I went on that trip last week. I drove down to Southern California last Friday, went to Joshua Tree on Saturday, hung out with Rosalie on Sunday, drove to Sequoia National Park and Kings Canyon on Monday, and drove home on Tuesday, sweeping through Yosemite. There were good points and bad points. Joshua Tree was amazing, I love the desert, it was warm and exciting. A major bad point was Daylight Savings Time ending during the trip, so by the time I was heading to Sequoia National Park, I knew I would have an hour less of daylight.
The Giant Redwoods in Sequoia weren’t spectacular, I think I’m more awed by the tall coastal Redwoods. It was a nice drive through the park, though, and Kings Canyon was incredible, even though I got there after dark. It started raining during the night and it didn’t let up, so that ruined my plans to do some hikes before heading back to San Francisco. But since I was leaving so early, I decided to divert through Yosemite. Even in the rain and fog and mist, Yosemite was quite beautiful. I would like to go to Yosemite and Kings Canyon next Spring or Summer. Mono Lake, too. I also want to drive up the North Coast to see the coastal Redwoods and do a bike ride I’ve read about.
I started cutting again. It felt good. I felt whole again. Maybe not “whole”, but I felt like I was myself again. Nothing serious, just scratches with a utility knife. Lines that heal within a few days.
No more daylight savings. It’s dark by the time I get out of work. Another Winter to get through. A Bay Area “Winter”. I can get through it. February 17, 2003.
Showing posts with label cutting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cutting. Show all posts
Friday, November 02, 2001
Saturday, July 21, 2001
1557 Noe Street, San Francisco
My laptop died at the end of June. I didn’t permanently lose a lot; it was mostly an inconvenience. I lost whatever I wrote in the month of June. I think the only thing of significance in June was realizing that entries from like 1996 already articulated what I feel now. Writing in here about my “feelings” is stupid; I’ve already written it down sometime before.
So what’s going on in my life? I don't care about the band. There is just no passion, no connection, and no chemistry. I don't care about these people, I don't care what happens. I auditioned for another band today. I don’t think I’ll get it, and I’m not sure I want it, but I’ve taken the crucial step of starting to audition again.
I’m looking more closely at my cutting. I’m reading a book on the subject, Bright Red Scream, by Marilee Strong. I tried going to therapy, but it was just stupid. The doctor was an idiot, but the experience, for some reason, made me focus on cutting. At first I couldn’t even identify that as a problem to focus on.
Why am I still doing it? I don’t fit the profile of people doing it anymore. Or at least I don’t think I do. The book I’m reading accurately describes what was going on when I was doing it before, but things have changed and it has just become habit. It doesn’t give me the relief that it may have before. Now I just do it for the hell of it. It’s not because of feelings, it’s not a way of dealing or coping, it’s not an expression of pain that I can’t express another way. I just do it because I’ve always done it. I guess I’ve grown out of it, but the act is still there. Most of the time it’s no big deal, I can cut or not cut, I just decide to cut rather than not cut.
I know it connects me to my past, it provides proof of what happened before, but the scars are there, they aren’t going away, why create more? Perhaps a similar question is why am I still hoping to kill myself eventually and soon. And why I still abuse alcohol. It’s all related.
So what’s going on in my life? I don't care about the band. There is just no passion, no connection, and no chemistry. I don't care about these people, I don't care what happens. I auditioned for another band today. I don’t think I’ll get it, and I’m not sure I want it, but I’ve taken the crucial step of starting to audition again.
I’m looking more closely at my cutting. I’m reading a book on the subject, Bright Red Scream, by Marilee Strong. I tried going to therapy, but it was just stupid. The doctor was an idiot, but the experience, for some reason, made me focus on cutting. At first I couldn’t even identify that as a problem to focus on.
Why am I still doing it? I don’t fit the profile of people doing it anymore. Or at least I don’t think I do. The book I’m reading accurately describes what was going on when I was doing it before, but things have changed and it has just become habit. It doesn’t give me the relief that it may have before. Now I just do it for the hell of it. It’s not because of feelings, it’s not a way of dealing or coping, it’s not an expression of pain that I can’t express another way. I just do it because I’ve always done it. I guess I’ve grown out of it, but the act is still there. Most of the time it’s no big deal, I can cut or not cut, I just decide to cut rather than not cut.
I know it connects me to my past, it provides proof of what happened before, but the scars are there, they aren’t going away, why create more? Perhaps a similar question is why am I still hoping to kill myself eventually and soon. And why I still abuse alcohol. It’s all related.
Saturday, June 10, 2000
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
I have no friends, no community. I'm listless and drifting. Work sucks, music is sucking, life sucks the most. It has totally stagnated, what I've always been afraid of happening. And things have been getting out of control, discipline is slipping away. I can't relax, I can't stop. I'm too tired and I can't get enough sleep. Cutting is a daily occurrence now. I'm surrounded by people who mean nothing, who I don't care about. I'm in a job that causes stress and I care nothing about. I couldn't give less of a shit whether these people get their Green Cards or not.
Wednesday, March 29, 2000
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
Things are really, really, really, really bad, but I just can't seem to put my finger on what or why. Everything in my life is in shambles but I just can't seem to realize it to the point where I can feel it. Like I mentioned before, I don't really cut myself anymore. They're basically just scratches, they don't go deep enough to warrant being called cuts.
But the other day I was just playing with my knife, assessing how dull the blade was since I couldn't get anything more than scratches, and then whoops, a cut. It wasn't too bad, but it warranted putting something on it to block the bleeding. When I pulled the bandage off the next day, it was still bleeding but stopped soon after. It's not just a scratch, a mere line, but it's a cut because the skin split and has that vagina shape to it.
Maybe it wasn't a 'whoops'; an accident. But an expression that all is not well. And all is not well, everything is very precarious. I don't like my life, it has no prospects, I need to leave. I need to breakthrough to something else.
But the other day I was just playing with my knife, assessing how dull the blade was since I couldn't get anything more than scratches, and then whoops, a cut. It wasn't too bad, but it warranted putting something on it to block the bleeding. When I pulled the bandage off the next day, it was still bleeding but stopped soon after. It's not just a scratch, a mere line, but it's a cut because the skin split and has that vagina shape to it.
Maybe it wasn't a 'whoops'; an accident. But an expression that all is not well. And all is not well, everything is very precarious. I don't like my life, it has no prospects, I need to leave. I need to breakthrough to something else.
Friday, January 14, 2000
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
Cutting. My scars attach me to my past. I would be a completely different person if I didn't have these scars. The scars remind me of who I am at the core and the hurt that identifies me. The scars are the guarantee that I will kill myself. There are some things I will never forget, even if I can't quite put my finger on them, and they gently rest within the unnatural lines on my skin.
I would never have guessed that when I first started doing it, back when I was twelve or thirteen, that I was somehow writing an early end to my life. But back then, I would never have guessed that I would make it to 30. Back then, I started and then continued doing it under the assumption that I would kill myself soon. So I could have guessed that I was guaranteeing an early end to my life, but I never could have guessed entertaining the possibility that I wouldn't want to end my life anymore, except for these simple, but significant, constant reminders.
But I love my scars and I wouldn't want to get rid of them even if I could. They are part of my identity. I would be ordinary without them. There would be no proof of who I was before. Maybe that's why when the time came to stop the strife with the 'rents, it was so easy. Because I had a proof like no other about what had happened. What kind of childhood did I have? What kind of relationship did I have with my parents? I can just show my arms and legs. I didn't need to keep fighting the 'rents to prove that something was wrong, to maintain the identity of hate and resentment that they created.
