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07.16.04 - 10:05 p.m.
self-inspiring self-inspiration. [def. n. inspiring myself as valiently, wholeheartedly, and energetically as i try to inspire others]. this topic deserves much more thought here than i have energy to give it, but maybe that's the very point: a reflection of how little energy i reserve for myself, a self-depleted state i fail to notice until after i've repleted others. the story is an old one, and i know all the whys and whatfors. so i suppose, on this friday night as i write outside on my porch during another bizarre uncity upstate upsidedown weather-helluva day.... [picture me sitting on my besoddenn faux-stoop of wooden steps, trying to gather the energy to focus so i can do pleasurable reading at least, since my brain and eyes feel too fried for thinking print. me, writing under the setting sunlight as its red orange rays transform chilly pouring rain into an illusory sheath of glistening dewdrops. me shaking my head, slowly wondering aloud: what world is this? why this world. why this time. whywhywhy?] end of my jam-packed week include: thurs, the ides of july, invited prof and daughter over for dinner... made a spicy jamaican jerk chicken, rice and peas, and summer salad sprinkled like gumdrops with raisins and pear slices (yum). log in professorate dinner party #3. i'm getting pretty damn good at hostessing. what i'm not getting good at is walking back and forth (total 2.3 miles) along the busy intrastate route13 to the strip of grocery stories, and then lugging bags of produce, juice, and heavy goya canned objects, on my own, back to my apartment -- in sudden rain storms, no less. rainstorms that begin as i leave the store, and end as i reach my door step. oh oh oh oh! super epiphany! my left shoulder and left side of my neck have been twitching like a MoFo all day today. it FINALLY hit me that i strained it from hauling 7 bags of groceries from weggostopsconglomerate. yikes! here i was beating myself up for sleeping all wrong, purging ice cream after prof and child left, etc... what a relief to figure out WTF is up with my body yay, i'm tired. and i try so damn hard not to whine about being a self-supporting single who doesn't have some superhero bf (or gf, for that matter) to open doors, carry her bags, drive her places, and all around save her ass from the weight of the world of 100% self-responsibility. (yes, i know in perfect non-co-depend. relationships, each partner takes care of him/herself. i'm not fooling myself or seeing greener grass though when i watch couples shoulder each others burdens. no harm bitching here that i'm still sick of shouldering mine. ) anyway, yes, we had a successful visit - her mom just emailed me today to say that she asked when's the next time she could come over to play. (awwww, shucks) and although the 5 yr. old sucked up much of her mother's attention - and has a looonnnnggg way to go towards learning the basics in manners - please. thank you. don't raise your voice at your mother - how dare you call yourself your own boss - are you 5 going on 16 or what? i noticed because it was my house and my dinner table - i much more freely asserted my disciplinary remarks and gentle scoldings to clamp down her sassiness. on the one hand, yes, i continue to sympathize with how much these kids wear the prof out, but f*ck, IMO if you train a kid from a young age that being respectful of their parents, then these insurgency problems wouldn't be problems. and really, our conversation wasn't all that deep - this the prof to whom i confessed the desire to die often and weekly 2 years ago... i wanted more than anything to invite her to my space and give her a glimpse of the endearing clutter (books, books, papers, photos, postcards, nicknacks, shoes shoes shoes CDs and tapes, gifts from friends almost a decade old b/c i save EVERYTHING...) that make me who i am. i think she got the point - and in the oddest (if viewing from the outside) but naturalist twist of fate - i let her into my study (which doubles as a bedroom when i fold my futon up), in order for her to log into my computer and so she could show me pix from her recent trip to africa - -- and, well, on my desk i've made a FORTRESS of empowerment, abundant memories of loved ones, nametags from past conferences, greeting cards, the dried flower petals i've strewn over my keyboard; the tons of post it notes with pointed reminders to myself : 'act as if'; "let it go, move on," 'keep life simple.' 'i'm at ease speaking in front of a group. i am confident in my ability to express myself'. and other more pointed remarks like "focus or fail." "focus on your own work or perish". " today is your day to wate or use to advance your life. your choice." get things over with" "use time wisely." -- and oddly enough i SHOULD be more freaked out, not even by the bedroom space thing (my house is built almost like a railroad with one room leading into the other - but freaked out that i didn't think to e.d.-therapy-queer-diet-weightloathing-neurotic-proof my desk area. so, ur, what can i do now if, her roaming eyes have seen the following: my oa 12 steps paraphenalia; my melody beattie's "the language of letting go"... my Rx drug bottles; my stupid notes to myself to drink 8 glass of water a day, or orange flag 'no flour/no sugar?? what about or even my most personal emails of encouragement, like sail___'s "don't you dare give up on yourself" and the words "don't give up repeated 30x to cover an entire page. or m___'s "don't you dare be afraid to have hope for yourself" or nourish's "remember that you are brave"..? or, most relevant to her is that much of HER encouragement comprises a huge portion of my fortress. so, yes, i have her two books inscribed to me on my desk. along side the book of her colleague who commited suicide (why i opened up to her in the first place). and yes, i have an email she wrote to me blown up and highlighted in big letters to remember "SG said that yours was the best paper on the panel".... and "Eloquent, I think, is the word she used."