12:22 a.m. - Sunday, Jun. 22, 2003
No
I have come from hanging out with someone for the last time. It made me feel strange and paper thin.
There's so much i'd like to write in this journal, but I usually stop myself. I know that the fact that I can't bring myself to write my whole truth here shares a distinct connection with the problems that make me want so much to unburden in the first place. Dishonesty. How much of me am I crafting? How much of me is real.
Is humility the same thing as humiliation? Because I feel humility is a virtue I have had to work for. It hasn't come naturally, Stubborness and pride are easier. But I always feel more comfortable with who I am when I've made the effort to display it. Its vulnerability though, and someone has to be quite sure of her ability to heal to open herself up like that sometimes.
I make a million mistakes. I make the wrong decisions. I make decisions that are right for me but wrong in other peoples' eyes. I don't know what I'm doing. I think I know who I am. I can never expect more than that at any given time.
What do you do when your perception of yourself runs directly against someone's opposing one? Walk away.
But then you must wonder why you've had to. Is there more merit in living safely all the time in order to avoid rejection, or pain? Is there something I'm missing, that other people have, that keeps them sane?
What are the things I do that make me a fake. Can I say them? Can I say it? All the things that could be said about me, the reasons I suck, that I say, or hear get said about other people every day. Its like seeing your own funeral, it has no sense of reality. You never really have to know what they're saying about you.
But you do know, somewhere inside of you. You know you have things that make you different, that make you odd, or broken.
What do I do that makes me broken? I lose control. But if I regain it in the end, isn't that just living?I'm not like other girls. I sense that's the draw, and that's the drawback. My limits are less clearly defined. That makes me seem a bit mad, I'm sure. But the limits I do have hit you like a brick wall. I'm all conflict and chaos. And debaucherous and sick. And strong too. But sick. Sometimes I am sick.
But sick or not, what I can't abide is a fake. If I am fake. Games make me feel played cuz i don't play them. But then I play my own set and I can't even truthfully say that anymore.
So I've said a bunch of stuff without saying anything really at all. But I least I said something.
I was rejected. That is my honesty. I got rejected. And I have to feel that, and its been a long time. Rejected for reasons that leave me feeling a dull ache in my face. Pursued with frenzy and then rejected. My defects glaring. All those frays I need to clean up. All that shit I need to sort out. But it wasn't all just my shit, at least I know that.
In some ways I almost like this feeling. I remember how to be strong, like its riding a bycicle. One thing I never did was hold on. I'm glad that was my instinct. I'm glad its my instinct now. Now there's just the dull ache.
And not for the thing itself, just for my own illusions about myself. But that can be corrected. And now it will be. One bit at a time.
