swamp creature strikes again
Experiment: writing about feeling horrible whilst listening to jazzy radio. Weird. Can't help smiling. Haven't smiled much this weekend. Cried, yes, buckets.
I didn't know where to go with my feelings, the hurt. Why not? I can write. I can write in a paper notebook, I can write online, I can talk to myself. Why did I feel I can't take my hurtful stuff anywhere?
Also, several times over the past days I've noticed how I skip over thoughts to avoid the feelings that come with them, or rather, are induced by them. Realising the connection between thoughts and feelings is one thing, but I saw it happen in a foggy kind of way. Lucidity is like a knife that cuts deep and painfully, too much sometimes, for the me in the moment. That's alright, but it needs to be noticed. If I avoid things because I'm not ready yet, that's okay, as long as I notice myself doing it. Don't skip over that as well, that's muddy territory. Swampy. Qicksandy, and other -y's.
Feeling helpless, powerless. Several reasons, but I doubt it matters why. Doesn't happen much, but I also felt extremely lonely last night and today. Shortly after not knowing where to sob, where to bury my weary head and cry. I'm not thinking clearly at the moment. Where do I usually go? My memory isn't at all good, not at all, and it's either getting worse and worse or I'm just starting to realise more clearly how bad it really is.
I prided myself in remembering all the bad stuff that happened to me in the past, and I made a conscious effort to remember everything, like reading back all my notes on the rape. It's scary how much I forget, every time again. Oh, right, yeah, he strangled me til I saw grey, oh right, he tried to tie my hands behind my back.
Awful details, but what scares me more is how easily I forget them.
I don't want to become like my mother who just erases years and bad experiences from her mind. With as a consequence that she can't change, she doesn't know so she can't change. She does try, invisibly to me, I'm sure she does everything she can but it's a scary example to me. My sister remembers things that have dropped out of my mind like sand between fingers. They seem so unfamiliar. It scares me how much a person can forget.
I need to be a writer, I want to be a writer and therefore remember as much as possible, which isn't a whole lot at the moment.
I don't think sudoku will do the trick this time.
Vigilance. Clarity. Notice what I'm doing, even when I'm hiding it from myself. Oh the mind is a clever swamp.
PS Also, I write this stuff as if I haven't written the same thing over and over again many times, right here on this weblog. I'm painfully aware of that.
I didn't know where to go with my feelings, the hurt. Why not? I can write. I can write in a paper notebook, I can write online, I can talk to myself. Why did I feel I can't take my hurtful stuff anywhere?
Also, several times over the past days I've noticed how I skip over thoughts to avoid the feelings that come with them, or rather, are induced by them. Realising the connection between thoughts and feelings is one thing, but I saw it happen in a foggy kind of way. Lucidity is like a knife that cuts deep and painfully, too much sometimes, for the me in the moment. That's alright, but it needs to be noticed. If I avoid things because I'm not ready yet, that's okay, as long as I notice myself doing it. Don't skip over that as well, that's muddy territory. Swampy. Qicksandy, and other -y's.
Feeling helpless, powerless. Several reasons, but I doubt it matters why. Doesn't happen much, but I also felt extremely lonely last night and today. Shortly after not knowing where to sob, where to bury my weary head and cry. I'm not thinking clearly at the moment. Where do I usually go? My memory isn't at all good, not at all, and it's either getting worse and worse or I'm just starting to realise more clearly how bad it really is.
I prided myself in remembering all the bad stuff that happened to me in the past, and I made a conscious effort to remember everything, like reading back all my notes on the rape. It's scary how much I forget, every time again. Oh, right, yeah, he strangled me til I saw grey, oh right, he tried to tie my hands behind my back.
Awful details, but what scares me more is how easily I forget them.
I don't want to become like my mother who just erases years and bad experiences from her mind. With as a consequence that she can't change, she doesn't know so she can't change. She does try, invisibly to me, I'm sure she does everything she can but it's a scary example to me. My sister remembers things that have dropped out of my mind like sand between fingers. They seem so unfamiliar. It scares me how much a person can forget.
I need to be a writer, I want to be a writer and therefore remember as much as possible, which isn't a whole lot at the moment.
I don't think sudoku will do the trick this time.
Vigilance. Clarity. Notice what I'm doing, even when I'm hiding it from myself. Oh the mind is a clever swamp.
PS Also, I write this stuff as if I haven't written the same thing over and over again many times, right here on this weblog. I'm painfully aware of that.
posted by M. at 5:08 PM
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