Rare Talent

I'm writing again, but only because I am trying to waste less time instead of more. I keep obsessing over the argument I had with the boy, mostly because it never really ended and I have no idea where we stand. Is our time together over? It is truly difficult to imagine, but also easy to conclude. There have been so many years between us, so many things that have provided the two of us with a history that we share with no one else. It is an odd feeling, to have such a large chunk of life suddenly ripped away. I don't even know how to describe it adequately. But here I sit on this couch that I inherited, thinking about all I could have accomplished today, knowing that I didn't because I couldn't get him out of my head. And more than a little upset by the whole thing. Upset because I know what is the right thing to do, and that that thing is not what I want, and not what will help me move on gracefully and cheerfully. But I know that the alternative is equally repulsive and damaging. So it seems that I am at somewhat of an impasse.

I have also been thinking today of all the people who said they would be there for me through thick and thin, and none of them are here. This is the thick, or the thin, depending on how you look at it, and all of them are absent. They all have better things to do, wether its family or traveling or whatever. I am truly in this alone. No one will ever be able to truly understand what I go through every day and how much it takes for me to be who I am. I have come to the conclusion myself that in order to maintain the kind of lifestyle that I want, I need to start making lots of money. Not because I have expensive tastes, but because I have to pay someone what most women just get their boyfriends and husbands to do. Those little chores around the house that seem so menial become incredibly difficult when you don't have tools and knowhow to get them done. So I'm in a little bit of a jam, since I have no man, no money, and no skills. I can water the plants, and that's about it. I recently discovered that my painting skills are way below par, which was utterly disappointing.

I'll write more when I feel like it, as there is much to confess. But for the moment, this is the thought that has troubled me most today:

The man who put my heart back together only did so to break it all over again. A rare talent indeed.

Feelings of Bad

Still trying to get rid of these feelings of bad. Feeling displaced is one of the most disorienting and depressing feelings in the world. I was fine all day today, then on the way home, I just felt like a cold wind had blown through me, taking all of my happy and ebullient energy with it. I don't even know where it came from. And suddenly, I didn't want to go home. But I have nowhere else to go, so here I am. It's almost like being in this great place where a family should grow is depressing, since I'm not able to do that. I come home to an empty house every day and wonder what I'm going to do for the rest of the night. A small piece of me thought about calling a friend to hang out, but the other piece of me didn't feel like being around another person. I feel like I just want to curl up for a few days and think and do nothing. Which is, of course, impossible. So I know the only antidote is to just do something, but I'm at a loss as to what that should be. I have to make a list. List all the things that need to get done. Get my productivity back to where it should be before I fall so far behind that catching up is impossible.

And of course, even though I don't want to admit it, the whole thing hinges on the boy. I wasn't expecting a giant fight last week, and part of me doesn't even really remember what I said, only that I exploded (and I still think I had good reason), and had some trouble breathing. It felt like how things feel when I'm talking in my sleep. Like I'm screaming, but the words are so quiet and I'm having trouble getting them out because I just can't breathe. Like I just ran far and am trying to scream. That's the majority of what I remember. And I'm thinking from his complete non-reaction and lack of visible empathy, along with the fact that he simply walked away, that I will never hear from him again. That our lives are now divergent instead of convergent.

And I feel stupid and humiliated, because I should have known a long time ago and seen it coming. But I didn't. I wanted to believe that the planets were going to align and that everything was going to work out in this rosy colored world that I had set up for myself, even though the signs were saying the opposite. And now that he's deleted off my phone and blocked off my facebook, I'm feeling like there is this huge hole in my life. I see how I'm different than before, because last time I was reduced to literally nothing. But this time, I'm not crying and feeling hopeless. I just feel without. Like I never got to finish my sentence. Like there is unfinished business that hasn't been taken care of and plans that never came to fruition. And I guess I never thought I would see this day. This day when my birthday means nothing, when my promises are all negated, when my support is withdrawn. But I loved him. For better or for worse, I did. With my whole heart. And now it feels like my heart might be gone, because I feel worse than bad. I feel nothing. I feel a lack. I feel an amputation.

Fear

I've been trying to stay out of my head lately. Trying to stay in my life, stay in the moment, stay present. It's harder than it seems. Especially when you're me, and you have a compulsive need to analyze everything in your life down to the tiniest detail.

I got through the movie shoot and the exhibition with most of my brain and whatnot intact, and now I'm suffering from the post-haste hangover. My brain now has plenty of room for other thoughts than the most pressing ones, and boy is it going crazy. Crazy enough to forget stupid things, like printing something out then forgetting to take it off the printer. So here's a little tour of what my brain has cooked up.

Fear.

That's pretty much it.

While I sit in my cozy little house, I'm gripped with the fear that I'll never get it to the place I want, that I'll never paint the walls, never unpack the boxes, never arrange the furniture the way it should be. Never get organized. Never cook dinner. Never make it my own home. Never change the locks. Never do anything, and always be living in this half-hobo style, where most of my stuff is in a box, and I am constantly just shifting things from one place to another. The only solace I have is in the bathroom, where I've already given everything its place and begun a sort of routine there.