I would never have guessed that when I first started doing it, back when I was twelve or thirteen, that I was somehow writing an early end to my life. But back then, I would never have guessed that I would make it to 30. Back then, I started and then continued doing it under the assumption that I would kill myself soon. So I could have guessed that I was guaranteeing an early end to my life, but I never could have guessed entertaining the possibility that I wouldn't want to end my life anymore, except for these simple, but significant, constant reminders.
But I love my scars and I wouldn't want to get rid of them even if I could. They are part of my identity. I would be ordinary without them. There would be no proof of who I was before. Maybe that's why when the time came to stop the strife with the 'rents, it was so easy. Because I had a proof like no other about what had happened. What kind of childhood did I have? What kind of relationship did I have with my parents? I can just show my arms and legs. I didn't need to keep fighting the 'rents to prove that something was wrong, to maintain the identity of hate and resentment that they created.
Wednesday, April 21, 1999
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
I think of my life as being almost over. Is it almost over? Where is my life going and what do I want to do with it? I don’t want to live life just to live it, but what would make life worth living? I can run with something happening with music for several years, but the only thing that’s really worth pursuing in life is what life really is and why anything and everything. What’s behind the veil? What’s beyond the veil?
Can I be healthy and still cut? Almost all cutters are dealing with issues, something is causing them to cut, and once they heal they stop cutting. I still do it without any direct reason, the reasons I do it are indirect and there are other ways of maintaining a connection to one’s past aside from continuing actual manifestations of the past, especially when they are so extreme.
My cuts range from superficial scratches to wounds that could use stitches but don’t require them. And all this time I’m aging, my body is changing, I already feel the changes on the inside, my metabolism is slowing down, I’m less resilient. And as I physically age, what will become of these scars, the tissue that had to form to connect two edges of skin that were once adjacent. I don’t intend to find out. Or when I find out, it certainly won’t matter anymore.
Can I be healthy and still cut? Almost all cutters are dealing with issues, something is causing them to cut, and once they heal they stop cutting. I still do it without any direct reason, the reasons I do it are indirect and there are other ways of maintaining a connection to one’s past aside from continuing actual manifestations of the past, especially when they are so extreme.
My cuts range from superficial scratches to wounds that could use stitches but don’t require them. And all this time I’m aging, my body is changing, I already feel the changes on the inside, my metabolism is slowing down, I’m less resilient. And as I physically age, what will become of these scars, the tissue that had to form to connect two edges of skin that were once adjacent. I don’t intend to find out. Or when I find out, it certainly won’t matter anymore.
Thursday, April 15, 1999
1557 Noe St., San Francisco
I’m getting OK. I think I’m coming to a point of clarity, although I don’t discount that it may be weather-related; two days of 80 degree weather has me blissed out.
I had some break-throughs today. A band confrontation with Josh highlighted that I am different from other people and that I’m comfortable with my approach to life and conflicts. Some things have been reaffirmed such as my comfort and security in my sense of self and not having those things dependent or overly-influenced by what others think.
I recognize that there is a core of pain inside me that makes me somewhat unstable. That is, in fact, a part of me. I don’t have a desire to live a long life and I don’t mind dying. It’s possible that is a manifestation of unresolved issues, but that’s not absolute and I’m not convinced of that. I don’t feel any sense in being so attached to living when you understand the Buddhist principle that physical existence is fleeting and that it’s not all that there is. I appreciate and enjoy life as I’m living it, as it’s here, but the greatest bliss I’ve felt has never made me fear or wish to avoid death. The core of pain inside me is part of my appreciation of life.
I’ve figured out why I’m still a cutter. Cutting is the connection between me in the present and my own past. I don’t have any real reason or need to continue cutting, I do it just because I did it. It isn’t an indicator of lingering issues and problems, it isn’t even hurting me. But what I went through that led me to start and continue cutting is part of me and my identity. However, I’ve changed so much from who I was back then that it’s really important to me to not bury and lose that part of me. Cutting allows me to retain a present connection to my past.
It also serves as a notice to people around me that what they see is not all that there is. That’s actually an important point on why I still cut. It’s not good enough that I have the very noticeable scars on my arms and legs. Healed scars are a record of the past, but don’t say anything about the present and how the past has affected my present and how the present is a continuation of the past.
I was talking to Angie Chen, and we talked about our screwed up pasts and about being screwed up. I dived right into it like someone who knew what he was talking about. And I did know what I was talking about, but it wasn’t who I am now. In discussing those things, I was basically playing the part of what I used to be. And that was strange because that past is so much a part of who I am. There’s a big risk in losing touch with how I got to be who I am, cutting maintains the connection.
So the band is going through a crisis centering on Josh. He’s got some serious issues going on and he’s taking them out on us. He claims he’s unhappy and frustrated with the band’s direction, but all he does is criticize, and contributes nothing constructive. He’s convinced that we need to have a package to sell, but he roadblocks any plans to go into the studio soon. He says he doesn’t want to rush into something when we’re not ready. Who’s not ready? They’ve been together for two years, I’m ready to record. Readiness is not the issue. I’m predicting he’ll be out of the band by the end of May.
I had some break-throughs today. A band confrontation with Josh highlighted that I am different from other people and that I’m comfortable with my approach to life and conflicts. Some things have been reaffirmed such as my comfort and security in my sense of self and not having those things dependent or overly-influenced by what others think.
I recognize that there is a core of pain inside me that makes me somewhat unstable. That is, in fact, a part of me. I don’t have a desire to live a long life and I don’t mind dying. It’s possible that is a manifestation of unresolved issues, but that’s not absolute and I’m not convinced of that. I don’t feel any sense in being so attached to living when you understand the Buddhist principle that physical existence is fleeting and that it’s not all that there is. I appreciate and enjoy life as I’m living it, as it’s here, but the greatest bliss I’ve felt has never made me fear or wish to avoid death. The core of pain inside me is part of my appreciation of life.
I’ve figured out why I’m still a cutter. Cutting is the connection between me in the present and my own past. I don’t have any real reason or need to continue cutting, I do it just because I did it. It isn’t an indicator of lingering issues and problems, it isn’t even hurting me. But what I went through that led me to start and continue cutting is part of me and my identity. However, I’ve changed so much from who I was back then that it’s really important to me to not bury and lose that part of me. Cutting allows me to retain a present connection to my past.
It also serves as a notice to people around me that what they see is not all that there is. That’s actually an important point on why I still cut. It’s not good enough that I have the very noticeable scars on my arms and legs. Healed scars are a record of the past, but don’t say anything about the present and how the past has affected my present and how the present is a continuation of the past.
I was talking to Angie Chen, and we talked about our screwed up pasts and about being screwed up. I dived right into it like someone who knew what he was talking about. And I did know what I was talking about, but it wasn’t who I am now. In discussing those things, I was basically playing the part of what I used to be. And that was strange because that past is so much a part of who I am. There’s a big risk in losing touch with how I got to be who I am, cutting maintains the connection.
So the band is going through a crisis centering on Josh. He’s got some serious issues going on and he’s taking them out on us. He claims he’s unhappy and frustrated with the band’s direction, but all he does is criticize, and contributes nothing constructive. He’s convinced that we need to have a package to sell, but he roadblocks any plans to go into the studio soon. He says he doesn’t want to rush into something when we’re not ready. Who’s not ready? They’ve been together for two years, I’m ready to record. Readiness is not the issue. I’m predicting he’ll be out of the band by the end of May.
Friday, November 13, 1998
198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco
I’m preparing for the next few weeks in which I will be recovering from the breakup. The breaking up is right and easy, the acceptance and recovery is not. I expect the next few weeks to be difficult, the wrenching separation, the pangs of love and sweet memories, the things we planned that will never happen. I have to find a way to strike a balance between the highs and lows and find some comfort, some reconciliation, of her presence in my life and her impact. I don’t want her to be a bad memory, I want to remember the good things, not just the stuff I’ve been typing in here, and to find peace in the pain of breaking up with her. There was no choice, we had to break up. But there is no doubt how deeply I loved her. We just weren’t right for each other or it wasn’t the time for us.
