Well, Now.
Jun. 19th, 2003 10:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormDreamy, doggedly-stable afternoon (I slept through most of it in a series of one-hour naps).
(The Earth is tired of humankind and I think this world... Is gonna wash up anyhow... Lalalalalalalala -Aquabats, Chemical Bomb, for Breklor)
Wonderful burst of high/interest at the nursery. Contented glide downwards through chili-making and random chat online and dish-doing.
Bottom-out about ten minutes ago when I pried the SO away from his computer game for a lap to cry on. Now, what? Up again? Tomorrow's a high exercise day, so probably.
There really is a sense in which I hate my mind; I hate the way it lets me down and drops me into this befogged darkness sometimes. I hate the way that no matter how much time I spend sitting there telling it, these people around you love you, that I can't make it believe that.
I'm so grateful that it will at least take a statement like that, I love you or I care, from another at face value. I'm so grateful the SO is willing to repeat it to me when I need.
I'm so envious of the way the Juggler and the Other Woman know it from each other without needing that reassurance constantly. It tears at me, knowing that's possible and that I haven't achieved it. I crave that stability, that connection to another like that. Right now it's painful to think about it and so, of course, I dwell on little else.
I'm going to talk now, and you'll read or not, but you'll remember my disclaimer below. This is the core talking, the dark bits bubbling up, and if you allow a word of this to mean anything to you without talking with me first I hope your shadow may never find rest.
...or not. He came in when I was midway through typing, and I realise that such a thing was unworthy of me. Sometimes poison is better unspread; broken glass better kept safe where it will injure no passers-by. Someday I will get up and be able to find a he whenever I need; he will not always be leaving or sleeping or busy. Then I will always be worthy of such a thing. Now I try, but sometimes I can't be. Something about an observed life... and incentive to observe.
(The Earth is tired of humankind and I think this world... Is gonna wash up anyhow... Lalalalalalalala -Aquabats, Chemical Bomb, for Breklor)
Wonderful burst of high/interest at the nursery. Contented glide downwards through chili-making and random chat online and dish-doing.
Bottom-out about ten minutes ago when I pried the SO away from his computer game for a lap to cry on. Now, what? Up again? Tomorrow's a high exercise day, so probably.
There really is a sense in which I hate my mind; I hate the way it lets me down and drops me into this befogged darkness sometimes. I hate the way that no matter how much time I spend sitting there telling it, these people around you love you, that I can't make it believe that.
I'm so grateful that it will at least take a statement like that, I love you or I care, from another at face value. I'm so grateful the SO is willing to repeat it to me when I need.
I'm so envious of the way the Juggler and the Other Woman know it from each other without needing that reassurance constantly. It tears at me, knowing that's possible and that I haven't achieved it. I crave that stability, that connection to another like that. Right now it's painful to think about it and so, of course, I dwell on little else.
I'm going to talk now, and you'll read or not, but you'll remember my disclaimer below. This is the core talking, the dark bits bubbling up, and if you allow a word of this to mean anything to you without talking with me first I hope your shadow may never find rest.
...or not. He came in when I was midway through typing, and I realise that such a thing was unworthy of me. Sometimes poison is better unspread; broken glass better kept safe where it will injure no passers-by. Someday I will get up and be able to find a he whenever I need; he will not always be leaving or sleeping or busy. Then I will always be worthy of such a thing. Now I try, but sometimes I can't be. Something about an observed life... and incentive to observe.
no subject
Date: 2003-06-20 12:44 am (UTC)Yeah, we know we love each other. From my end, it was a long time coming. It's a good thing, but it doesn't smooth everything over into placidity. Sometimes -- like tonight -- it just makes the seemingly intractable problems more frustrating (to paraphrase: "I love you!" "I know, and I love you too!" "I know! So what the fuck is wrong?!").
Crikey, what's *with* everyone tonight? Melancholy insomniacs, all?
Btw, up until two years ago the only person who I actually believed when she told me that she loved me was my mom. Two years ago I started to believe that Juggler meant it too. That's two (working on a third -- wow, that's... wow) -- far less than the number of people I love. I give it more easily than I accept it from others -- accepting it, believing it, feels so much more vulnerable. Is that at all similar to how it feels for you, why you have so much trouble believing it?
--TOW
no subject
Date: 2003-06-20 03:45 am (UTC)No. There's intellectual-believing, I think that's at a reasonable level. Then there's just the internal experience. Too many formative years of being alone without that sort of experience for my internal stuff to shift easily and suddenly start believing it's all around (she says by way of excuse). I haven't got a clue what the masses consider 'love' to be, what they mean when they say it, how that relates to me. There's no internal script to play for my mind to believe when I'm not feeling intense connection in a psychic-y sort of way.