. Corinne tries to talk me into dating a girl she's met, I can't. Hurt Sarah that way. We're one-upping each other like girls do when they're alone in a group and don't know each other that well, everyone knows stories about Corinne but when we're supposed to drink "I Never" to her BDSM I am paralyzed, I wonder if sex will ever be normal for me again. If it ever was. I want to call up Tess's mother, ask her if Tess is okay. But how is a four-year-old supposed to be okay after something like that? And yet I was okay. I was okay until two years ago when the nightmares started. And I can't see him. I don't know who he is, how I knew him, anything. They tell me not to be a victim, they tell me to be strong, god DAMN it strength IS being able to get up in the morning, pretend everything's alright while you're breaking inside. They tell me not to let him win but he HAS won, and now I can't stop eating and eating and part of me knows it'll kill me in the end but another part is okay with that, cause anyways nobody will want to hurt me if I look like this. But it doesn't work. Guys still hit on me in the street; I laugh at them, but inside I'm scared. How can I be a feminist if part of me is terrified of every male I come across? I can't stand the scenes in the movies, shy-girl-convinced-by-aggressive-boy-because-really-she-wants-it, it feels too close to home. Can't stand fucking Star Wars, even. Another chocolate marshmallow; it numbs out the feeling. Every time I think I'm getting better, it turns out that I was just ignoring it a little more. My mother's friends tell me to embrace being Woman, but I drug my body to stop the blood, stop the feelings/hormones/memory/pain. Some days I am not a victim, some days I have moved beyond all that, some days it's no big deal to flirt with Dennis and then talk about guy things with him. Some days I'm okay. Some days what a sick man did to a little kid years ago doesn't matter. Some days I can wonder what happened to him that he couldn't be normal, had to hurt a child. Then there are days when I'm obsessed, and the hate wins. I can't decide if I don't feel or I feel too much. My dad says I need to stop these crazy obsessions with books and tv shows and fandoms but they're all that's keeping me sane, take them away and I go crazy, though I have just barely have what one could call a Life even in my fandoms, protected universe bubbles that they are. Even reality intrudes on the fandoms, people who don't understand the extent of their liberty spread their wings in freedom and cut me to pieces just because they don't know.
Fuck all of it. Maybe if I let myself get good and angry, I could escape. I just want to curl up in someone's lap and be safe. Something is fucking wrong with the world if I can't have even that.
My life has become a well-balanced drill of putting cards in order, papers in order, untangling the strings but there is no end. My eyes burn at the computer screen as I try to draw meaning out of pixels, wonder what is the point. The need for order pounds into me like my father's voice, but he is across the ocean thank god and cannot yell at me for leaving these loose ends unordered, for purposely sabotaging my careful plan in a need to be free free free. The voice pounds, it constricts my heart, a heart I can feel is dying. Medical science just doesn't see it yet. Order, order, order until my eyes burn and my back aches and I have been sitting in an office all day--and nothing is accomplished. Nothing. I want to escape to my dreamworld or a bookworld but I feel it would be an insult to the author to use her book in any way but for appreciation of a good story. My dreamworld is overrun, my characters are more real than I am, it is only Toni I can feel when Rick kisses me, but Rick is real and Toni is just a figure of my unconsciousness. I never compare boyfriends against former ones; I don't think it's fair. But I'm holding Rick up to an unattainable standard. Which is why I don't date Rick anymore and when I tried to explain I started laughing because it actually was a case of "It's not you; it's me". I'm so afraid of becoming addicted that I don't know how to live. Another chocolate marshmallow, another sick feeling of preservatives sliding abrasively down my throat, heavyness in my body, weighing me down but it is safe, safe. If no one touches me I cannot burn, but if no one touches me I cannot hurt. Damn him the nightmares only come once a year or so but I wish I could see his face I wish I could explain I wish my father hadn't said he'd kill the bastard cause I'm afraid even to let the memories come then, I don't want to see my father violent. I keep asking myself how I can work against the death penalty, when I dream about plunging that knife deep into his chest, I feel no remorse but I know it's wrong. Corinne tries to talk me into dating a girl she's met, I can't. Hurt Sarah that way. We're one-upping each other like girls do when they're alone in a group and don't know each other that well, everyone knows stories about Corinne but when we're supposed to drink "I Never" to her BDSM I am paralyzed, I wonder if sex will ever be normal for me again. If it ever was. I want to call up Tess's mother, ask her if Tess is okay. But how is a four-year-old supposed to be okay after something like that? And yet I was okay. I was okay until two years ago when the nightmares started. And I can't see him. I don't know who he is, how I knew him, anything. They tell me not to be a victim, they tell me to be strong, god DAMN it strength IS being able to get up in the morning, pretend everything's alright while you're breaking inside. They tell me not to let him win but he HAS won, and now I can't stop eating and eating and part of me knows it'll kill me in the end but another part is okay with that, cause anyways nobody will want to hurt me if I look like this. But it doesn't work. Guys still hit on me in the street; I laugh at them, but inside I'm scared. How can I be a feminist if part of me is terrified of every male I come across? I can't stand the scenes in the movies, shy-girl-convinced-by-aggressive-boy-because-really-she-wants-it, it feels too close to home. Can't stand fucking Star Wars, even. Another chocolate marshmallow; it numbs out the feeling. Every time I think I'm getting better, it turns out that I was just ignoring it a little more. My mother's friends tell me to embrace being Woman, but I drug my body to stop the blood, stop the feelings/hormones/memory/pain. Some days I am not a victim, some days I have moved beyond all that, some days it's no big deal to flirt with Dennis and then talk about guy things with him. Some days I'm okay. Some days what a sick man did to a little kid years ago doesn't matter. Some days I can wonder what happened to him that he couldn't be normal, had to hurt a child. Then there are days when I'm obsessed, and the hate wins. I can't decide if I don't feel or I feel too much. My dad says I need to stop these crazy obsessions with books and tv shows and fandoms but they're all that's keeping me sane, take them away and I go crazy, though I have just barely have what one could call a Life even in my fandoms, protected universe bubbles that they are. Even reality intrudes on the fandoms, people who don't understand the extent of their liberty spread their wings in freedom and cut me to pieces just because they don't know.
Fuck all of it. Maybe if I let myself get good and angry, I could escape. I just want to curl up in someone's lap and be safe. Something is fucking wrong with the world if I can't have even that.
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Date: 2003-05-17 08:41 am (UTC)