the reason why
I am terrified of the spaces in between, the spaces in which we aren't talking, because I know so much can happen in them... Trust replaces fear when we are actually together, when we are face to face, when I have the semi-tangible proof of your affection in front of me... but I know so much can happen in the spaces in between, in the moments of silence between us. I am afraid of the unknown crevices in the clockwork of your mind - crevices that might seem small at first glance, but that, in reality, hold worlds and abysses unknown to me and unreachable by me. I am afraid, when I am not looking, that you will change, from being familiar, into something I can't understand, from someone who would never hurt me, to someone who has their mysterious reasons why it is better this way even though it hurts. In the moments that pass between our moments of togetherness, I am afraid that you can change your mind, that you can forget - that you can forget that I am different, I am special, that you can lose trust in me or your esteem of me, or forget that someone is placing their trust in you and that that someone is me.
I have laid off livejournal-ing for a while. I don't know if I can safely say I'm back, but at least for today, I'm back. Who knows if there is anyone left who cares to read me. I am all a mix-up, a bundle of confusion -- I don't know if I would prefer that people read me or if I would prefer that they don't. I think maybe what I want is for a stranger to read me -- a stranger somewhere far off, who doesn't actually know me personally except through what I write, someone who isn't a witness to my humdrum little life, the smallness of it - a stranger who, despite the setback of not knowing me personally, actually understands me better (despite, or perhaps because of, this) than anyone who does.
I am making another attempt at being honest. I don't know if this is the kind of place that will allow me to be. I think the problem is the same as my impetus to write -- my insatiable hunger for an audience. And the thing is, I have a lot of pride. And it always eventually comes in conflict with my intention to be transparent.
I bought myself a physical, tangible secret diary. Do you know what the difference is between a 'secret diary' and a 'journal'? I don't know if there is a distinction in English, but when I went to the little neighborhood shop on New Year's Eve, the man at the counter took the pains to clarify that what I was looking for was not a "diario" but a "diario segreto" --- the difference being, at least as I understand it, that the diario segreto comes with a lock and key. Anyway, I came out of the shop with one of those made-in-China secret diaries with a lock and key and its own special box (that is very pretty, if I might add so). I felt slightly self-conscious so I had the man giftwrap it, so that I could pretend it was a gift for someone else in case there's something wrong or inappropriate about a 23-year-old buying a secret diary that comes with lock and key.
In this secret diary, I write what I cannot bring myself to write here, to He who knows and sees everything already. Here is a space for things that can be read. I think here, sometimes, I come close to talking about things that shouldn't be talked about, but I want this space to have some artistic value, and when I write here, I am conscious of that, so what I write may sometimes be part-fiction.
I am working on a project that will hopefully save me from going crazy. A project that involves words. Which is one of the reasons I am back here. Here is a space that helps the words flow. And with me, the words are often clogged up.
I often wonder if I have it rougher than many people. I wonder if everyone goes through these things, if everyone has to brace themselves as tightly to hang on to themselves, or if this is what it feels like moments before you become permanently unhinged, undone, diagnosable as mentally insane. I wonder if everyone has a secret calendar in which they mark the days they are okay with a smiley face, the days they hit rock bottom with a blue cloud, and the days they don't have cognitive control over themselves with a green tree (because green is the color of leprechauns and leprechauns are unhinged, anyway). I am keeping careful count and trying to go about this in a scientific manner because I am fighting back. I want to want to live.
Yesterday was a terrible terrible day. I marked the calendar date with both a cloud and a tree. On that kind of a day, the day is done. The best thing for you to do, is to lie down and try to force yourself to sleep until it passes.
But this is why I am afraid I might never be able to make anything out of myself. My parents want me to go to medical school or business school or translation school. I actually want to go to medical school, but there are some days I just don't function, and how can you go through medical school like that? I look back and I sometimes wonder how I managed to brace myself through university. Even though I had Talisman there, and the most amazing friends and people surrounding me and even though life was full of life, there, too, was filled with moments of bracing.
I am trying to find the courage to go through Life.
I have laid off livejournal-ing for a while. I don't know if I can safely say I'm back, but at least for today, I'm back. Who knows if there is anyone left who cares to read me. I am all a mix-up, a bundle of confusion -- I don't know if I would prefer that people read me or if I would prefer that they don't. I think maybe what I want is for a stranger to read me -- a stranger somewhere far off, who doesn't actually know me personally except through what I write, someone who isn't a witness to my humdrum little life, the smallness of it - a stranger who, despite the setback of not knowing me personally, actually understands me better (despite, or perhaps because of, this) than anyone who does.
I am making another attempt at being honest. I don't know if this is the kind of place that will allow me to be. I think the problem is the same as my impetus to write -- my insatiable hunger for an audience. And the thing is, I have a lot of pride. And it always eventually comes in conflict with my intention to be transparent.
I bought myself a physical, tangible secret diary. Do you know what the difference is between a 'secret diary' and a 'journal'? I don't know if there is a distinction in English, but when I went to the little neighborhood shop on New Year's Eve, the man at the counter took the pains to clarify that what I was looking for was not a "diario" but a "diario segreto" --- the difference being, at least as I understand it, that the diario segreto comes with a lock and key. Anyway, I came out of the shop with one of those made-in-China secret diaries with a lock and key and its own special box (that is very pretty, if I might add so). I felt slightly self-conscious so I had the man giftwrap it, so that I could pretend it was a gift for someone else in case there's something wrong or inappropriate about a 23-year-old buying a secret diary that comes with lock and key.
In this secret diary, I write what I cannot bring myself to write here, to He who knows and sees everything already. Here is a space for things that can be read. I think here, sometimes, I come close to talking about things that shouldn't be talked about, but I want this space to have some artistic value, and when I write here, I am conscious of that, so what I write may sometimes be part-fiction.
I am working on a project that will hopefully save me from going crazy. A project that involves words. Which is one of the reasons I am back here. Here is a space that helps the words flow. And with me, the words are often clogged up.
I often wonder if I have it rougher than many people. I wonder if everyone goes through these things, if everyone has to brace themselves as tightly to hang on to themselves, or if this is what it feels like moments before you become permanently unhinged, undone, diagnosable as mentally insane. I wonder if everyone has a secret calendar in which they mark the days they are okay with a smiley face, the days they hit rock bottom with a blue cloud, and the days they don't have cognitive control over themselves with a green tree (because green is the color of leprechauns and leprechauns are unhinged, anyway). I am keeping careful count and trying to go about this in a scientific manner because I am fighting back. I want to want to live.
Yesterday was a terrible terrible day. I marked the calendar date with both a cloud and a tree. On that kind of a day, the day is done. The best thing for you to do, is to lie down and try to force yourself to sleep until it passes.
But this is why I am afraid I might never be able to make anything out of myself. My parents want me to go to medical school or business school or translation school. I actually want to go to medical school, but there are some days I just don't function, and how can you go through medical school like that? I look back and I sometimes wonder how I managed to brace myself through university. Even though I had Talisman there, and the most amazing friends and people surrounding me and even though life was full of life, there, too, was filled with moments of bracing.
I am trying to find the courage to go through Life.