Got back to Asheville safely, and apparently haven't written since then. It's been, well - busy. And messy. But good, too. It's good to see all my favorites again, and to be back in classes, and to have sunshine and warm weather. It's good that I'm going to have a single in the Willage next year, and that nearly all my friends are moving there with me (not young Christopher, but he's the kind of friend I'd manage to see no matter what, so). It's good that the F-Word Film Festival is going on now, and that Headwaters is on its way to being ready for printing, and that Marshall and I are going out with one of my hands-down favorite professors tonight. I mean, lots of things are going really well, and all things are probably going much better than I deserve, at this point.
. . . And yet, this morning, I contemplated making an emergency counseling appointment, then decided not to - not because I don't really, really need someone objective to hear me out, but because emergency appointments are available for people who are in crisis and I can't bring myself to admit that, I don't feel entitled to someone's hour. I am a mess, though. I can't remember the last time I went for a day without crying, a lot, often to the point of throwing up, and I'm clearly unstable and things are starting to slip from me. It seems so stupidly small, though - getting an A- for the first time in a class I've always gotten perfect scores in is not going to sound like crisis to anyone. Even I realize how dumb it is. But also, I've missed five of the past six Poetics of Perception classes, and I was up in time to make it to all of them. I'm just so exhausted, and I wake from the worst nightmares and can't wake up enough, not quickly enough, to be okay enough for anyone to see me. (Except for my lucky girlfriend, who is too kind to me.) It's gotten cliche: I can't get out of bed in the morning. Not without crying for a long time and taking a long time to wake up and reorder my thoughts; not 'til my dreams have blurred enough that I can go on with my day. This is ridiculous, and pathetic, and it can't go on this way. I can't bring myself to take medication as an option, and I won't make an emergency appointment, so I just feel really stuck. And you know what? I fucking hate Jason, sometimes, and I am not a hateful person. I'll take the fall for all of my shit, because I am oversensitive and depressive anyway and I should have known enough to get the fuck out of that situation - or better, not to have gotten myself into it. So, okay, I have nightmares, and occasional panic attacks when I assume that a lamppost or television is a person who is going to violate me somehow, and I'll take all the credit for my response, but I hate what it's doing to Marshall, and that's why I hate him: for leaving a mess that no one else could possibly clean up, no matter how hard she tries. For being fine and happy and laughing like nothing ever happened at all.
This is a really long rant, and all I really wanted to say is that I'm sorry. I haven't seen enough of any of you, or called enough, or written enough, or extended myself in the way that I'm needing (and wanting) to, because I feel like a liability. I have a lot of shit together, and am working on it, and when I do see you guys, or catch up with you, it's always a bright point in a really tiring day, and I get to missing you all, so much. This is what's going on with me, and lots more that I can't even say to my counselor, and I'm kind of wrecked, but also, of course, to be right here, with so many good people and distractions and Edgar the fish and a weekend on its way. I've been given so many chances by so many people, and although it's time for me to be something more than lucky, I know, I really am. Lucky, that is, with so much coming up and so many to see me through it. So thank you for, you know, sticking around. I love you all.
Also, Jordanna is playing the Beach Boys, and "Don't Worry Baby" just came on and I am crying, but I mean, seriously? Something is looking out for me. Just like how, when I am really depressed and feel like I can't face something, I get "Fame" stuck in my head, like my subconscious is trying to cheer my on. Maggi would say, "How lucky, that this part of you is trying to protect you this way," and she'd be right.
. . . And yet, this morning, I contemplated making an emergency counseling appointment, then decided not to - not because I don't really, really need someone objective to hear me out, but because emergency appointments are available for people who are in crisis and I can't bring myself to admit that, I don't feel entitled to someone's hour. I am a mess, though. I can't remember the last time I went for a day without crying, a lot, often to the point of throwing up, and I'm clearly unstable and things are starting to slip from me. It seems so stupidly small, though - getting an A- for the first time in a class I've always gotten perfect scores in is not going to sound like crisis to anyone. Even I realize how dumb it is. But also, I've missed five of the past six Poetics of Perception classes, and I was up in time to make it to all of them. I'm just so exhausted, and I wake from the worst nightmares and can't wake up enough, not quickly enough, to be okay enough for anyone to see me. (Except for my lucky girlfriend, who is too kind to me.) It's gotten cliche: I can't get out of bed in the morning. Not without crying for a long time and taking a long time to wake up and reorder my thoughts; not 'til my dreams have blurred enough that I can go on with my day. This is ridiculous, and pathetic, and it can't go on this way. I can't bring myself to take medication as an option, and I won't make an emergency appointment, so I just feel really stuck. And you know what? I fucking hate Jason, sometimes, and I am not a hateful person. I'll take the fall for all of my shit, because I am oversensitive and depressive anyway and I should have known enough to get the fuck out of that situation - or better, not to have gotten myself into it. So, okay, I have nightmares, and occasional panic attacks when I assume that a lamppost or television is a person who is going to violate me somehow, and I'll take all the credit for my response, but I hate what it's doing to Marshall, and that's why I hate him: for leaving a mess that no one else could possibly clean up, no matter how hard she tries. For being fine and happy and laughing like nothing ever happened at all.
This is a really long rant, and all I really wanted to say is that I'm sorry. I haven't seen enough of any of you, or called enough, or written enough, or extended myself in the way that I'm needing (and wanting) to, because I feel like a liability. I have a lot of shit together, and am working on it, and when I do see you guys, or catch up with you, it's always a bright point in a really tiring day, and I get to missing you all, so much. This is what's going on with me, and lots more that I can't even say to my counselor, and I'm kind of wrecked, but also, of course, to be right here, with so many good people and distractions and Edgar the fish and a weekend on its way. I've been given so many chances by so many people, and although it's time for me to be something more than lucky, I know, I really am. Lucky, that is, with so much coming up and so many to see me through it. So thank you for, you know, sticking around. I love you all.
Also, Jordanna is playing the Beach Boys, and "Don't Worry Baby" just came on and I am crying, but I mean, seriously? Something is looking out for me. Just like how, when I am really depressed and feel like I can't face something, I get "Fame" stuck in my head, like my subconscious is trying to cheer my on. Maggi would say, "How lucky, that this part of you is trying to protect you this way," and she'd be right.
1 comment:
hey, i just wanted to leave a simple message to say that i understand. and to say also that you are not a liability. i know what it feels like to fell like you are, though. let's hang out soon and just watch qaf or something and unwind from some shit. how's that sound? much love.
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