kuangning: (Default)
Drifting.

Falling floating acquiescent, waiting for something that exerts a pull. Hands in pockets, head down, shuffling, picking over stones just because, and not bothering to keep the ones that sparkle.

I remember what it was to create. My hands recall putting together things I hoped would last, pounding out words that seemed to bypass my head and flow straight from some hidden corner where someone hid who was me, and not me.

Justify your existence.
I create.

I used to believe I would cease to exist on the day I ceased to create. In a way, I have. With the future of my most personal and human accomplishment still undecided, I ceased to create at all. I've written nothing of my own worth penning, these months. I've not found a single fractal worth rendering. And I don't recognise myself in this dull, listless woman wearing my face and thinking with my voice.

I wonder if I still have the willpower to find my way back.
kuangning: (Default)
For one human being to love another; that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation.
-- Rainer Maria Rilke


I don't say it often enough, I know. I lose sight of it sometimes; getting caught up in my own fears and troubles is all too easy. But that doesn't make it less true: I am blessed. That's not a word I use often, and it's always in this context for me. The people who share my life, in whatever degree of closeness, bestow on me their time, their attention, and, sometimes, their love. In this, and in them, I am blessed.

I am not an easy person to love. I have a great many sharp edges, I'm demanding and rigid and sometimes childish. Those who manage to put up with all of that, however, still have to contend with mood swings and insecurities, self-doubt and self-centeredness. All of that, and still there are people who stand by me, who never have deserted me, who never have been too busy or hurting too badly themselves to be there when I needed them.

Some of those, poor darlings, make it to the ultimate in inconsistency: they wind up being loved by me. That particular experience, I'm sure, has to be a roller-coaster ride equal to none. I am warm and happy one moment, on the verge of tears the next; my disposition is sunny long enough to let them relax, and then the thunderclouds roll in without warning. Worse, I lie. I'm fine, I say when I'm bleeding. It's my problem, I declare with a shrug. What I mean is it hurts and I don't know where to begin to tell you, but that is not what I say. I'm all right. It's not important. There's nothing anyone can do. Shorthand for I'm dealing with something that scares me and I don't trust it out of my head.

Today's been one of those roller-coaster days. I've told so many lies that they're all I can taste. And anyone who made it through today with me is entitled to a medal.

I will try again tomorrow. And perhaps tomorrow, I will get it right.
kuangning: (quiet)
*sighs.*

... who are we to judge people and say which is good or bad or who is right or wrong?
it's not our place, because we are all as confused as everyone else.
grah.


No, it's not our place to say who is good or bad. It is our place, our right and our responsibility, to remove ourselves from the influence of people who display a pattern of behaviour that hurts us, or from people who show, by words or by action, that they do not have our best interest at heart. Good person? Certainly. Good behaviour? Rethink that. I am a little tired of people who use "don't judge me!" as an excuse to remain blind to the consequences of their actions, or to somehow keep close those whose affections they have lost through carelessness, lack of courtesy, or malicious behaviour, with or without the intent to be pointedly and personally hurtful.

Angry? I'm not. There's no hate or ill-will in my heart right now. I wish you happy, I wish you well and fulfilled, and I believe you will find what you're searching for so desperately, one of these days. I believe that you will come to wholeness, and to understanding -- and I hope you know that I will be thrilled for you, when you do.

Until you do, however... well, one of the steps along the way, my darling, is empathy. And compassion, both for yourself and for those around you who are affected by you. Until you come to that step, and show that you're willing to take it, then it's better for some of us to withdraw a little, if only to protect from you the lingering affection and caring for you that you haven't yet managed to strip from us and replace with hurt and bitterness.

Take care, hon. This door isn't locked and barred, but it really is for the best that it be closed right now.
kuangning: (Default)
Sometimes I'm more blind than I have any right to be.

I just went through approximately a week of being nothing like my better or usual self. The depression, unfortunately, is all too frequent with me. Anger at everything and nothing isn't. Being filled with loathing at the very thought of couples-anything definitely isn't. I wandered around wanting contact and freezing out anyone who tried to get closer to me than a comment in this journal. Move on, move past, don't slow down, don't stop. And I couldn't figure out why, which didn't make me any happier. A dream is not a reason to crash. Besides, it started before that.

Logan's birthday was the twelfth.
Ari's is the twenty-third.

Part of it? Hell yeah. But it didn't explain all of it, not by a long shot.

And then I got reminded of another "anniversary." And suddenly I'm very very happy that I haven't been worse than I've been. And more determined than ever that this roller-coaster is going to stop soon.

  • I have the job. Ninety days to health insurance.
  • I'll need my license.
  • I'll need a car.
  • I need a place of my own, preferably near work. It's impossible to save here.
  • I'll need at least the basic furniture and appliances, preferably used, definitely sturdy. Logan is rough on furniture. *wrysmile.*
  • I need a new wardrobe. I wish I could get around that, but I can't, not and still be presentable at work. At least two more skirts, two pair of slacks, and a few blouses. I can forgo another jacket, since the one I have is a perfectly nice black one.


I think I can manage most of this by the end of the year. Even if the place of my own is just a room or something for a few months -- it's not like I'm intending to settle forever in North Carolina.

For less obvious but just as important reasons that I haven't really talked about here... I have to do this on my own. I know what I want, and more than that, I know how I want it to happen. I will not lean. I will not be rescued. I am not running to anyone. There are dreams riding on this that I couldn't begin to explain. I've gotten what I needed, almost always. Even when I didn't know it until afterwards, even when it hurt to take the medicine. Just enough happiness to make me want more, I said, and that was true. A day here, an evening there, of more real joy than most people know exists, let alone dream of having. Enough to keep me going. Preparation for this -- and this is what's going to count.
kuangning: (depression)
Too much to say. Not enough words in the world. Funny how all it takes is a dream, to crush the eggshell edges of bravado and spill all that carefully-contained emotion. A single dream, a matter of minutes, and every stifled want and unvoiced wish suddenly seems too large to ever fit back into the little corner I set aside for it.

I'm angry. I'm angry because it seems so unfair right now. Because I have been patient and I have been brave and I have tried to understand. Because I have dampened the frightening things, and tempered the raw, ungentle things, and pursued the lovely things, waiting for words, waiting for thoughts, waiting. Painting careful pictures, laying out the things that matter most in hopes that someone else can see them too. And they have been seen, and they have been -- what? Validated, I suppose. Become more real because I know now that I'm not the only one who feels them. I'm angry at myself for getting back to this point. Angrier because there's no reason for it. No real reason, anyway. What's a dream?

I'm aching -- because for all of that, when I did so well, when I poured out so much that I wanted to hold onto, what's left is this. Why is it always this?

I'm waiting for it to pass, to blow over. Hating myself for being so weak. And I'm so damned tired of waiting. Tired of myself, is what I mean right now, I know. Tired of moodswings and crashes and bouts of the blues that run into each other, with only enough happiness to make me crave what I can't hold onto.

September 2015

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