I don’t want to be numb anymore. That is the basic core of what I am now. That’s why I can’t write songs; if I’m numb, do I have anything to write about? That’s why I don’t have any close friends. I’m numb and I keep myself at arms distance, I don’t get involved in the emotional content of other people and more importantly, I don’t let them get involved in mine. Can’t have one without the other. I’m numb to other peoples’ suffering and that is why I’m miserable and not growing.
I don’t know how to feel pain. The numbness is debilitating. People need pain, people need suffering for their humanity. Life is suffering. The first noble truth of Buddhism. It's not some cosmic downer or horrible world perspective that's supposed to push us down the path of Buddhism. It's just a fact, a recognition we need on a path to enlightenment.
Existence itself is suffering and people who don’t even know that are the worst off. I’ve numbed myself off to a lot of it. I know life is suffering and it is inherent in existence, I know that well. The unbearable lightness of being. But I’ve turned it into something else so that I miss the point of the suffering.
Cutting is a way for me to create what I don’t have. But it’s artificial and contrived. It transforms it and channels it, so instead of torrents of unpredictable raging rapids, I have dams, water control, and nicely irrigated fields. Cutting is harming me because it is part of the numbing. I control the pain, I do. True pain is something that can’t be controlled.
I don’t want to be numb anymore. That is the basic core of what I am now. That’s why I can’t write songs; if I’m numb, do I have anything to write about? That’s why I don’t have any close friends. I’m numb and I keep myself at arms distance, I don’t get involved in the emotional content of other people and more importantly, I don’t let them get involved in mine. Can’t have one without the other. I’m numb to other peoples’ suffering and that is why I’m miserable and not growing.
I don’t know how to feel pain. The numbness is debilitating. People need pain, people need suffering for their humanity. Life is suffering. The first noble truth of Buddhism. It's not some cosmic downer or horrible world perspective that's supposed to push us down the path of Buddhism. It's just a fact, a recognition we need on a path to enlightenment.
Existence itself is suffering and people who don’t even know that are the worst off. I’ve numbed myself off to a lot of it. I know life is suffering and it is inherent in existence, I know that well. The unbearable lightness of being. But I’ve turned it into something else so that I miss the point of the suffering.
Cutting is a way for me to create what I don’t have. But it’s artificial and contrived. It transforms it and channels it, so instead of torrents of unpredictable raging rapids, I have dams, water control, and nicely irrigated fields. Cutting is harming me because it is part of the numbing. I control the pain, I do. True pain is something that can’t be controlled.
Sunday, September 15, 1996
198 Shakespeare St., San Francisco
September 1996
So this is what it feels like knowing that I will never fall in love again. Attraction is just a game. Falling in love is not in my range of emotions anymore. It feels empty. Numb. Interesting. Love is so important.
Turns out that Susan was interested in me way back last Winter. She didn’t think the feeling was reciprocated and it never went anywhere. I actually did have a crush on her. All for the better; we weren’t exactly compatible. I never quite knew where she was coming from. Apparently neither of us were any good at showing our feelings or letting them be known.
I don’t think I can love anymore. Even hearing about Susan, it was just a fanciful thing. A tickling. There’s no way that I could have ever really fallen in love with Susan. We are too different. Just as I could never have fallen in love with Ana Claire.
Maybe I do know what love is. It’s not anything about a person. I still love Amina two and a half years after the fact and our last contact, and considering what happened between us, that’s an incredible statement. I can’t make a list of things about a person that would make me fall in love with her. Anything I can place on a list, I’ve already found and have been disappointed or betrayed by already. There are things I could like about a person, things that would attract me, interest me, but nothing that would necessarily make me fall in love with that person.
Love just happens. When it’s there, you know it. I just know I won’t ever love anyone again. I’m too damaged in myself, much too uncomfortable with who I am to trust myself or like myself being with someone else.
***********************************
Yukiko moved in at the beginning of the month. We get along alright even though she’s kind of conservative and hangs out with mostly white people. She’s one of those Asians.
If we didn’t have to live with each other, we wouldn’t even associate. She’s a lot better to live with than Jeff, who owns this house. He’s also conservative, but in addition he’s also a typical male. He's a male stereotype. He also has a good side, generous, but he's definitely not the type I would hang out with. Yukiko is clean, considerate, open and amiable. Personal feelings aside, she’s a good housemate.
***********************************
I’ve stopped cutting since I’ve moved back to San Francisco. I also haven’t had the drive to set any dates. Since August. The desire to set a date just hasn’t crossed my mind. As part of my personality, however, it’s always there.
Things have been changing. I feel that I have to kill myself, it’s part of my destiny and responsibility. It is what I’m supposed to do, not what I’m supposed to avoid. It’s not a test, but what is supposed to happen.
Sometimes I feel that suicide is not so attractive an option, but in those times I feel even more strongly that it is something I have to do. Those are the times, strangely enough, that I’m most certain that I should kill myself; when I really feel that I don’t want to. Suicide is not a desire that I should succumb to, but an end that I have to learn to accept.
I cannot die in peace. My soul is too tormented for that. I don’t want to. I think that when I die, I’ll spend some amount of time as a ghost of who I am now. Released, with no judgments. But present, damned, chained. But I think I will be reborn. I think I’ve been “good” enough and true enough to myself that I won’t be reborn in a worse position. But I hurt too much and I’m too attached to that hurt that I can’t advance. I have to settle and understand these issues before that happens. I can’t even rest and take a break from the cycle.
Maybe my role as a ghost will be to teach my parents something. They are the ones I’m to “haunt”. I think that my soul will only start to heal once I’ve expanded their minds beyond their narrow conception of life. If I can change them in some way, set them on some sort of path of realization, instead of the smug complacency in the comfort of their materialism, then I can go forward. The longer I live, the less time I’ll have to accomplish it. I need to heal. I’m a long ways from becoming what I want to become.
I want to kill myself for that reason. Because it is my destiny and it may put me in a position where I can do something that would give my life some meaning. Even though it is very unattractive that I care about my parents enough that I’m trying to set them on the right path.
So this is what it feels like knowing that I will never fall in love again. Attraction is just a game. Falling in love is not in my range of emotions anymore. It feels empty. Numb. Interesting. Love is so important.
Turns out that Susan was interested in me way back last Winter. She didn’t think the feeling was reciprocated and it never went anywhere. I actually did have a crush on her. All for the better; we weren’t exactly compatible. I never quite knew where she was coming from. Apparently neither of us were any good at showing our feelings or letting them be known.
I don’t think I can love anymore. Even hearing about Susan, it was just a fanciful thing. A tickling. There’s no way that I could have ever really fallen in love with Susan. We are too different. Just as I could never have fallen in love with Ana Claire.
Maybe I do know what love is. It’s not anything about a person. I still love Amina two and a half years after the fact and our last contact, and considering what happened between us, that’s an incredible statement. I can’t make a list of things about a person that would make me fall in love with her. Anything I can place on a list, I’ve already found and have been disappointed or betrayed by already. There are things I could like about a person, things that would attract me, interest me, but nothing that would necessarily make me fall in love with that person.
Love just happens. When it’s there, you know it. I just know I won’t ever love anyone again. I’m too damaged in myself, much too uncomfortable with who I am to trust myself or like myself being with someone else.
***********************************
Yukiko moved in at the beginning of the month. We get along alright even though she’s kind of conservative and hangs out with mostly white people. She’s one of those Asians.
