I come home to dark living quarters. Someone forgot to leave a light on for me. That someone is me. For some reason, though, I forgo turning on the hallway light and make my way down the pitch darkness, turning by instinct into the office. Every move is methodical, carefully planned and played out with care. I make my way to my main computer, itching for my headset. I barely have launched before I am speaking these very words, pouring out of my mouth at a furious pace.
The dam has burst.
It is 5:43pm. The engagement rings on my fingers hang too loose; if I lose much more weight, I will not be able to wear them anymore, and then what will I have as a constant reminder to not be so impulsive? At the rate I am going these past twenty four hours, I may have something else.
My emergency appointment with my psychotherapist ended an hour ago. Because I refused to enter in a hospital as an in patient I had to agree to a safety contract that will last until our next appointment, which is tomorrow at noon. Why so soon, when it was all a medication screw up?
Oh, wishful thinking, keep on wishing. I was so blind I could not see, thank you thera-pee.
I went out last night thinking it was going to be like the old days in Pittsburgh, from the second time I lived there in 2000, not the first time in 1999. Back when I would go out alone and just revel in my solitude, observing people and delighting in the construct that is human nature. That was the plan.
Instead I went out last night with the mind set of how I was when I first moved back to D.C. in 2001 — lonely, afraid and feeling like I did not fit in. Why did all this suddenly come crashing back on my head, after almost a full year\’s absence? Well, let us see, there was Nathan, and Anna, Robin and that spooky guy from the IMC who\’s name I can never remember, added to the fact that I kept trying to get Eran on the phone and the call would not go through, added to the fact that I was there alone when I wanted to be sharing it with someone, and my head just went kaboom.
It was getting late, so I said good-bye to Anna and decided it was time to go home. \”You stood there like an idiot and didn\’t talk to anyone again. What\’s wrong with you?\” Suddenly I had an inner critique again. Suddenly the inner critique was all that was in my head.
I had been there for two hours looking for a new friend, a real conversation, a smile — proof that I was not insignificant, just a piece of meat to be fucked, just a person to use because they will let you use them, just a person to take advantage of because I will do your web site for free (not speaking of my friends here, folks, talking about something else) — and I had failed. Another thing I had failed at, come up short on, left feeling like I was not enough, did not have what it takes. Was not normal.
The past few weeks and months came crashing down on me, and that moment was simply the straw that broke the camel\’s back. And maybe it was the medication fucking up, too, because the past few years I have had a lot more self-control than that. But something in me snapped at that point last night, and well… you already know the rest.
I cannot blame it all on the medication. I want to, but it is not that simple. Apparently I snapped, and the medication pushed me over the edge.
Right now I am still cycling, back and forth. Tears one minute, okay the next. My therapist says I am fighting for control, that it is in me to want to be okay as much as it is in me to want to die. I am not out of the woods yet. I am not happy with that answer; I wanted an easy answer. I wanted a simple \’it was the medication, so we will get the medication out of your system and then you will be fine\’. I am not going to get that.
Of course, no one wants to take responsibility when they fuck up that badly. It would be easy to lie to everyone and just say, hey, it was the medication, that was it, nothing else to it, I am fine now. Continue onwards. Keep up the facade. I facade so well. But I am not going to do that. \”Admit the embarrassing stuff — it is what makes you human.\” — Scottish Proverb. Happens to be my favorite, or could you not tell from this journal that I keep?
But a facade in some cases it will have to be. I have been told to not be alone, but I am completely unable to reach out to people when I need it, so instead of hanging out with friends tonight, I am going on a date. Smooth move, Casanova. Nothing like good music and good sex to take your mind off your woes. I told myself I was going to stop seeing Richard, but… that was last year, and we have gotten to know each other better since then. I fool no one.
Richard\’s just another of my old men with brilliant taste in music who has good taste in everything and likes to spend some free time with me, which I am not adverse to. Which is not to say I do not like the guy — I do like him, but he and I use each other to pass the time, share common interests and fuck. There is just no desire for anything more on either side. Though ultimately, is that not what most interactions other than the really meaningful ones are about — passing the time? I miss not passing the time. I want to play Bingo Gazingo\’s \”I Love You So Fucking Much I Can\’t Shit\” to someone and be able to mean it.
Therefore, tonight, Richard, and maybe stopping by Marx afterwards if I feel up to it, though I have been advised by my therapist to not go there. I cancelled seeing Ted tomorrow, so tomorrow I have no plans, which I guess is not good. Not that I need a baby-sitter — spare me the belittlement. I just need to be… occupied.
People accuse me of rarely talking and of hardly ever opening up outside my journal. Well let me tell you something — this is pure, naked vulnerability tonight. Tonight, I am a talker. Tonight, I am pouring my heart out if someone will listen. But there is no one there to listen. There is no one there to talk to. As per usual, it is only me and my tape recorder or headset, when all I want is another human being.
Sometimes I feel like I do not really exist. *Poof*
