distressing. i care too much about appearances. i was looking through my profile pics on facebook and the thought careened through my head: "what will people think of me based on these pictures?"
not like any of them don't already know i was the weird one in high school...
we don't change much. only the periphery. changing the center takes Olympian strength of will. in essentials we remain very much as we always have been.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
so far from home...
about 8 years ago, i was deliriously mad. i was a stranger in familiar territory, having moved to another city to be with my then boyfriend. i broke up with him a little over a year after i had moved, and that suddenly shoved me outside of myself. i hated that place - but what i hated most about it was the person that i became while i was there. desperate, hungry, naive, pathetic. i witnessed the shameful depths of myself, i think, while i was there.
but i also witnessed the disparity of other people, as well. former friends who loved me only because i was part of my boyfriend's life. other friends who came out of the woodwork to prove that they loved me once i left john. strangers who tried to seduce me with talk of houseboats on the lake. tried. the revulsion welled up. men who thought that whispering that i "looked fucking great" into my neck would coax me. my ex-boyfriend who found sadistic pleasure in telling me how great his life was while i was cracking apart. no sympathy, no compassion. people whose characters burst in so many different directions so suddenly that i couldn't keep up. sincerity, lust, spiritual depth, arrogance. but i was bouncingspinningsinking too. i hated myself.
i think what i hated the most was the knowledge of how low i had touched. the depths of my shame and what i would tolerate. what i was certain to tolerate again and again, had i not been rescued.
no, i can't go back there.
but i also witnessed the disparity of other people, as well. former friends who loved me only because i was part of my boyfriend's life. other friends who came out of the woodwork to prove that they loved me once i left john. strangers who tried to seduce me with talk of houseboats on the lake. tried. the revulsion welled up. men who thought that whispering that i "looked fucking great" into my neck would coax me. my ex-boyfriend who found sadistic pleasure in telling me how great his life was while i was cracking apart. no sympathy, no compassion. people whose characters burst in so many different directions so suddenly that i couldn't keep up. sincerity, lust, spiritual depth, arrogance. but i was bouncingspinningsinking too. i hated myself.
i think what i hated the most was the knowledge of how low i had touched. the depths of my shame and what i would tolerate. what i was certain to tolerate again and again, had i not been rescued.
no, i can't go back there.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
voiceless
what good could i do from such a distance? my family hovers like vultures around my grandmother's estate, nipping at each other. the siblings, not the grandkids. we're all watching in disgust and heartache.
i think they have forgotten, in her absence, that she can still see them. that their words wound still, maybe worse, for being sincere and unfiltered. now that they don't have to worry about "upsetting mom," they stab all the more vehemently. one, in particular. merciless, scathing. childish.
i want to do something. scream at them. punch one of them. anything. but i'm voiceless, paraplegic. getting into it would only mire me further, anyway.
i think they have forgotten, in her absence, that she can still see them. that their words wound still, maybe worse, for being sincere and unfiltered. now that they don't have to worry about "upsetting mom," they stab all the more vehemently. one, in particular. merciless, scathing. childish.
i want to do something. scream at them. punch one of them. anything. but i'm voiceless, paraplegic. getting into it would only mire me further, anyway.
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