I'm afraid of school. I've recently begun to doubt whether I belong there at all. Am I even smart enough for grad school? The whole point of grad school is to be able to teach at some point, and I feel wholly inadequate for that. Sure, I teach my little intro courses, but if I were to actually apply for a position that required scholarly activity, I would be completely out of my element. I'm like the fake academic, with only the lexicon for school, but none of the actual knowledge. I can walk and talk like someone who knows what they're talking about, but if someone really knows what they're doing, I'm not sure I could keep up. Basically, I've been feeling stupid lately. Too stupid to be pursuing an advanced degree.

I'm a social idiot. More specifically, I am a spinster. I haven't found anyone who thinks I'm meaningful enough to make a priority or to stick with, and I have no idea why. I suddenly fear that I don't have enough self-awareness to ever be in a relationship that will amount to anything more than just hanging out or sex. Or a messed up compartmentalization of each. I've harped on this point countless times, but again, fear is a motherfucker. It hits you where it hurts. And this is probably the most painful weakness I have. I suppose I would be easy fodder for an enemy who knew this.

I'm getting old. As in actually getting old. My hands and feet crack like they didn't used to, and I have random little ailments that hail the dawn of a time when I have to be careful what I do to my body since it can't recover like it used to. My looks are at the point where they are going to start to fade, which makes the previous point all the more tragic. Additionally, I start to feel my own mortality, which didn't ever seem to be a big deal. Now it does, and it scares the shit out of me. What if I were to die and never have accomplished anything? What if I'm the proverbial lifetime college student who never does anything good? I don't want to die a professional student. And I don't like being the old student, either. Those people are annoying, with their 'back in the day' and 'when I was your age' comments. And now I'm at the age where I could be one of them. And it scares the shit out of me. Especially since I've never done anything really worthwhile or noteworthy.

I have no talent. What if I've been trying to be this artist, but in reality, no one had the heart or the courage to tell me I suck? What if I am really terrible? What if I fail at every artistic endeavor I attempt? What if I never do anything good? See previous point.

I want kids. I'm afraid I'm too old. I feel like that window may have closed already. I'm at an age where having kids is starting to be more difficult, and I don't have any prospective fathers on the horizons, making it seem all the more hopeless. More and more lately, I have thought about writing a letter to my mother saying: Dear Mom: Sorry I didn't give you grandkids. I wanted to, but couldn't find any willing participants. I wish I hadn't failed you on this one.

But seriously, I do want to have kids, and I'm getting more and more fearful that it is not going to happen. For some reason, it scares the fuck out of me.

I'm afraid that I drink too much. I'm fairly certain I'm not an alcoholic, but there is a fear that I will become one. There are few things that I feel I can turn to in any situation, but alcohol is one. When I'm happy, when I'm sad, when I'm alone, when I'm in a group. Alcohol gives the world a sheen that nothing else does. It numbs the pain, blurs the ugly. It also brightens the happy and perks up the banal. I like it. It makes me happy, if only for a while. And yes, I worry that I drink too much. I also worry that I make less than astute decisions after a few drinks. It's hard to imagine my life without it, even though I've been known to go for extended periods of time without it with no trouble. But when I come back to it, it's always like a strange homecoming, where I wonder why I ever left. It's like the friend that is always there, since my actual friends tend to let me down when I need them most. Not that it's their fault. I don't often speak up when things are really bad. It just feels too pathetic.

Which I suppose is another fear. I don't ever want to appear as if I need help. I don't know if it's all these years of being on my own that have created this idea, or where it comes from, but I hate asking for help. Especially on the emotional front. I usually have a couple of go-to friends for this kind of thing, but they often grow tired of me being such a downer very quickly, so I try to keep my whining to a minimum, even around people I trust.

I'm afraid that I'll never be able to overcome any of these issues. That I'll forever be mentally fucked up, that I'll never live up to what I expect of myself. Afraid that I'll never be completely happy, that I've set myself up for failure, that I'll never be able to measure up to the ruler I created. Afraid that no one (especially my parents) will ever be proud of me, proud of my accomplishments, proud to know me, proud to be in my life or my friend. Afraid that I will never matter to another human being as long as I live. I know this sounds ridiculous, but it is easy to feel inconsequential when there isn't any consistency to life or friendships.

I have friends who swear they will be there for me through anything, whether it's going out to meet people, or if there's some sort of emergency, or just picking up my mail while I'm out of town. But in truth, their lives are more important than mine. And I can't fault them for this. But I guess the point I am trying to make is that I am fumbling through this life alone, feeling my way with my bare hands, without anyone there to pick me up when I fall. Everyone else I know has someone right next to them, ready to make things right when they go wrong. I don't have that, and have never had that. I am perpetually alone. And it makes me afraid.