2004-02-20
The Conclusion of The Wretched Day

hearing: Hero (Red Pill Mix) - Superchick
reading: Lilith by George MacDonald (gee golly this book is good children... <3)
wearing: my headphones

I am feeling, strangely enough, much better now. Mood is swinging. It may be plunging again. Not to the same low as it has been, just a state of melancholic suspension. A beautifully poetic misery.

Sometimes I feel bad that my mood swings like it does. That perhaps it is a bad thing and I shouldn't let on about it. Sometimes I feel as if I were being too dramatic with the ways I write. I feel reluctant to write what I feel in full. But then I think, Whether good or bad, right or wrong, this is me. If I choose not to write about how I am feeling, and how my mood is swinging, I might seem a more stable person, I might even be able to make myself seem a better person, but note, it would just be seeming. It would be false. It would be a lie and a bitter untruth. Better to have them loathe the truth than love the lie.

I did reread my entries and realize that I am not as bad or as dramatic as I think myself. Feeling better about that. Not egocentric or narcissistic though. Just confident and content with myself. Or at the very least, with my writing style. I am also feeling much better about my poem. It isn't that good but that's ok. Actually, I am particularly attached to the fourth verse. I like that one. Imagine where it could go with emendations? And even if it isn't that good, I think it accurately reflects everything I was thinking when I wrote it. It let me pour out my feelings, to a minor degree. Which is the point. I would rather be writing bad poetry that makes me feel better than to bottle everything up to the point of explosion since I can't write anything good.

I suppose I also wonder why I won't talk to people about anything. I will write out my feelings as intricately and fully as I ever could here, but then demand no direct replies. The problem with that is maybe, sometimes, even often I write so openly as I do, and when I do, it is because I so desperately want to talk and I so desperately want direct replies. It isn't even always intentional. More often it is sub conscious and barely acknowledged. Something inside me knows I want to talk about it but I am so...well today I will ask pardon for my strong language... damned afraid of ever opening up to anyone. I reflected on the times I have "opened up" to certain friends, but how much opening up was it? Not much. And I poured out, but he gave nothing back. No support, no advice, no encouragement, in short, nothing. Talking to him about it was no different than talking to my teddy bear about it. I don't hold it against him. He is three years younger than me, my polar opposite AND well... a he, so what could I expect? Beyond that, I haven't told many people much and even when I have, I don't get any discussion or help with my problems because I shove it to the side before I will let them.

Now I am sure that if I took the incentive, I have plenty of opportunity to open up to certain people if I wanted to. But I reiterate that I am just too damned afraid. I am not sure of what. I think it has to do with fear of falling in people's estimation, of being misunderstood and underestimated. I have a grasp on the feelings that drive me and what exactly my fear is but I can't quite word it. It's just there.

I really must apologize for the bits of profanity that slip in now and then. It isn't very becoming or attractive of me but I am struggling with it lately. I never EVER cuss in front of my parents or siblings, but you really don't want to hear me alone in my room when I am angry or frustrated or unhappy. I am getting pretty bad again.

I say again, because this has been a bad problem in the past. The summer before I went into eighth grade I was one of the select few girls in California chosen to go to a special math/science summer camp at Stanford. That week was quite an odd one. I don't have the time now to explain all of the circumstances and events, but that week I was quite the little rebel. I decided that I did not have any reputation here so I could build one for myself. These girls had never met me before, and would probably never meet me again after this week, so I was free to be whomever I chose. This meant I could cuss my little black heart out. My parents weren't there to see or restrain. I never cussed in front of the chaperones and instructors so I couldn't get in trouble from them either. Around all of my friends though, I sounded something like this, "bleep bleep and then she was so bleep bleep cause that was so bleepin cool. And bleep bleep for bleepin bleep's sake"

To think back on those days, I am disgusted. Vast misuseage. I only talked like that because I thought it was cool. Which I know better now. Cussing that much is just never cool. And now I don't, but when I get really angry or frustrated I let a lot fly. Never in front of people, just to myself, but it becomes my dirty little habit. And I am ashamed of it, but I am working on fixing it.

(No damn is not the only obscenity I use...ha...oh my no... there are plenty of others, in fact, there is another certain four letter word which is my favorite to misuse...'tisn't the s word either dearies...)

I am ashamed to admit all of that but I might as well. Now that is something I can say with assurance that I don't want to talk about. Definitely a problem I can handle. Definitely a problem I understand.

My stream of consciousness ebbs. My bed calls to me. My eye lids droop. My head feels heavier. Sleep beckons and I go to answer...

before & & after