If we didn’t have to live with each other, we wouldn’t even associate. She’s a lot better to live with than Jeff, who owns this house. He’s also conservative, but in addition he’s also a typical male. He's a male stereotype. He also has a good side, generous, but he's definitely not the type I would hang out with. Yukiko is clean, considerate, open and amiable. Personal feelings aside, she’s a good housemate.
***********************************
I’ve stopped cutting since I’ve moved back to San Francisco. I also haven’t had the drive to set any dates. Since August. The desire to set a date just hasn’t crossed my mind. As part of my personality, however, it’s always there.
Things have been changing. I feel that I have to kill myself, it’s part of my destiny and responsibility. It is what I’m supposed to do, not what I’m supposed to avoid. It’s not a test, but what is supposed to happen.
Sometimes I feel that suicide is not so attractive an option, but in those times I feel even more strongly that it is something I have to do. Those are the times, strangely enough, that I’m most certain that I should kill myself; when I really feel that I don’t want to. Suicide is not a desire that I should succumb to, but an end that I have to learn to accept.
I cannot die in peace. My soul is too tormented for that. I don’t want to. I think that when I die, I’ll spend some amount of time as a ghost of who I am now. Released, with no judgments. But present, damned, chained. But I think I will be reborn. I think I’ve been “good” enough and true enough to myself that I won’t be reborn in a worse position. But I hurt too much and I’m too attached to that hurt that I can’t advance. I have to settle and understand these issues before that happens. I can’t even rest and take a break from the cycle.
Maybe my role as a ghost will be to teach my parents something. They are the ones I’m to “haunt”. I think that my soul will only start to heal once I’ve expanded their minds beyond their narrow conception of life. If I can change them in some way, set them on some sort of path of realization, instead of the smug complacency in the comfort of their materialism, then I can go forward. The longer I live, the less time I’ll have to accomplish it. I need to heal. I’m a long ways from becoming what I want to become.
I want to kill myself for that reason. Because it is my destiny and it may put me in a position where I can do something that would give my life some meaning. Even though it is very unattractive that I care about my parents enough that I’m trying to set them on the right path.
Friday, March 17, 1995
247 19th Ave., #2 San Francisco
I've come to fear Joy's reactions, so I don't communicate with her anymore. If there's something I get really excited about and want to tell her about, I'm afraid of her predictable reaction: deadpan. If something moves me, if my afternoon was simply beautiful and I want to share it with her, I'm afraid of her reaction: big smile and "that's great". No empathy; perceived feigned enthusiasm. I told her that I failed my Civ Pro midterm. I should have feared her reaction: absolute silence. Nothing. Void.
But I didn't fear that reaction, I expected it. I wanted her to feel that silence, I wanted her to notice the dynamic. I FAILED. She had no response. She didn't know what to do. I kind of enjoyed it. I think it's true - a relationship with no ripples has deeper troubles than is shown.
I stopped cutting because I didn't like the idea of her knowing what had happened since the last time she saw me. What do I care? What is she going to do about it? She's not going to react in any appreciable way. I'm going back to cutting. If she wants to discuss it, she has the right, if she doesn't, no loss to me. I stopped cutting, but there was nothing to replace it, nothing to take its place, and that made stopping really difficult.
We're going to break up. The only questions are when and how. Not soon. I don't think I can handle going through a break up at this point. So if she doesn't instigate it, I'll just wait. When the time comes, no games, I'm going to come right forward with it and tell her that this relationship has broken down.
This relationship is dysfunctional, that's not hard to admit. I go back and read what I wrote about Joy last Summer and I'm at a loss to explain those things. Our relationship is a sham, it's silly. But what I need to do is not torment her. I have to go against my common sense which tells me to distance, to let her know there are problems so that she can see a break up coming. That has never worked in the past. I'm not going to make the relationship miserable to build up to breaking up.
Today was a good day. I haven't had a good day since Amina. I'm having trouble counting those days when I met Joy and was getting close to her. Those don't seem real, those seem more like a reaction to Amina, a rebound.
When I got home from school, I decided to go for a run. I planned to take a bus down to Ocean Beach and then run back along the Sea Cliff. I went to Ocean Beach yesterday since it was sunny, but it was still chilly and windy. The winds were calmer today and it was reasonably warm, and when I got to the beach, it was just gorgeous. It was so pleasant that I walked along the beach for a while before doing the run. Today was a good day, and I wanted to share it with somebody. I didn't.
I'm back in phone contact with Shiho. She moved out of her parents' house and now has her own phone number. We've spoken several times. Any romance with Shiho would have been unrealistic. Through letters, it was possible to conjure a fantasy, but talking to her reminded me of the dynamic that kept me from falling in love completely when we were in high school. And when we fell in love in Osaka, that was probably years of history guiding our feelings, not present reality.
She has no idea who I am or what I'm about or the experiences that have shaped me. We can communicate, but I don't know how fulfilling it would be. I need someone with whom I can really connect. The big thing going for Shiho is that I would feel really, really comfortable around her, and it would be real.
But I didn't fear that reaction, I expected it. I wanted her to feel that silence, I wanted her to notice the dynamic. I FAILED. She had no response. She didn't know what to do. I kind of enjoyed it. I think it's true - a relationship with no ripples has deeper troubles than is shown.
I stopped cutting because I didn't like the idea of her knowing what had happened since the last time she saw me. What do I care? What is she going to do about it? She's not going to react in any appreciable way. I'm going back to cutting. If she wants to discuss it, she has the right, if she doesn't, no loss to me. I stopped cutting, but there was nothing to replace it, nothing to take its place, and that made stopping really difficult.
We're going to break up. The only questions are when and how. Not soon. I don't think I can handle going through a break up at this point. So if she doesn't instigate it, I'll just wait. When the time comes, no games, I'm going to come right forward with it and tell her that this relationship has broken down.
This relationship is dysfunctional, that's not hard to admit. I go back and read what I wrote about Joy last Summer and I'm at a loss to explain those things. Our relationship is a sham, it's silly. But what I need to do is not torment her. I have to go against my common sense which tells me to distance, to let her know there are problems so that she can see a break up coming. That has never worked in the past. I'm not going to make the relationship miserable to build up to breaking up.
Today was a good day. I haven't had a good day since Amina. I'm having trouble counting those days when I met Joy and was getting close to her. Those don't seem real, those seem more like a reaction to Amina, a rebound.
When I got home from school, I decided to go for a run. I planned to take a bus down to Ocean Beach and then run back along the Sea Cliff. I went to Ocean Beach yesterday since it was sunny, but it was still chilly and windy. The winds were calmer today and it was reasonably warm, and when I got to the beach, it was just gorgeous. It was so pleasant that I walked along the beach for a while before doing the run. Today was a good day, and I wanted to share it with somebody. I didn't.
I'm back in phone contact with Shiho. She moved out of her parents' house and now has her own phone number. We've spoken several times. Any romance with Shiho would have been unrealistic. Through letters, it was possible to conjure a fantasy, but talking to her reminded me of the dynamic that kept me from falling in love completely when we were in high school. And when we fell in love in Osaka, that was probably years of history guiding our feelings, not present reality.
She has no idea who I am or what I'm about or the experiences that have shaped me. We can communicate, but I don't know how fulfilling it would be. I need someone with whom I can really connect. The big thing going for Shiho is that I would feel really, really comfortable around her, and it would be real.
Monday, November 07, 1994
247 19th Ave, #2, San Francisco
Perhaps what is most upsetting is that I'm not sure how I got here and from where. I know I've matured to a point where I can be less selfish in relationships and not just concentrate on my own needs based on my own pain. I can deal with other people. I can compromise without giving up too much of myself. My fear now is that I'll slip into my old patterns and miss seeing a bigger picture. Why did I get involved with Joy in the first place? Sometimes it's really hard to see it.
