the pain has hardly decreased, but the miscellanous side
effects have leaped. for one, my face turns extremely red
whenever im embarassed. before, nobody could tell i was in
that much pain. maybe its just my red hair... all i know is
that i can feel my face turning red nowadays. slurring has
also increased. before it was just an occasional
stuttering, but now its like i can predict what im going to
say, and know for a fact im going to butcher that phrase.
which i do. but my pain of memories has decreased. well,
the pain itself hasn't, but the frequency has gone down.
life was bad before repression, and life is bad now. better
in some ways, worse in others. but i think its time i stop
repressing. its the only thing i can think of thats causing
these side effects. i dont know what else to do. i did cut
myself a few days ago, i dont think i wrote about it... on
the hips, so no one knows about it. of course they didn't
bleed, but there were red marks in the morning. sensitive
area. the wrist is still the most satisfying target, but of
course i cant use it, especially not with hot weather.
maybe in college i can pick it up again. but i think i did
improve after i cut myself. its refreshing. things become a
lot clearer. the voices quiet down. but pain, the object of
pain is still there, some other force is administrating it.
there is another strategy. i dont trust it, but im using
it. appreciation of pain. ive started out pondering about
paradoxes, first simple greek examples, i loved reading
about those. now im focusing on paradoxes of life and
politics. instead of become infuriated with mankind's
seemingly inevitable suicide, i look at it as.... not
really a challenge, or a puzzle... more like a beautiful
work of art. something that exists, but doesn't, just can't
touch it. its something to be admired, maybe lived for or
about. words cant really describe well.
i guess what you could say is that im still mentally sick,
but at least im loaded up on painkillers.
and japanese movies aren't helping either. or maybe they
are. but they're a perfect example of that love/hate
relationship i have with complexity. the utter ambiguity,
the double meanings... especially the endings, im in so
much pain when the credits roll. they always have some
quote or lesson at the end, and i think this is why i hurt
so much: any good work of art requires the viewer to
interpret it for himself/herself. its the viewer's
participation. the viewer is part of the art. and of
course, i hate myself. therefore, i hate the art. but i
love the movies or music itself, its just when the time
comes for me to think about it and reflect, i get this
makes me all think why im here. the question everyone
faces. is there an answer? has anyone found a reasonable
explanation? i guess my situation just makes it all the
more complicated. whats the purpose of this self-hate?
there has to be a reason, thats one philosophy i believe in
faithfully, a reason for everything. so why cant i love?
why cant i win? why cant i live happily? why cant i feel
happiness at all? why is emptyness the only pleasure i
feel? what will come first answers or suicide?
trial and error, i guess.