a nonlinear nonsensical recounting of my days
"The Ending of Dramamine" by Car Seat Headrest
February 25, 2021 Thursday 11:31 AM
Smells like the first day of spring. I've started to get too hot sleeping under my comforter and two quilts. I thought it was a brief heat spell, but it's stuck around the last couple days and I'm worried we've seen the last of the Very Cold. I should start mourning winter. Winter is my favorite season and I am going to miss being cold. Winter makes me want to cuddle (in theory) and spring makes me want to kiss (in theory).
I've been thinking lately that, if I ever get the chance, I want to wrap something around my boobs until my chest is flat. Because it wouldn't be too hard, given my boob size, and also I sometimes hate having them. And I want to know how far my obsession with boys goes.
I don't think at any point that I will be a boy. I've already talked about this—I want to be one, in the sense that I want to be pretty much anyone else. I'm not sad or anything. This is actually the best I've felt consistently in a very long time. I feel... really good. But unfortunately, my self-esteem is still pretty low and will probably remain that way until I figure out what I really want from myself. Do I want someone to validate me? God knows a little validation goes a long-ass way. I cling to it for years.
But that isn't the way someone builds resilience. And what I realized awhile ago (maybe I've already written about it) is that my self-esteem has been so low for so long (at least a decade now) that the slightest wind could knock me over; that I never trusted myself and I had a difficult time trusting other people; that whenever I got lost in my feelings, I was sort of convinced I'd be there forever.
An oversimplification, but so be it. Sorry. My introspective skills are rusty—I've spending a good amount of time outside myself lately. Which is really, really good. But I think I do miss communing with myself a little.
Maria made me so paranoid about my gender by accident, lol. I don't really want to get into it, but like I said, I sometimes have this desperate... want... to be a boy. But again, I wonder—is that something real for me or am I fetishizing boy-ness? Whatever.
I don't remember the last time I wrote about Isaac, but I wanted to note a brief update: ever since we talked about his crush on me, things have been much better. We've been talking a lot less frequently, but he stopped sending me weird flirty pictures and he's not, like.. obsessive anymore. He asked if we could have a phone call this weekend, which I said yes to, because I'd like to talk to him with this new sort of perspective on our friendship.
It made me sort of—I don't know. This whole time, being annoyed with Isaac, I felt guilty because I thought I was imagining his interest in me. I thought maybe I was hung up on the past for some reason, or I was egotistical, and paranoid, and as such thought un-real things. But when we spoke about it, I realized that a lot of the signals I was receiving—pictures of him in tank tops, the nice little messages, the subtle (and then not-so-subtle) bids for my attention—I was right. And it's a little sad that I so easily dismissed my own paranoia and immediately moved on to beating myself up...
I felt so cruel in those moments. Towards Isaac, that is. Our conversation was... surprisingly easy. But if there's one positive thing about my rocky relationship with Isaac, it's that our heavier conversations have always been easy for me. I am not worried about hurting him and I don't think he can hurt me. I check out emotionally; it's not that I don't care about his feelings, it's that I almost *want* to hurt him. He said, "I'm an attractive guy—don't you find me attractive?" And honestly? I don't. I said as much. He's right that he's an attractive guy. It's just... not my thing. Because of his personality, lol. It always eventually drives me away, turns me into someone I don't like. Someone who wants to make him hurt.
It's better this way; I feel... better about it.
I don't write poetry, but I'm taking a poetry class. I sort of forgot it was a workshop and now I'm sort of nervous because I have a workshop this week. I've written poetry before, for a class—and in high school, I used to write poetry here and there, but never really with the *bent* of poetry.
I've never really been a fan of poetry in general. I've only ever enjoyed some T.S. Eliot. And also Ocean Vuong is pretty good, as well as Sarah Galvin. CA Conrad. Some other poets here and there. It's not something I return to, I read it once and I leave (except for The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock). I'm really not a poetry person. Nor am I a poet.
If I do write poetry, it's prose poetry. But the poetry I did write came from a very dark place. I was still sort of recovering from a difficult time, grappling with a bad period in my relationship with my parents. It had a lot to do with being a daughter, feeling betrayed, feeling alienated from my identity. Now, what the fuck am I supposed to write about? I don't feel the need for something so emotional—I want to use language the way I've always used it, as a linear and logical tool with which to string out thoughts and emotions. To bend them into structures—
How did I used to do this?