Several months ago it was clear that I wanted to win her love and I compromised and bent to win it. Compromised and bent? Isn't that a way of saying I lied to her? That I didn't let her see a genuine article? I knew it was happening then. Now I ask myself how could I have done such an awful, insincere thing (but isn't that what "dating" is about?). Either I'm a jerk or I'd better keep it in perspective and deal with it maturely. It's rectifiable.
Things have changed. It's easy not to see the things I saw several months ago. We've moved to a different level. I see an ordinary Joy, comfortable at home, not the Joy that had to be self-conscious in front of me. Our relationship has moved from the special to the ordinary, the daily, the taken for granted. A relationship has to survive this transition.
She's not musical at all. She has no religious or metaphysical bent. She has an understanding of the spiritual, but not a deep connection with it. What do we have in common? We don't enjoy the same things, we have very little to share. We will break up within a year, and it will be mutual. We will both realize that we aren't able to give to each other what we need.
It will fade. The love isn't so intense or passionate that it will cascade around us and feed itself ad infinitum. The love grew steadily to a certain level and stayed there and held there, and when it is time to end, it will fade and descend. We'll hug or something and go our separate ways. She's not the type to hold on to other people. I won't.
That's the future, though, and there is the present to contend with. Presently, we go our day by day. There must be a reason I'm going out with her, there must be something to discover, there always is. Unfortunately, it's something for me to discover by myself, Joy has nothing to do with it, not actively at least. She's not part of the discovery or aiding me in it, she's just a vehicle for me to find it. She doesn't see where my eyes look. She has no idea about the way I see the world, what colors I see, what details I notice. I can't lose sight of my path.
So really, what good do I have to say about Joy? What good is she in my life? I don't know. It doesn't seem like there's much, but I'm not adverse to this relationship. I do love her, I'm not unhappy, but...there's always a "but". There is a door that needs to be opened, and if it is not, this relationship will end.
This thing can't last too long. We could never live together; our lives and lifestyles are just way too different. I couldn't live with someone who was completely unmusical. Good god, what am I doing with someone who doesn't have music in her life?! How can that be? She has no idea who or what I am if music doesn't touch her. Ouch!
Then there are my hours and my drinking. It's been hard not cutting. I avoided showering with her for two weeks because of cuts on my foot. I had a band-aid on them for a few days, but if she saw the marks now, she'd know and she'd know that I lied when I told her I dropped something on it. We could never live together, so the way we are is pretty much the way it would have to remain. Stagnation.
I wonder about who I love. I miss many. I miss Luyen. I miss Hiromi. I miss what Amina used to be. I miss Diem and Madoka. Not that any of them are now what I miss of them. I don't know if I love any of them. I do still love Shiho, but that's a given in its limited way.
I'm 25 years old. I wish I had died at least three years ago. What am I doing still alive? How many more years do I have to go and struggle being myself? Am I prepared to die at any time now? I don't know. I hope so. If I came across an opportunity to die, I hope I would take it. But it wouldn't be automatic, it wouldn't be impulse. I would think about it for a second. And maybe that is what would stop me. That consideration in the moment of the true nature of this and now. It's a long moment, long enough to be cursed by the impulse of self-preservation. To choose safety. That is probably what I would do. Nothing in my life suggests that I would do otherwise.
Several months ago it was clear that I wanted to win her love and I compromised and bent to win it. Compromised and bent? Isn't that a way of saying I lied to her? That I didn't let her see a genuine article? I knew it was happening then. Now I ask myself how could I have done such an awful, insincere thing (but isn't that what "dating" is about?). Either I'm a jerk or I'd better keep it in perspective and deal with it maturely. It's rectifiable.
Things have changed. It's easy not to see the things I saw several months ago. We've moved to a different level. I see an ordinary Joy, comfortable at home, not the Joy that had to be self-conscious in front of me. Our relationship has moved from the special to the ordinary, the daily, the taken for granted. A relationship has to survive this transition.
She's not musical at all. She has no religious or metaphysical bent. She has an understanding of the spiritual, but not a deep connection with it. What do we have in common? We don't enjoy the same things, we have very little to share. We will break up within a year, and it will be mutual. We will both realize that we aren't able to give to each other what we need.
It will fade. The love isn't so intense or passionate that it will cascade around us and feed itself ad infinitum. The love grew steadily to a certain level and stayed there and held there, and when it is time to end, it will fade and descend. We'll hug or something and go our separate ways. She's not the type to hold on to other people. I won't.
That's the future, though, and there is the present to contend with. Presently, we go our day by day. There must be a reason I'm going out with her, there must be something to discover, there always is. Unfortunately, it's something for me to discover by myself, Joy has nothing to do with it, not actively at least. She's not part of the discovery or aiding me in it, she's just a vehicle for me to find it. She doesn't see where my eyes look. She has no idea about the way I see the world, what colors I see, what details I notice. I can't lose sight of my path.
So really, what good do I have to say about Joy? What good is she in my life? I don't know. It doesn't seem like there's much, but I'm not adverse to this relationship. I do love her, I'm not unhappy, but...there's always a "but". There is a door that needs to be opened, and if it is not, this relationship will end.
This thing can't last too long. We could never live together; our lives and lifestyles are just way too different. I couldn't live with someone who was completely unmusical. Good god, what am I doing with someone who doesn't have music in her life?! How can that be? She has no idea who or what I am if music doesn't touch her. Ouch!
Then there are my hours and my drinking. It's been hard not cutting. I avoided showering with her for two weeks because of cuts on my foot. I had a band-aid on them for a few days, but if she saw the marks now, she'd know and she'd know that I lied when I told her I dropped something on it. We could never live together, so the way we are is pretty much the way it would have to remain. Stagnation.
I wonder about who I love. I miss many. I miss Luyen. I miss Hiromi. I miss what Amina used to be. I miss Diem and Madoka. Not that any of them are now what I miss of them. I don't know if I love any of them. I do still love Shiho, but that's a given in its limited way.
I'm 25 years old. I wish I had died at least three years ago. What am I doing still alive? How many more years do I have to go and struggle being myself? Am I prepared to die at any time now? I don't know. I hope so. If I came across an opportunity to die, I hope I would take it. But it wouldn't be automatic, it wouldn't be impulse. I would think about it for a second. And maybe that is what would stop me. That consideration in the moment of the true nature of this and now. It's a long moment, long enough to be cursed by the impulse of self-preservation. To choose safety. That is probably what I would do. Nothing in my life suggests that I would do otherwise.
Thursday, September 01, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
The word is "blissed out". How much more can I love Joy? How much more happy can I be with Joy in my life? I am in amazement in how much I already love her and how much she already makes me happy.
She doesn't start working until next week, when the school year begins, so we've been able to see each other as often as we’ve wanted. Most of my life aside from law school has been set aside to be with her.
I've been BARTing to Berkeley after classes on Monday and Wednesdays and have been studying there and staying over. Haven't been seeing too much of my apartment.
There still is nothing I dislike about Joy, not an inkling of doubt. Trust, comfort, and love are all present. She creates the atmosphere for all of those.
The problem is when I get back home. Then doubts formed by my lack of self-esteem and confidence start to show. I prepare myself for the day when she'll want to move on without me. How will she do it? At least I know there will be a warning. At least I know she will explain in detail. At least I'll have the opportunity to make it easier for both of us by picking up a signal and leaving first.
I practiced it at her apartment - looking around and pretending it was the last time looking at it before leaving. I would just leave. I wouldn't try to hold on to the relationship. If she wanted it to end, I would walk. Then I'd return to the cutting. I haven't decided to stop drinking yet.
