| I apologize both to you and to myself for that last entry. I almost pulled it, but if I am really trying to create an honest representation of myself, then it should stay. |
| I can't stand it when I feel that way. I've got a few streams of thought that support that kind of mindset and I can't stand any of them. They go like this: |
| 1. You don't deserve to hear my pain. You don't really care about me, so why should I tell you all the things that are tearing my heart to pieces right now? This just strikes me as... childlike. And full of self-pity. It's all about holding on to suffering as if it were precious. It's about not letting anyone take some of it away. It's about not letting myself believe that someone really cares, because then one day they won't anymore and then... |
| 2. You won't believe what I have to say. You'll tell me it wasn't that bad, that my family isn't like that. You'll tell me it could have been worse, or it could have been as bad as YOUR childhood. You'll tell me I am making it all up. You'll tell me I am not a multiple, because if I was then you would surely be able to see it. This is so unfair. If I believe these things, it means that I am assuming that you have no empathy, no understanding, no concern, no acceptance. I don't know that, and it's not fair of me to judge you this way. |
| 3. You'll tell me to get over it. You'll tell me to move on. You'll tell me that past is past and I am responsible for everything that happens right now. The reason that I hate this? See #2. |
| 4. You won't like me anymore once I tell you the truth. What makes me think you like me now? And if you do, maybe it's because you like the act and not the actress. Nobody's paying me to put on a show. |
| Truth is, though, this IS the way I feel. And this IS the way that I think. And the only thing that's going to change that is to do the opposite of what my strange beliefs tell me and see what really happens. Reality testing. Chances are, I'll meet some of you who will waste no time telling me that all of these assumptions are true. But maybe there's a chance that some of you won't say these things, because I have given you no reason to doubt my pain (or my word). I'm no where near arrogant enough to think that I'm the only one out there who hurts this much and (finally) can say so. And I'm not *quite* arrogant enough to think that I am the only person who is capable of really listening to someone else's experience (Anarchia is a great example of this). |
| So for this momemt, I'm going to spend time thinking about how to express my truth in spite of myself. I'm going to make a cup of tea and sit in my backyard (with my precious cigarettes) and breathe the damp spring air and focus on one thing that I can tell you here that will both ease my burden and leave me just slightly uncomfortable. That way I know that I am not only paying homage to my pain, but also growing a little beyond it. |
| I'll be back when I think of something. I may be gone awhile. |
She's got cigarette on each arm
She's got the lily-white cavity crazes
She's got a carborator tied to the moon
Pink eyes looking to the food of the ages
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's got a hand on a wheel of pain
She can talk to the mangling strangers
She can sleep in a fiery bog
Throwing troubles to the dying embers
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
She's got a paradise camoflauge
Like a whip-crack sending me shivers
She's a boat through a strip-mine ocean
Riding low on the drunken rivers
She's alone in the new pollution
She's alone in the new pollution
- Beck, The New Pollution