Maybe I'm just worn out, creatively. It's been a hard week. I'm taking 3 creativity-based classes and I had a lot of work due this week. I felt scraped dry. The sort of perverse thing about arts classes is that progress isn't always apparent. I spent hours and hours on every class but nothing came of almost any of that time. I ended up finding refuge in the most logical of the possible arts, and that was drawing, because we've been doing figure drawing so all I really had to do was frustrate my pencil into the right proportions and densities. Even that was exhausting.
I've also been playing a lot of piano, which holds its own very pleasant logic. My fingers moving in the set and pre-determined order, the sounds inked on a page. My forearms aching—that's a nice, grounding feeling. I really do like pain and the way it makes me feel home. I accidentally spilled boiling hot tea on my arm a couple of weeks ago and I got a first degree burn from it. It's peeling now into a pink stain of a mark, but it really hurt for about a day afterwards and it was extremely pleasant, the way it just... narrowed me into that zone. I remember with a weird relish the way, as soon as I burned myself, I involuntarily crouched and let out some terrible pained laughs.
I tend to laugh a lot when I get injured. I don't know what it is, but I have theories. I don't like it too much when people make a fuss over me being hurt, so I try to laugh to get them to relax. Especially because I don't feel upset when I get hurt at all—I actually have some of my most calm moments at those times. I think I remember laughing a few times when I had those terrible injuries on the bottom of my feet. I cried when they put the numbing agent in my feet so they could stitch it up, but other than that, I felt all right. It makes me more nervous if I'm injured and I'm not in pain—that's scary. I'd really rather be hurting.
When I'm anxious or tired, I stab myself lightly or pinch my skin to keep myself awake or grounded. Or, as I've said, I yell out loud (when appropriate) so that I remember when I am. Because otherwise I can get really entrenched in my memories and I feel things emotionally as if I am still there, experiencing it.
Anyway, I don't think I qualify any of this as self-harm or anything like that. I don't think I deserve to get hurt and in general I don't want to hurt myself. I just embrace it when it does happen.
Some guy from my poetry class messaged me on Facebook a couple weeks ago and I was so happy lol. Because I'd basically been interested in him since the first class. He was funny and cute. But he kind of stopped answering and I'm disappointed. But whatever, I guess. I worried a lot about it during class this Tuesday, mostly because I was already wracked by anxiety what with having so much to do. I think I almost cried several times during that class just because of how anxious I was.
But I've been really good about taking care of myself lately, I think. Well, not as good as normal, but I've been patient. I know my stress reactions are inconvenient, but I really don't blame myself—it's just sort of my physiology. And no amount of medication will ever fix that. I can ease my mood swings (thx lamotrigine) and lift my depression (shoutout lexapro), but that won't (1) improve my self-esteem (2) get rid of my anxiety, specifically the social-related anxiety and (3) ultimately, it's not going to cure my mental illness. It just helps a lot.
Really, all I can do in those moments is try to treat myself like someone else. E-mail my professors because I owe it to me. Let myself have a night off to sleep because she needs it. Plan a night this weekend to just do nothing, no homework—because again, I need time to replenish my creative stores, otherwise I will not survive the semester.
I am just feeling—an uncharacteristic patience and affection for myself. Which is really, really nice. As I said, I'm still experiencing a lot of anxiety and it can be really hard to deal with some days.
Nadiya asked me the other day if I was always listening to music because I didn't want to hear myself and I realized she was exactly right, lol. Also realized, after talking with her some more, that not everyone "hears" "voices" in their heads when they're stressed. I want to emphasize that they're *not* auditory hallucinations in any capacity. I am very aware at all times that this is happening within my head. It's really just that a lot of it happens without my conscious involvement. So I'll be going about my business and then I'll realize all of a sudden that my head has been manifesting conversations between my sister and my mom, or it's been constructing stories about relationship dynamics between certain chords on the piano. It's not something I can help, and it's not always a both, but it can be really exhausting and invasive sometimes. It's like dreaming while awake—the logic and forms appearing in front of me, and definitely sourcing from me, but without visible mechanism.
Anyway, yeah, so this isn't an experience that everyone has. It's really cool that I can experience it! I really value it. But, uh, yeah... It's a lot. And it can be harmful when I'm stressed, because it's amplified and also because it will easily take negative turns and then it'll turn into a bad memory or a bad imagined situation and I'll get sucked in. And then I'll have to yell to get myself out of it.
Cool structure, tho—like, interesting functioning up in this brain right here, lol. Nadiya said "wow, storyteller," and she wasn't teasing but it kind of still sounded like she was. But that's just how she talks.
I really love Nadiya. She is one of the most comforting people I know. Okay I think that's all—I want to practice piano now. And then maybe do some spanish before class.
Want some cocktail tips? Try some drinks recipes over here