She hasn't solved anything about the cutting. I've stopped for her. I know it's only temporary. I told her that I wouldn't stop cutting for someone else; that if I stopped it had to be my decision and for myself only. So I haven't stopped the cutting, I haven't decided to stop. I'm refraining.
It's necessary. I can't be cutting while I'm in a relationship. That would exact too much of a toll. How would it make her feel? It's a no-brainer.
She doesn't start working until next week, when the school year begins, so we've been able to see each other as often as we’ve wanted. Most of my life aside from law school has been set aside to be with her.
I've been BARTing to Berkeley after classes on Monday and Wednesdays and have been studying there and staying over. Haven't been seeing too much of my apartment.
There still is nothing I dislike about Joy, not an inkling of doubt. Trust, comfort, and love are all present. She creates the atmosphere for all of those.
The problem is when I get back home. Then doubts formed by my lack of self-esteem and confidence start to show. I prepare myself for the day when she'll want to move on without me. How will she do it? At least I know there will be a warning. At least I know she will explain in detail. At least I'll have the opportunity to make it easier for both of us by picking up a signal and leaving first.
I practiced it at her apartment - looking around and pretending it was the last time looking at it before leaving. I would just leave. I wouldn't try to hold on to the relationship. If she wanted it to end, I would walk. Then I'd return to the cutting. I haven't decided to stop drinking yet.
She hasn't solved anything about the cutting. I've stopped for her. I know it's only temporary. I told her that I wouldn't stop cutting for someone else; that if I stopped it had to be my decision and for myself only. So I haven't stopped the cutting, I haven't decided to stop. I'm refraining.
It's necessary. I can't be cutting while I'm in a relationship. That would exact too much of a toll. How would it make her feel? It's a no-brainer.
Monday, August 15, 1994
247 19th Ave., #2, San Francisco
Why did I tell Joy about cutting? What purpose did that serve? The drinking was different. If Joy wanted me to stop drinking, I could stop. At least I have a defensible explanation about drinking, I have my argument. No one could take away my feelings and understanding about it, even if they disagreed or didn't see it. But cutting? I can't explain it, I just do it. I don't know why I do it or why I don't feel pain. I can take a knife right now and . . . I don't know why I simply don't do it. Why did I introduce this part of me to Joy when I can't explain it to myself?
She came to San Francisco. We met at school because I had to register for classes, and then we came to my place for lunch. The long intimate hug was an extension from last night. We were still close, caressing, half holding, looking, loving, and then she asked about the scar on my arm. I knew the topic would come up, how could it not? Even though most people have an easy time ignoring or avoiding it.
It wasn't until we were on the sand at Ocean Beach, after having walked along the entire Sea Cliff trail, that I started talking about it. From that point on, I was winging it. It was difficult for me, often I felt my heart hurt, I realized the degree to which parts of me have been numbed insensitive. I hated having to tell Joy, but I couldn't imagine not telling her, either. I trust her and she means enough to me that I refuse to not disclose anything important about me.
I had told Amina. She seemed uncomfortable and she detached herself pretty quickly. Then it never came up again. Why even bother? She may have noticed scars on my chest at some point and run her fingers over them, I forget, but she never asked to understand. Much less that she was the inspiration for several due to the unfortunate period of my life in which she decided to get involved with me.
It hurt to tell Joy; to look at her face, her eyes, knowing that here was someone I was beginning to care for. Why did I tell her? I'm angry at myself for having told her. I had no business exposing this side of me to her so blatantly. I'm getting together with her again tomorrow, the last time on a regular basis. I won't panic, it won't be any different than if I hadn't told her anything. We have plenty of other things to discuss and share.
She came to San Francisco. We met at school because I had to register for classes, and then we came to my place for lunch. The long intimate hug was an extension from last night. We were still close, caressing, half holding, looking, loving, and then she asked about the scar on my arm. I knew the topic would come up, how could it not? Even though most people have an easy time ignoring or avoiding it.
It wasn't until we were on the sand at Ocean Beach, after having walked along the entire Sea Cliff trail, that I started talking about it. From that point on, I was winging it. It was difficult for me, often I felt my heart hurt, I realized the degree to which parts of me have been numbed insensitive. I hated having to tell Joy, but I couldn't imagine not telling her, either. I trust her and she means enough to me that I refuse to not disclose anything important about me.
I had told Amina. She seemed uncomfortable and she detached herself pretty quickly. Then it never came up again. Why even bother? She may have noticed scars on my chest at some point and run her fingers over them, I forget, but she never asked to understand. Much less that she was the inspiration for several due to the unfortunate period of my life in which she decided to get involved with me.
It hurt to tell Joy; to look at her face, her eyes, knowing that here was someone I was beginning to care for. Why did I tell her? I'm angry at myself for having told her. I had no business exposing this side of me to her so blatantly. I'm getting together with her again tomorrow, the last time on a regular basis. I won't panic, it won't be any different than if I hadn't told her anything. We have plenty of other things to discuss and share.
Wednesday, February 09, 1994
Day twenty nine
So there's a progression. Fatal peril is the breaking point and is followed by a manifestation of objectification. Then there is a chase where the batterer and victim are in some way brought into proximity with each other. And then there is the decision to strike.
And there I was in the class with people who had gone through the whole progression. And they either had the police called on them, or they realized what they had to lose if they didn't get some help to stop their battering. I could identify being in some parts of the progression, but I never hit anyone. Why was it still applicable, why did I feel that there was a reason I was in the class? Why did I feel like a batterer?
"The kids would scratch themselves and make cuts and scars on their arms," Linda was saying over dim sum. We had to meet regarding the storytelling project and we decided to have dim sum. "They would scratch themselves and it's like a manifestation of a pain they're feeling inside. They feel pain inside and no one can see it and so no one knows it's there, and so they scratch themselves so that they can point to it and say, 'Look, I'm hurting."'
I nonchalantly tugged my sleeves down my arms a bit. Her observations were uncomfortably astute. My brow furrowed. I kept silent so as to not show it was a topic I knew up close and personal.
"They're creating proof of something that's intangible and so difficult to show. But then I don't know, it's just some theory someone had, I don't know if it's right or wrong, or if I believe it or not," she added just in case she wasn't getting through. She got through, more than I was about to show.
The frustration is huge these days, not a thing to do, not a thing to say. It's just myself and being trapped in my mind. I'm just alone. I think of Amina and I could just burst into tears no matter where I am.
Sometimes I have moments of euphoria. Hearing a certain song, or seeing a double rainbow. Beautiful sight. I could feel a bubbling of joy and see the lights dotting the mountain sides and the brighter stars in the clear skies overhead. Anything. It's only that much more difficult to have this emptiness right next to it.
It's all the same, all borne out of the same thing. Why did she do it? I just feel like I'm getting more and more confused every day. Every day just gets darker and darker and more and more lonely and futile.
And there I was in the class with people who had gone through the whole progression. And they either had the police called on them, or they realized what they had to lose if they didn't get some help to stop their battering. I could identify being in some parts of the progression, but I never hit anyone. Why was it still applicable, why did I feel that there was a reason I was in the class? Why did I feel like a batterer?
"The kids would scratch themselves and make cuts and scars on their arms," Linda was saying over dim sum. We had to meet regarding the storytelling project and we decided to have dim sum. "They would scratch themselves and it's like a manifestation of a pain they're feeling inside. They feel pain inside and no one can see it and so no one knows it's there, and so they scratch themselves so that they can point to it and say, 'Look, I'm hurting."'
