He's waiting (and you know he is)

I feel totally reptilian. By which I mean extinct, cold-blooded and carnivorous. A life form incompatible with other mammals. Something similar, walks the same ground, but deeply different. You get the picture. On the plus side, I haven't had a cigarette since Sunday morning. My chest felt dusty. Now it's just heavy. Thinking almost every day this week about Amy Winehouse. Y'know, ruminating on Amy Winehouse is basically how I wallow. She has the early stages of emphysema, you know. In addition, I mean, to everything else. It's just awful.

Soul Sister Pico makes these stickers of quotes, and these two are sentences that I wrote. Wrote, even, on this blog. I'm beyond flattered. I never think of myself as a writer. Or, of a writer of anything other than slogans. But really, if you can say it in a sentence, do you really need a novel? I don't think so. Speaking of Pico and writing, check out the website for his fabulous literary zine, Birdsong. Went to the therapist last night to discuss how much progress I've made over the last year. We're taking a break, their office is closing for a month, and we talked about how solid I was, how I could use the break to reflect on my situation, notice my feelings, feel really capable and in-touch-with-myself. Came home from therapy and got into an argument with my mom. I spent the bulk of the evening crying. For those of you keeping score (nobody) I haven't shed a tear for more than two years. It's been a sick point of pride. Spell broken. I just started sobbing hysterically. Called Bobo to tell her about it and then started crying all over again.

You know that scene in Good Will Hunting? Where Robin Williams keeps telling Matt Damon "It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault."? And Matt tells him to back off, to stop saying that, but Robin doesn't, and eventually Matt just melts into a blubbering heap? It was like that. Except I was both characters, or something. or, I was the interaction, the space between then in that part of the movie. I know that scene was about childhood abuse, but I'm saying that I consoled myself, opened myself up like some kind of magic can of beans. I just started crying because I felt like it really is my fault. If someone's mad at me, or mean to me, or treats me unfairly. If someone breaks up with me, hates me, hurts my feelings. If I just feel badly, I feel like it really is my fault. Like I'm responsible for it. And that's kind of a lot to manage. And when I realize that it might not be my fault, that I might not deserve to feel the way I feel or get treated the way I do, then I totally lost it, man.It's not my fault when I'm upset. I want Minnie Driver to fix my life now. Recover my sense of self with your long, European-yet-somehow-semitic hair!

I feel really weird. Drained, uneasy. Lonely, too. That's actually the real thing I talked about in therapy: I feel like on one hand, I want to start dating people again. But on the other hand, I can barely stand myself, I don't want to have to deal with anyone else. You know?

Anyways, I'm go-go dancing on Saturday night.

No comments: