go west...

well, actually more technically north. next year is the year of the big trip. so say i, as of...oh, the other day. just a decision. is good to have a dream. seeing as rosalind will more than likely be going back to the motherland, among other things...it will be a good time. which means i can start planning. and thinking and ... fantasy-list making :) what to do, best case scenarios; where shall i go? who will i find? maybe even... me? :)

dramatic erratic

Borderline personality disorder, or BPD. Some or all of the following:
1. Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.
2. A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterised by alternating between extremes of idealisation and devaluation.
3. Identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.
4. Impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (eg promiscuous sex, eating disorders, binge eating, substance abuse).
5. Recurrent suicidal behaviour, gestures, threats, or self-mutilating behaviour such as cutting, interfering with the healing of scars, or picking at oneself.
6. Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood (eg intense episodic dysphoria, irritability, or anxiety usually lasting a few hours and only rarely more than a few days).
7. Chronic feelings of emptiness, worthlessness.
8. Inappropriate anger or difficulty controlling anger (eg displays of temper, constant anger, recurrent physical fights).
9. Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms.

again

if you miss the boat, or feel like you have, what should you do?
try and catch the same boat anyway?
or look for a new ride?

20/20

i should have left years ago. before i was so frightened of being alone.

too close for comfort

does familiarity breed contempt? i always used to think so. now i'm not so sure.
:)

hush

i...
have all these things to say
but i stay dumb
i...
have all these thoughts to heal
but they won't come
i...
have all these things to feel
but i choose numb

nothing happens unless someone pries me open. what a copout.

if i just...
stopped fighting
stopped locking doors
stopped hardening
stopped frightening.
if i just...
reach out, and touch a fingertip to yours
it might come loose.

do i dare, disturb the universe? :)

someone your own age

dammit, i really hate it when people find out my age. it's a friggin' relationship ruiner. if i was a different sort of person i'd lie. but i can’t.
first they go... "oh! that's…oh! what, really?? no? really?" for ages - took me ten minutes to convince someone the other day, "oh! but you couldn't possibly have done all the things you've done!"...umm, ok...would you like me to make up a different number?
then they spend the rest of the interaction being surprised and amazed and bringing it up. or depending on the person, you can feel them drawing back their feelers like a frightened snail. and i feel like a fraud, as though i've been pulling the wool over their eyes all this time when we've been having this amazing connection, cause how could i possibly? being such a babe? sigh. not my fault i connected.
and then i get paranoid about being patronized, even if they do it just the tiniest bit. ok, so that’s an achilles heel of mine, but i can’t help it. it makes me so mad. workwise it shits me, too - sure, age might equal wisdom, but there's no correlation that means i can't actually do the job. proof of that is in, er, being able to do the damn job, surely.
oof. so most of the people i actually enjoy talking to, being with, or who i have to deal with on a work day are older than me. so?? i tend not to even ask; why does it matter? i always feel a bit like saying, how about you swap 'young' for 'women' or maybe even 'black'? then you might see how i feel. "oh! really? you achieved all that stuff? but you're a woman!! gosh!"
sigh.

That Call

i'm terrified that one day i'm going to get That Call. it keeps me from sleeping, sits in my guts like dead ice and makes my stomach roil. it keeps getting closer and more likely; these days i tense when the phone rings. sometimes when i do sleep, i dream about it coming, hearing the words and staring in shock, or crumbling into a ball. not weeping, though; that's never inside the dreams. i save that for sitting on my steps and staring at the stars and feeling frustrated, and a very long way away ... and like i can't do anything. but i can't not try. you're damned either way.
after those dreams i wake up tearful, but it's not for That Call, it's for the guilt; hating my subconscious for creating, for wishing it would happen. how could i possibly?? that's evil! because...that's movement. of some kind. change. just anything to break the cycle. i'd stop being frightened, at least. something. anything.
but gods, that's a horrible thing to wish. like i need another reason to get all self-hatey on myself. ugh.
there must be something i can do. there will be. it will come to me. i hope it comes before the call.

bad idea

ever get that feeling you're going to go right ahead and do that thing anyhow, every though it's really, actually, a pretty bad idea? yep. that'd be me. gut feeling? what gut feeling? i can deny anything, i've had years of practice :)

stories

it's funny how ... the stories that you tell are the ones from ages ago. the ones i tell are, anyway. not sure if things seem better through the handy rose the-past lens. or if there's nothing i've done in the last few years that seems interesting. or that i'm proud of. or that i want to admit into the... um, life canon of me. the dinner-party-story version you tell to other people.
if i had to tell the stories of the last 12 months, what would they be? what would i admit to? what would i be proud of? would there be anything?
maybe things need to sit in my head and percolate for a while before i know what they mean, and can articulate them? in the overall lifeline. but that's s sort of rewriting history, and rewriting the way i want me to be.