I nonchalantly tugged my sleeves down my arms a bit. Her observations were uncomfortably astute. My brow furrowed. I kept silent so as to not show it was a topic I knew up close and personal.
"They're creating proof of something that's intangible and so difficult to show. But then I don't know, it's just some theory someone had, I don't know if it's right or wrong, or if I believe it or not," she added just in case she wasn't getting through. She got through, more than I was about to show.
The frustration is huge these days, not a thing to do, not a thing to say. It's just myself and being trapped in my mind. I'm just alone. I think of Amina and I could just burst into tears no matter where I am.
Sometimes I have moments of euphoria. Hearing a certain song, or seeing a double rainbow. Beautiful sight. I could feel a bubbling of joy and see the lights dotting the mountain sides and the brighter stars in the clear skies overhead. Anything. It's only that much more difficult to have this emptiness right next to it.
It's all the same, all borne out of the same thing. Why did she do it? I just feel like I'm getting more and more confused every day. Every day just gets darker and darker and more and more lonely and futile.
Saturday, May 01, 1993
Englewood Cliffs, NJ
Almost every time I’ve really needed Amina, I wasn’t able to get in touch with her. Coincidence?
Maybe it has always been for the better, I don’t think I want to expose Amina to this side of me, especially this time. Things went a little far this time and I cut up my legs pretty bad and slugged down a whole glass of vodka. Putting gashes in my legs stopped working when it got to the point that it wasn’t doing anything except making me more angry. It wasn’t relieving anything. One cut probably could use stitches, but doesn’t need it. I don’t mind it scarring in a nasty way. I want to remember this weekend far into the future.
I wasn’t home when the mail came. When I got home, I saw the large envelope from DePaul University and I could see that the envelope had been opened and an attempt had been made to make it look like it hadn’t been opened. One of the fuckheads was in the house. At first I thought it was the fuckhead who opened it, but decided to withhold judgment until I got more facts. I didn’t care what DePaul had to say since I had already gotten into Golden Gate University and intended to go there. I peeked in the envelope, saw that I was accepted and left it.
Later in the day, the fuckhead told me to go pick up the other fuckhead from the office. When I picked him up, he mentioned something about a scholarship. I didn’t know anything about it. Apparently DePaul offered a scholarship for $18,000. That confirmed without a shadow of doubt that the bitch had opened my mail and gone through the contents.
The violation was staggering. I silently fumed. The irony is that the reason I wasn’t at the house to intercept the mail was that I was out gleefully spending their money on the electronic drumset that was my right after I told them I got into Golden Gate. Was it worth it? No fucking way.
It gets worse. A little later, the bitch comes traipsing to my room feigning exuberance that she “just heard” that I got a scholarship. Maybe she thought I had read the acceptance letter and had told the other fuckhead when I was driving him home and then he told her. I was in no mood for her bullshit and called her on it, asking what she was talking about, she already had opened it and read the letter.
Her years of practiced lying obviously paid off, she didn’t miss a beat. She instantly processed that she had just been nailed and continued to spin it, saying that she looked at it but didn’t read the details. Funny, I didn’t see anything about a scholarship, that information must have come from somewhere. Her English must be much better than I thought to be able to just look at a letter and get such detail out of it. Fuckhead.
To make matters even worse, they then try to pressure me to go to DePaul. FUCK YOU!! What the hell. It was no problem for me to hold my line, I didn’t care about anything they said, I was going to San Francisco to get the fuck far away from them as possible.
They left for some party and I just lost it. I wanted to burn. I tried to call Amina, but fortunately to no avail. So I hacked away. This law school bullshit is getting out of hand. It has only gotten this far because I’m financially dependent and don’t have the means or ability to just leave and make it on my own. I have no idea how to look for a job, I have no resume, I have no experience. Every time I told them I wanted to get a job, they forked over more money and told me to study more. Which I never did anyway. I wouldn’t put it past them that they planned it this way so that they could have more control over the options and opportunities I have.
The fuckheads. They were ecstatic that I had gotten into Golden Gate, they had considered their mission as parents accomplished. They didn’t care where I went, they didn’t care how bad of a school I went to. Suddenly put $18,000 into the picture and it’s a whole new front, another battle. They’re so full of shit. They didn’t push law school for my benefit and future, they manipulated it because it gains them satisfaction and status; so that they can tell their friends that they have two doctors and a lawyer. It’s a game of cards to them. They’re not pushing for me to go to Chicago because of the money, they don’t need it, they said that the $18,000 they’re saving would go into my bank account. They want Chicago because they want me closer within their sphere of influence. No fucking way.
A car, the drumset, spending the Summer in Oberlin, none of the money is worth it. The money doesn’t have the value that the fuckheads think they do. I don’t need any of the stuff, and in a different situation I certainly wouldn’t even ask for any of it.
Not that if the fuckheads put more emphasis and effort into family and less in money, everything would be coming up roses. Problems and conflicts are a way that families learn and grow and build a relationship. But there has to be learning and growing by both parties. There has to be an emotional investment. The fuckheads learn nothing and are complacent as they are and invest only money. I am not interested.
Even with problems and conflicts, a family that invests emotionally is functional and there is always hope for reconciliation. There is no hope in this family because there is no groundwork, there is no foundation on which to build anything. There is only resentment, hatred, and distrust. There is nothing to reconcile, it has all been about business and economics. Money.
If things were different, I would be a vastly different person. I am a direct product of their upbringing, not a passive victim of their negligence. I won’t say everything is perfect as they are since I don’t very much care for who I am and would prefer not to exist as I am, but as long as I’m here, I can accept that whatever happens to me in the future is pretty much a direct result of the upbringing they had to offer. Anything I do is explainable as a result of what they’ve sown. My future is a natural progression from the kind of upbringing they’ve given.
So I gain materially through all this. I’m making out like a bandit and making sure they come through with everything they now owe me. It makes no difference that they are unsatisfied after they intercepted the DePaul letter. That’s their own fault. The agreement was that I go to law school, not where I go. If they feel they’re losing out because they’re not getting exactly what they want, that’s their own fault for not getting this in writing.
Maybe it has always been for the better, I don’t think I want to expose Amina to this side of me, especially this time. Things went a little far this time and I cut up my legs pretty bad and slugged down a whole glass of vodka. Putting gashes in my legs stopped working when it got to the point that it wasn’t doing anything except making me more angry. It wasn’t relieving anything. One cut probably could use stitches, but doesn’t need it. I don’t mind it scarring in a nasty way. I want to remember this weekend far into the future.
I wasn’t home when the mail came. When I got home, I saw the large envelope from DePaul University and I could see that the envelope had been opened and an attempt had been made to make it look like it hadn’t been opened. One of the fuckheads was in the house. At first I thought it was the fuckhead who opened it, but decided to withhold judgment until I got more facts. I didn’t care what DePaul had to say since I had already gotten into Golden Gate University and intended to go there. I peeked in the envelope, saw that I was accepted and left it.
Later in the day, the fuckhead told me to go pick up the other fuckhead from the office. When I picked him up, he mentioned something about a scholarship. I didn’t know anything about it. Apparently DePaul offered a scholarship for $18,000. That confirmed without a shadow of doubt that the bitch had opened my mail and gone through the contents.
The violation was staggering. I silently fumed. The irony is that the reason I wasn’t at the house to intercept the mail was that I was out gleefully spending their money on the electronic drumset that was my right after I told them I got into Golden Gate. Was it worth it? No fucking way.
It gets worse. A little later, the bitch comes traipsing to my room feigning exuberance that she “just heard” that I got a scholarship. Maybe she thought I had read the acceptance letter and had told the other fuckhead when I was driving him home and then he told her. I was in no mood for her bullshit and called her on it, asking what she was talking about, she already had opened it and read the letter.
