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i don't belong here...
Jun. 4th, 2009 08:35 pmI realized yesterday that I'm falling back into the habit of reading for something to do, at best, and reading as a desperation tinged rear guard action to prevent what feels like the inevitable creeping decay of my faculties, or maybe out of need to learn... something, anything that might make a useful tool. I haven't read for pleasure in.. a month and a half?
And that made me realize that, except for one recent time filled with chemicals and insanely loud music, I haven't really known what it feels like to feel good, to experience pleasure without modifiers or limiters, in a long, long time.
Sure, there have been moments that sucked markedly less than others, and moments of bits of goodness, but always run through baffles and filters, nothing unmitigated. Even my old tried and true routes don't get me there. Drinking in good company is pleasant, but I can't relax enough to just be, and instead hold back from the promise of "maybe better, maybe for a little bit". Time outside, in my favorite time of year, feels comfortable and known, but it doesn't fill me with joy (though certainly for no lack of trying by the world). Hell, I haven't even really been engaging with music lately. Think about that for a minute, those of you who know me well; I haven't really been listening to music. Honestly, when I do, it's walking at lunch, and even then the sound is low enough that I can hear all external sounds. Many days, the lure of silence carries more weight than music.
I think it's affecting my relationship with food, too (not that I need a backdoor into getting more mired in body issues). I catch myself wanting to eat, but not because I'm hungry, and when I do give in, I don't often really enjoy it. But I do eat, I have to eat, so it makes sense that this would be one place the stubborn, persistent part of me that wants to experience pleasure would try to make a crack.
I don't understand it; I can tell things are changing inside me, but I'm not getting rays of sunlight pushing out through the cracks. It feels like instead I'm getting old collapsing structures as I hack away at their foundations. At times it feels like my internal world is as fragile and volatile as I fear my external world is. I want to just pull everything down in a fit of frustration, but a part of me worries that I wouldn't survive the cave in unscathed, and might emerge worse off than before.
I'm so frustrated I feel like my skin is getting thin again, and dangerous. I feel like such a bundle of pain, all wrapped with barbed wire and hair trigger bear traps, which makes me pull away from others more even though I probably need them more, because I don't want to go off by accident or respond with extracontextual force. I'd cry if I knew how, but the few times I try, it doesn't help and makes me painfully self conscious, even when alone. I want to be better; I thought I was getting better. I might have been wrong, but damn it, I still have hope, even though I feel almost crippled by my issues. I just don't know what to do other than keep on working, and hope that I don't explode.
And that made me realize that, except for one recent time filled with chemicals and insanely loud music, I haven't really known what it feels like to feel good, to experience pleasure without modifiers or limiters, in a long, long time.
Sure, there have been moments that sucked markedly less than others, and moments of bits of goodness, but always run through baffles and filters, nothing unmitigated. Even my old tried and true routes don't get me there. Drinking in good company is pleasant, but I can't relax enough to just be, and instead hold back from the promise of "maybe better, maybe for a little bit". Time outside, in my favorite time of year, feels comfortable and known, but it doesn't fill me with joy (though certainly for no lack of trying by the world). Hell, I haven't even really been engaging with music lately. Think about that for a minute, those of you who know me well; I haven't really been listening to music. Honestly, when I do, it's walking at lunch, and even then the sound is low enough that I can hear all external sounds. Many days, the lure of silence carries more weight than music.
I think it's affecting my relationship with food, too (not that I need a backdoor into getting more mired in body issues). I catch myself wanting to eat, but not because I'm hungry, and when I do give in, I don't often really enjoy it. But I do eat, I have to eat, so it makes sense that this would be one place the stubborn, persistent part of me that wants to experience pleasure would try to make a crack.
I don't understand it; I can tell things are changing inside me, but I'm not getting rays of sunlight pushing out through the cracks. It feels like instead I'm getting old collapsing structures as I hack away at their foundations. At times it feels like my internal world is as fragile and volatile as I fear my external world is. I want to just pull everything down in a fit of frustration, but a part of me worries that I wouldn't survive the cave in unscathed, and might emerge worse off than before.
I'm so frustrated I feel like my skin is getting thin again, and dangerous. I feel like such a bundle of pain, all wrapped with barbed wire and hair trigger bear traps, which makes me pull away from others more even though I probably need them more, because I don't want to go off by accident or respond with extracontextual force. I'd cry if I knew how, but the few times I try, it doesn't help and makes me painfully self conscious, even when alone. I want to be better; I thought I was getting better. I might have been wrong, but damn it, I still have hope, even though I feel almost crippled by my issues. I just don't know what to do other than keep on working, and hope that I don't explode.
