Can’t Find the Tired

There is a pain. There is a pain in my left knee. There is a pain in my left knee and it won’t stop aching. Fuck a duck. That’s what happens when you sit cross-legged on a couch. You get a won’t-stop-constant ache in your fucking knee.

Honestly, this isn’t my point of tension. This is a mere figment of the corner of the very edge of the tip of the damn blade of things. I wish I knew how to handle any of this shit. I am just ill equipped. I’m beginning to feel, as I get older, that realizing that you simply don’t have the wherewithall to deal with the constant melodrama, is simply part of the process. Slough it off and rebuild. Shed and move forward. Dump the extra weight and trek forth- ’nuff said. I am a person of intense emotional baggage. I always have been, and I’m not (nor have I ever been) sure why. I remember things… for, like… ever. I sometimes feel like citing my highly artistic personality as the impairment in my ability to let go and move on, and my hyper-awareness of my emotions. After all, it is we brooding artists that are obnoxiously emotional, isn’t it? Don’t we torture ourselves (unwillingly but without resistance) in the name of our self-expression? Is it not in our intense emotional being that makes us artistic? What a fucking joke.

I think I am addicted to emotional distress. I’ve had it all my life, and now I’m beginning to think that I default on that mindset because it’s what I know. When my life is free of complex problems, I’m waiting for something to fall into my lap. So there you have it. I’m a mess.

Sometimes I wonder if the people I’ve tried to leave behind still look for me. It’s a vain idea, and one I don’t entertain often. But then, on the odd occasion, I find myself looking back for them. Is it unfair or unreasonable to wonder if they have ever done the same; ever wondered? I still remember feelings I had six years ago, rather vividly. It’s not to say that I necessarily feel them anymore, simply that they still echo sometimes when I look back and faintly try to recall what my life was like, or who I was. In the last three years I’ve gone from fighting reality with all the might of my mind, praying that I could turn back the clock somehow or wake from this nightmare. But things never changed when I woke in the morning. The shock of that life-changing event could not be undone by a sound night’s sleep. It was all real.

I’ve made great forward strides. I have a Husband, and a house, and a child who just grew her first adult teeth (so she looks like a cross between a rabbit and a tiny fourteen-year-old… she looks so much more mature with her big girl teeth …). I have a mortgage, and a car and a credit rating. My life has progressed beyond all I could have imagined. I am happy with the choices I’ve made. There was that intensely burning pain last year when I miscarried my first pregnancy, but I’ve moved past that. But, oh. I remember. I hate that I remember.

This time of year floods that experience back to me. Every November, like clockwork, the deep, uncontrollable, completely unwelcome depression sets in. Ativan, you are my friend. I don’t know what to do with these thoughts of mine, these feelings. I don’t know what to do with the thoughts I entertain or the rash urges I have to open doors that should stay closed. That life is over, and gone. So why does it feel like it will never really ever be gone? Things I accumulated in that time are dim reminders of it. My stupid North Van Wal-Mart sweater is totally killing my mood.

I’ve taken to writing a lot. CeltX is a beautiful thing when you’re screenwriting. I also love OpenOffice, especially since you can use the two together. And OpenOffice makes nice PDF files. I have an addiction to handwritten typefonts, especially in cursive-meets-bubbly-printing fonts. I’m studying a few religions- none of them Christian in nature. I’m exploring Hinduism, Buddhism and Kemetic Orthodox. My Mother-In-Law has asked me to study Kabbalah with her- I might. I’m trying to find the next phase of my spiritual enlightenment- especially in the midst of feeling so disappointed in myself about my failure to cope and evolve. I house so much anger and resentment inside for this series of events and this singular person, who, I’m hoping, may someday experience some karmaic feedback from beyond.

Fucking pain in my knee.

I’m proud of my husband. I can see the love in his eyes, the way he holds me, the way he kisses me (even in his sleep). I can feel his love in the way he rubs my back when I sit beside him, and the knowing way he smiles at me, for no reason other than to radiate his love. I am proud of my husband. He was not always such a loyal man, not always so communicative and open. He was not always so considerate, and he was not always loyal or monogamous. But for me, he has been all of those things. I think, in part, because if he wasn’t, he would not have been my husband. He has compromised his way to being a better man. I used to think that having someone change for you was breaking the social contract you made to love them for who they were. But I think in real love you can recognize a person’s true potential, that they are capable of it, that they were really that person all along without knowing it. And I think that in real love, you do grow together. A marriage should assist in shaping who you are. If the person you love cannot help you grow, then they are not right for you. I am in phase two.

My Husband works and tries so hard. It will be a chore to go two months without him this year while he goes to military training. That is, if he passes his next EXPRES test. He is joining COMM. His family is all legacy Airforce. He will be the first Army man. I almost enlisted in 2008- until I discovered that they don’t take diabetics. Oh well. I always have The Running Room.

I change my look a lot. Honestly, I thought going blond again would boost my self-esteem. But really, it is how I remembered it- a lot of time, money and maintenance. I’m not sure I’m loving it anymore but I also don’t know what to do with myself next. Operation Self-Esteem: Day Fucking One.

Ramblings. It’s late. Or early. I don’t know.

I’m going back to school. I want to major in Linguistics. I’m going to learn how to speak Russian. Not for any practical use- but just because I think it is a complex and beautiful language and I want to speak it. Linguistics. And then I want to take English, Literature, Creative Writing, Sociology and Psych. I plan to be a writer. I start here.

Ramblings. Umm… I don’t know. I just wish I could stop looking back and thinking backward while walking forward. It confuses me. There’s got to be a morning after pill for all that is former. :/ Dispense no advice on this subject. I had the answer before I asked the question. I just wish I knew how.


~ by Kд§$ị (ИovΔ) on 11/08/2010.

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