Her years of practiced lying obviously paid off, she didn’t miss a beat. She instantly processed that she had just been nailed and continued to spin it, saying that she looked at it but didn’t read the details. Funny, I didn’t see anything about a scholarship, that information must have come from somewhere. Her English must be much better than I thought to be able to just look at a letter and get such detail out of it. Fuckhead.
To make matters even worse, they then try to pressure me to go to DePaul. FUCK YOU!! What the hell. It was no problem for me to hold my line, I didn’t care about anything they said, I was going to San Francisco to get the fuck far away from them as possible.
They left for some party and I just lost it. I wanted to burn. I tried to call Amina, but fortunately to no avail. So I hacked away. This law school bullshit is getting out of hand. It has only gotten this far because I’m financially dependent and don’t have the means or ability to just leave and make it on my own. I have no idea how to look for a job, I have no resume, I have no experience. Every time I told them I wanted to get a job, they forked over more money and told me to study more. Which I never did anyway. I wouldn’t put it past them that they planned it this way so that they could have more control over the options and opportunities I have.
The fuckheads. They were ecstatic that I had gotten into Golden Gate, they had considered their mission as parents accomplished. They didn’t care where I went, they didn’t care how bad of a school I went to. Suddenly put $18,000 into the picture and it’s a whole new front, another battle. They’re so full of shit. They didn’t push law school for my benefit and future, they manipulated it because it gains them satisfaction and status; so that they can tell their friends that they have two doctors and a lawyer. It’s a game of cards to them. They’re not pushing for me to go to Chicago because of the money, they don’t need it, they said that the $18,000 they’re saving would go into my bank account. They want Chicago because they want me closer within their sphere of influence. No fucking way.
A car, the drumset, spending the Summer in Oberlin, none of the money is worth it. The money doesn’t have the value that the fuckheads think they do. I don’t need any of the stuff, and in a different situation I certainly wouldn’t even ask for any of it.
Not that if the fuckheads put more emphasis and effort into family and less in money, everything would be coming up roses. Problems and conflicts are a way that families learn and grow and build a relationship. But there has to be learning and growing by both parties. There has to be an emotional investment. The fuckheads learn nothing and are complacent as they are and invest only money. I am not interested.
Even with problems and conflicts, a family that invests emotionally is functional and there is always hope for reconciliation. There is no hope in this family because there is no groundwork, there is no foundation on which to build anything. There is only resentment, hatred, and distrust. There is nothing to reconcile, it has all been about business and economics. Money.
If things were different, I would be a vastly different person. I am a direct product of their upbringing, not a passive victim of their negligence. I won’t say everything is perfect as they are since I don’t very much care for who I am and would prefer not to exist as I am, but as long as I’m here, I can accept that whatever happens to me in the future is pretty much a direct result of the upbringing they had to offer. Anything I do is explainable as a result of what they’ve sown. My future is a natural progression from the kind of upbringing they’ve given.
So I gain materially through all this. I’m making out like a bandit and making sure they come through with everything they now owe me. It makes no difference that they are unsatisfied after they intercepted the DePaul letter. That’s their own fault. The agreement was that I go to law school, not where I go. If they feel they’re losing out because they’re not getting exactly what they want, that’s their own fault for not getting this in writing.
Sunday, April 25, 1993
Englewood Cliffs, NJ
I’ve started dabbling in martial arts again and I’ve re-discovered what a source of spiritual energy they are. I remember back at Oberlin how after sessions I would feel like I was just floating on air. They just put me in a completely different space. But that feeling must be understood in congruence with the Lotus Sutra. Even though I wasn't reading the Lotus Sutra back at Oberlin as intently as I am now, I remember the feeling and I have to bring it back to the Lotus Sutra.
So many of the things that are now so identified with Buddhism like Zen, meditation, and martial arts have become divorced from the original religious context. They can't have meaning unless they are brought back to an understanding of Buddhism as a religion, the doctrines as revelation, that which has been revealed. Not just insight, that which is within, but revelation, that from without. And the realization that it is all one and the same thing. What modern Western culture identifies as Buddhism is mostly bastardization. It's so shallow, it goes against the grain of Buddhism by needing to identify and pigeon-hole the symbols and the cultural context.
I don't know what I'm saying, there is just something so wrong about the way modern Western society views Buddhism. These are just thoughts and I wouldn't argue for them or try to convince anyone else of them. I have nothing to contribute to rectify what I criticize. I can't even communicate it. Bottom-line: what the hell do I know about anyone else's views and opinions and perceptions.
This past week has been pretty good. Only one minor fight with the 'rents. How do I convey how much I hate them, how do they instill in me such a complete disregard for my own life. They suck meaning out of life. How can they be so clueless and still have developed their manipulative technique to such a high level? Everything they do feels like tentacles winding their grip into my nerves and bones, climbing up my spine. They are like cancer, incessant and invading, and the only way to cure it is to cut them out. Or I can bombard them with radiation. Whichever works.
At the same time, I feel that they have no substance, no reality to me. They have their effect, but they themselves are insubstantial. No real significance, only a superficial impact, nothing that touches my core being. Even though it is a core being they helped shape.
I keep control over my spirit and my well-being. I have control over my body. Cutting reminds me that I do with it as I please and they can't do anything about it. Cutting gets me through the brief, intense flashes of hatred and helplessness and reaffirms my control. It is shallow empowerment, seemingly self-defeating, but it does the job.
I've told Amina about the cutting. It felt good, but it also helps that she doesn't sympathize. I've always dreaded people finding out and feeling sympathy or trying to feel the pain for themselves and not knowing what to do with it. Amina keeps her distance and doesn't have that natural reaction of sympathy. I appreciate that in her. But what does she do with the information?
So many of the things that are now so identified with Buddhism like Zen, meditation, and martial arts have become divorced from the original religious context. They can't have meaning unless they are brought back to an understanding of Buddhism as a religion, the doctrines as revelation, that which has been revealed. Not just insight, that which is within, but revelation, that from without. And the realization that it is all one and the same thing. What modern Western culture identifies as Buddhism is mostly bastardization. It's so shallow, it goes against the grain of Buddhism by needing to identify and pigeon-hole the symbols and the cultural context.
I don't know what I'm saying, there is just something so wrong about the way modern Western society views Buddhism. These are just thoughts and I wouldn't argue for them or try to convince anyone else of them. I have nothing to contribute to rectify what I criticize. I can't even communicate it. Bottom-line: what the hell do I know about anyone else's views and opinions and perceptions.
This past week has been pretty good. Only one minor fight with the 'rents. How do I convey how much I hate them, how do they instill in me such a complete disregard for my own life. They suck meaning out of life. How can they be so clueless and still have developed their manipulative technique to such a high level? Everything they do feels like tentacles winding their grip into my nerves and bones, climbing up my spine. They are like cancer, incessant and invading, and the only way to cure it is to cut them out. Or I can bombard them with radiation. Whichever works.
At the same time, I feel that they have no substance, no reality to me. They have their effect, but they themselves are insubstantial. No real significance, only a superficial impact, nothing that touches my core being. Even though it is a core being they helped shape.
I keep control over my spirit and my well-being. I have control over my body. Cutting reminds me that I do with it as I please and they can't do anything about it. Cutting gets me through the brief, intense flashes of hatred and helplessness and reaffirms my control. It is shallow empowerment, seemingly self-defeating, but it does the job.
I've told Amina about the cutting. It felt good, but it also helps that she doesn't sympathize. I've always dreaded people finding out and feeling sympathy or trying to feel the pain for themselves and not knowing what to do with it. Amina keeps her distance and doesn't have that natural reaction of sympathy. I appreciate that in her. But what does she do with the information?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)