it doesn't matter.

don't ever say it doesn't matter. i remember my mother crying one morning. and telling me that. don't ever say it doesn't matter. because it does matter, it really does.
but it's such a salve. how on earth can we possibly face the next day? how at all? by it doesn't matter. move on, brush over, look, over there, shiny. that's easier to face than impossible change, or total gloom. up and at 'em, a new day's dawning. time to pretend it doesn't matter.
but it does.

and sometimes, people don't suck.

today was a good day.
it is a good thing to surround yourself with people you love.
it is a good thing to:
reach out;
and ask what you'd like to be asked;
and laugh;
and listen;
and remind them that you love them.
today was a good day.

sigh

oh, i miss girls!

nada?

coming home felt...nothing.
not happy, not sad. not angry. not ecstatic.
just...nothing.
like going back into suspended animation again.
weird.

trap'd

i used to work in radio
now i can barely stutter a sentence

i used to play for a living
now i can hardly scratch out a scale

i used to sing all the time -- god! remember? we used to sing at parties, for events, people would ask us to sing, to arrange things. we sang a parody in front of a thousand people.
and laughed.
now i can't even raise my voice at home. alone. in my own house. anywhere. i just choke.

why????

so i sang myself to sleep. poor, rusty chords :)

Lede

King of Cups, when reversed: The dark essence of water behaving as air, such as rain clouds in a gray sky: A pillar of maturity and patience, hiding a deep insecurity and an indecisive nature. One who secretly lusts for power, but lacks the courage, intellect, or work ethic necessary to take it. A charming seducer who appears innocent and understanding, but is in fact selfish and unfaithful.

forward, please

This is depressing me, wearing me down and sucking out my energy.
So, I've had a bunch of aspie friends, relatives, lovers even. Some of them before people talked about it at all much (we just realised they ticked lots of boxes afterwards). It never really bothered me - or, well that's a total understatement, I never even thought about it. Au contraire, I seem to get on really well with aspie types. Autistic kids, too, back in the days when I used to do that. Actually, I grew up being able to talk to just about anyone, in a one-on-one situation when it was just them - the shyer, more reclusive or "weirder" the better, no matter what flavour. Maybe that's why I'm good at interviewing now. Or I always had the aptitude. Something. It's from my Dad, a bit. Maybe. I remember someone (ah! that particular someone :) *sigh!*) saying, "How do you do that? Talk to people like that - you just sort of click into where they're at?". I don't know the how. I think it probably stems from a genuine interest in people -- everyone, everyone, everyone has an amazing story.
What's the problem now? Now...I just, really, wish I knew what to expect. Because I've been waiting for things to get better for oh, such a very long time. And there's a complicated layering of denial in there somewhere, too, that pretends we're ok.
On the other hand, does it matter? Not everything is excusable because of a syndrome, right?
Wait, no, that's not it. It's not about whether I keep banging my head on the wall, it's the angle I bonk it on (heh). I don't care about a having a piece of paper. But maybe I'm trying to fix things in the wrong way -- in many wrong ways, totally alien ways that will just get things nowhere. Nothing's changed so far, so that would seem to fit the overall diagnosis. So, now what? What do I need to move forward? How do I try? Because being stuck in the same old place isn't going to cut it for terribly much longer.

things my mother taught me

- that i am better than everyone (for some obscure, never-quite-explained reason)
- that i could be so much better if i actually tried and put some effort in

so now, i'm a snob who can't can't connect to anyone with chronically low self esteem. and i try and do everything myself, 'cause the perfectionist is never happy with the way anyone else does it. and then i'm always hopelessly disappointed in my own efforts.
round we go, and round we go, and round we go again.

“Think of a rock polisher, one of those drums, goes round and round, rolls twenty four/seven, full of water and rocks and gravel. Grinding it all up. Round and round. Polishing those ugly rocks into gemstones. That's the earth. Why it goes around. We're the rocks. And what happens to us – the drama and pain and joy and war and sickness and victory and abuse – why, that's just the water and sand to erode us. Grind us down. To polish us up, nice and bright.” – Chuck Palahniuk.

anima

your house is so suffused with love
that visiting's good for the soul

gah

dammit! i try really, really, really hard for it not to matter, and to be positive, and...everything. and i'm STILL petrified of needing anyone at all, ever. for anything. or asking. why??? it stops me being me?? gah.