... my poster from her lecture, along side other exciting posters of inspiring profs. although my heart bleeped some moments after i realized how much of myself i'd incidently allowed her to see, i think that i had a wonderful letting go. i've never kept my struggles a secret. but only relayed them in cryptic emails. i think, the watershed of openness feels not invasive, or even exhibitive... you see, i realize, that for so long i've told myself"if only ppl could SEE the mess i was on the inside (of my house and of my head), they'd understand me". and deep down i had some fantasy that either i had to be lying in a hospital bed after a failed suicide attempt [and in this fantasy #1, puzzled loved ones go rifling through my room and desk, searching for an explanatory note and finding my fortress of me instead]... or lying in a coffin, when again, my life would finally become the open book that i want it to be, open in that i don't have to treat struggles, addictions, disordered thinking or behavior some deep secret, or immerse me in shame. [in fantasy #2, since i'm already dead my life becomes an open domain, and anyone can read my journals and explore through my layers of secret lives to unearth and publicize the truth at last. but hey, guess what? i didn't have to die, or toy with death to let me inner life in all its bumbled glory breathe and see the light of day to someone other than a therapist. and, my sickness was not the condition for letting her see me. does that make any sense? i didn't lure her in to look at my most inner sanctum, in order for her to see all my shit, freak out, and call 911 or put my inpatient - nope, i wasn't crying for help. and in fact. in the moment that we looked at her snapfish slideshow of her trip, i more or less forgot that i was in need of help in that way. i'm not helpless. i'm not healthy either - but maybe most freeing thought, is that HOT DAMN! i finally get it! my sickness, insecurities, neurosis, suicidal ideations, depression, whatever you call all that is me - none of that is my ticket, my chit, my trump card, to winning friends and influencing people. so i've got shit i'm trying to recover from. i'm dealing with it. i got skills. i got a therapist. i got a plan. thus, i neither got no business, nor get any "thrills" any longer out of exhibiting my sick body or narrowly believing that my addictions and struggles are the only common ground upon which i can find a buddy [ you know, my AAA - AnaAngelAllianc - or TFF - ThinFriendsForever- ouch, i shouldn't be so flaming flippant, but i couldn't avoid the BFF parody. i'm in that kind of mood. chalk it up to MKO twin and bones sensory overload this past week) or, the only medium (sickness) through which to get another person to open up to me about their vulnerabilities. dang it, i can talk to a person about a poignant photo or striking sculpture and use THAT as the medium to get in touch with, and communicate about those feelings. as i'm writing this, i guess i'm realizing i'm a lot more free and satisfied (although still damn exhausted) than i thought i was. i'm not depleted. i actually gained valuable lessons. i was unconsciously unmanipulatively un-passive aggressively - unselfishly myself and had a whopping good time out of it. i am depleted in that i stayed up after they left - and faced with mounds of dishes to wash, and an empty house - i ate some of the frozen yogurt i bought and made alcoholic smoothies (amaretto liquer and rum anyone) - and then promptly puked hoping i'd knock off to sleep. instead i stayed awake. and, notice how with all this chatter of epiphanies and stuff, i don't have to talk about, deal with, talk through a connection i made FINALLY with a 29yr old, MFA holding, community college professing 5'9" gorgeous, locks, healthy brown body - so far non-ED or SI-recovering woman online. we've been IMing all week, and had our first phone call last night. i've tentatively planned to drive down and go to centralparksummerstage, fleamarket, and exploring nyc and jc next weekend. so far, the only thing i that caught me off guard is that she sounds younger than she looks. she has a good head on her shoulder. she's a virgo woman (sigh of relief i've got plenty of them in my life). so what's the problem? non so far - except i haven't yet allowed myself to think or fantasize about this instant attraction (her photos jumped out at me, what can is say) - because i absolutely do not want to get attached to her or some ideal of her - then meet her and be sorely disappointed - and who knows if she won't be disappointed in me. truth is, although i've worked more on my dating profile texts than on my diss since july 4th, i voice in at the core of my head believes that no one will ever agree to commit themselves to me -- and i'm not talking about a lifetime - i'm talking about even a 1 year relationship - i can't go into why i'm so sure of this, but i know or at least foresee that i'll spend the next 2 years alone - why? here's the bloody double-edged sword: so, i've built this fortress of self-love, self-entertainment, self-soothing, self-sufficiency, self-motivating around me - my desk, my walls, my house, my very aura. ANY of my close friends would very me as a virtually one-woman cheering squad machine. quite a production. but, there's the rub: if i project this whirlind image of self-love generating production (and i'm talking over the top, not just a quiet affirmation - i'm good, goshdarn it - to the mirror then calling it a day) - i'm talking phone lists, postit note nirvana - self-help books, letters, the works... wouldn't you think - one of two things - 1. either this persons doesn't need love or support; she's generating more of it, and energetically than anyone known to man... or 2. this person's a whirlwind deverish of extra extra STUFF - she's too high maintenance - not worth it - good-bye - and toast to your autonomous single ways. another watershed, huh - becoming a self-sustaining cloud of self-love doesn't polinate and produce others; rather, all that production to a happy self-sufficient "okay, i'm single and i'll live" about it ethos well, doesn't bring all the fellas or the ladies to my yard....
MUSIC: n'dea*davenport
READING: zsmith's white*teeth
FEELING:depleted
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