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2018-06-19 21:44:01 (UTC)

she is in no-space

"Fireworks" by Mitski

One morning this sadness will fossilize
And I will forget how to cry
I'll keep going to work and you won't see a change
Save perhaps a slight gray in my eye

I will go jogging routinely
Calmly and rhythmically run
And when I find that a knife's sticking out of my side
I'll pull it out without questioning why

I will be married to silence
The gentleman won't say a word
But you know, oh you know in the quiet he holds
Runs a river that will never find home

And then one warm summer night
I'll hear fireworks outside
And I'll listen to the memories as they cry, cry, cry

June 19, 2018 Tuesday 9:45 PM

Today I went to therapy and I was fine. On Monday, I came home and cooked dinner and then drank until I was dizzy. Goose drank too and we walked to the bay where I peed in the water and he laughed when I slid my underwear down my legs from under a jean skirt, crumpled them up into my purse (this was before the pee, thank u). We stumbled back home and crawled into my bed (I took a shower first), were too close, pretty sure Goose kissed my shoulder and my instant reaction was a familiar curling in the gut—burnt paper rolling in on itself. I was extremely horny, extremely ashamed, very drunk and pretty tired. We both slept pretty badly I think, but I didn't have to go to work until noon whereas Goose had a meeting at like ten fifteen.

When I woke up, I was like, "Should I think about this?" and then I decided not to. So I feel really ashamed and gross, but I know the feeling will pass. Goose and I won't discuss it, me because I don't want to bring it up and Goose—I don't even think Goose cares. He's prolly like, eh, physical contact: *shrug*. I mean, last time before we cuddled I was like, "SHOULD WE TALK ABOUT THIS?" and he was like, "No. Why?" And I was like, "Isn't it weird?" and he said, "It doesn't have to be." And he told me about the end of last semester where he cuddled with two friends, a boy and a girl, and he made it sound very nice so I agreed. Although he invariably ends up touching my boobs and I am never really opposed to it, until the next day when I'm like: ????? was thaT???? normal????? What is happening??????

I mean. I feel like my first instinct—which is that Goose is gay—is wrong. Not just based on that, because I think you can still touch people intimately when you're not attracted to them, lol. It's just other stuff that he's said, little things here and there. He is not exactly secretive, but Goose is very good at keeping personal details to himself without letting conversation die out. I am a bit of a reluctant oversharer so I find that amazing.

Anyway, so that happened, but it doesn't bother me as much as the other stuff: such as, my thoughts lately, my seemingly uncontrollable ups and downs. And also, still related to Goose (loosely), I am upset that I instinctively react to touch with a combination arousal and shame??? Like, I think that's fucked up and it tires me out. The only thing in life that is worth anything is love—how am I going to be able to experience that if I don't know how to accept it when it's offered? How can I go on without separating the physical from the emotional?

Also, I am glad I didn't drink or smoke when I was in a bad mood this weekend, but I would like to better control my drinking even when I'm in a good mood.

Therapy kind of sucked. While I was freaking out Saturday, I sent Lancelot an e-mail rant and then I immediately felt bad. It read as the following:

Hello! I am not doing well! I started thinking about my self-image, since that is what has been stressing me out the most lately, and it made me think about how I am immediately stabilized by social interaction. I mean, I usually avoid interacting when I don't feel good, but if I am forced to interact with people that I know pretty well, then I am immediately calmed and I suddenly can't remember why I felt so bad in the first place (except for some lingering anxiety, idk).
And then I realized that this calms me down because interacting with people I love forces me to be the person I think that they love, and in that sense I am forced to alter my self-image to match what I imagine their image of me is. So when left to my own devices, my self-image is suuuuper volatile: one second I'm great, another second I can't trust my own mind, blah blah blah—but then when introduced into a social environment, I have to shift the focus of my attention from internal to external. I must respond to the environment and stuff. That kind of thing.
And now I'm wondering where the hell my self-image is rooted??? Like, in what values aside from Constant Questioning Of All Things?????? If it happens to be partially rooted in the way others see me, is that why I feel so vulnerable when people matter to me????? Because if the way they see me changes, the way I see me will change too.... It will destabilize part of how I see myself. Maybe. What? Does this make any sense????? My thoughts are all chopped up now.
Oh god, I've confused myself. Point is! My roommate is gone for the weekend and I keep turning down other plans and I won't talk to my other friends and I also refuse to change my behavior in any way, so I am going insane (clearly).
Okay, I've calmed down since I started furiously typing this up. It is possible that everything I said above is a complete distortion of the situation. I have no idea. Perspective's totally warped at the moment, haha.
I will be fine, see you on Tuesday! Sorry for ranting! Sorry for saying sorry! Sorry times 3! Have a good weekend!

I think he misunderstood my point anyway. He kept saying things about "Who I Am" and like—I thought I had been talking about my self-image, not who I am. I get how those things are related, but I feel that self-image is distinct. It is the way I see myself. I am able to identify some core parts of myself and that's pretty constant, but my OPINIONS on those traits vary wildly.

And then it sounded like he was telling me I have to stop thinking myself into holes and I said, "I'm already in the hole!!!" Because I don't want to believe this is my fault. I want this to be true: that I feel bad things whether or not I think about it, and thinking provides an outlet in that I get to try and pinpoint the source of the pain while also increasing its intensity so that it might break, crest, whatever, and I can go back to normal.

I mean, what about this Goose thing? I haven't been paying it any attention until now but I still felt the consequences of it. Just like Saturday—I felt terrible and I couldn't figure out how to feel better, so I wrote about it, thinking if I understood the feelings I could somehow work to diminish them.

Partway through therapy my dad called and said, "Can you make $1000 before the end of summer?" and I said "If I get a second job" and he said "Do that. We need help with tuition" and I said, "Okay, I will. I'm trying," and we talked a bit longer—when we hung up I started crying and Lancelot was like, "???" and I was like, "???" and then he thought maybe I felt guilty and part of me does, because I don't have to go to this expensive school and I am not really going anywhere in my life so why do I need this Fancy Rich People school and Fancy Rich People Liberal education?????

Especially because what if I just drop out and die? I mean, I've been thinking, very carefully, that if the only good thing about life is the people in it and I am struggling very much to keep people—why should I live? Why should I live to disappoint and be disappointed if it's mostly just agony for me? Yeah, I know, this hurts other people, blah, blah, blah. But won't they be okay? They'll die someday too, but before then they will have people they love besides me and it will be fine. And it's not that I don't have people I love—it's just that everything hurts too much and I keep fucking things up for myself and for other people and I am not sure what to do anymore. I am hurting my body, my mind, my friends. Why not do it once more, disappear and let them idealize me?

It's selfish, but I'm selfish no matter what, aren't I? I'm not going to do it. At least not right now. This is the kind of thing that would require meticulous planning. Not that I am going to do that either. Except for also I might. I am not sure. I will think about it as I fall asleep tonight. I am okay—but I am so tired.

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