Tsuki no Curse.
I think the reason I'm trying to write so much is to validate my existence.
But seriously, I love how fucked up it is that to avoid writing a three page paper, I have probably banged out almost forty pages worth of material not related to the subject. Why is that? It makes no logical sense. None. It's an easy paper, a scene analysis on a movie that I like, but there is nothing except procrastination. I labeled the page with the appropriate headings and such before I got so disgusted staring at the word "In" that I closed Word completely. I think I got discouraged when I saw that "Your argument needs to be supported by specific pieces of textual evidence, that is, what can be actually found in the text you analyze (including both written and audiovisual). Any broad generalization which is not supported by such evidence will be subject to grade reduction." Now, while in any other paper, that would just be a given, here it puts me up against a wall, because the film I want to write about there is three pages of text I have to reference and none of it has to do with the scene that I want to analyze. The only way I can use text effectively is to talk about how since America pulled out of Japan, it allowed for more freedom to discuss things like the bombing on film, and the collapse of the studio system which I have plenty of pages. So me discussing about how he dresses up like a pregnant woman to "give birth to the bomb" can't be substantiated by anything, but I thought it was fairly obvious. So much for debating on if the blue of the dress had any correlation to the first bomb being named "Little Boy." The other films have so much text, though that it's too much to process and the paper would be filled with other people's thoughts and not mine. Goddamn.
Sitting in class, though I wasn't worrying about that. I was more focused on the argument presented that there is no exterior world, thus no interior world, and that I do not exist as a self, but as a part of oneness and therefore all pain is one. Self is defined through suffering and that there is no mind to be found, because by having a mind, or rather, a concept of mind separate from body, it allows for the existence of self which is a construct. But if there is no world, then where does one exist? Monk talked about the Zen concept about compassion, which roughly got reduced to you don't truly feel the other's pain, but you experience as something besides "otherly." Therefore it is a shared experience? That lines between the two are non-existent, so there is no telling where their pain ends and yours begins. And it led to me saying, "But what of those who are overly compassionate? Who feel things so keenly that they become overwhelmed and numb to it all as a way of saving themselves?" The monk said that it happens.
Oh, and does it ever.
Because I stopped and thought about my past and in the manner which I handle the problems of others. There have been far too many instances of me being completely absorbed into the issues of others. Not in the meddlesome sort of way, mind, but where the problem is so all-consuming that I fall in with it. I did this with M above all else; I was so deeply aware of his pain that I felt it and the pain it caused me to know what he was going through as well. I've almost driven myself mad on several occasions. It's one of the greatest ironies, or perhaps hypocrisies, of my life: I, who tried so hard to wall others out and have nothing to do with them, the same I who wanted nothing to do with emotions and convinced myself that I had none and lived in a numb state for years, is the very same one who became completely consumed by the emotionality and problems of others. I wonder if perhaps it was because I cut myself off from my own emotions that I experienced them vicariously through others in disguised empathy? Hm. Another time, I suppose. A night far later than this, to be sure. Because I found myself saying, "Because I feel so much pain of others, I have to remind myself to draw a line so as not to completely disappear into them." And Monk's reply came in the form of, "But why the need to draw that line? Why not become the other?" I don't think he knew how to interpret the look I was giving him. Because he followed it with, "Well, besides the fact it is not socially acceptable."
If I didn't draw the line, if I hadn't drawn those lines, what would have become of me? Monk keeps insisting that Westerns cannot grasp the idea of oneness with all others, simply because we are addicted to the concept of "self" and define ourselves through that, via suffering, alone. Everyone in the class agrees and it's why a month into the class, they're still asking and trying to figure it out and fail. But I sit in my chair that is not a chair, but simply an object called a chair, and try to figure out why it is that I have no problem with this. Just the same way as I can easily accept that reality may not be reality, it could be a dream, I could be a dream, that there is no certainty when it comes to existence of self or of world. And while the entire class protests it, I'm simply going, "Did none of you see The Matrix?" I mean, the whole damn movie is about the concept of believing in the programming of the system and waking up to the reality that is existence beyond that dreamed world. And still, they make him repeat it over and over again, as if it will somehow change into something they can understand enough to believe in. Hell, parallel it to the existence of God and how some believe in it on circumstantial evidence, where others refuse to believe it at all. Same thing. Kinda.
Monk states that Buddhism without the protection of the technicality of the label is merely psychosis in this modern world. The belief that there is no separation between self and others, that there is no agency in action, that all things are non-dualistic and that perception has nothing to do with the perceiver and the perceived. Because it implies a separation between self and object. It is a non-objective world that it promotes, where all things are harmonized into a non-dualistic existence. Which is all well and fine, but it makes me wonder if I'm completely fucking batshit insane, or if I am enlightened beyond comprehension ("Ah, those insomniac nights paying off at last," she says with great sarcasm).
My Former was a non-participant wandering through life, observing and recording in order to forget, with no attachments to this world, no emotionality. It is the reason I lost almost fourteen years of my life; completely and utterly forgotten, rebuilt through the memories of others with only a few that are truly remembered by me. Six of those were spent in the numbness, the rest were intentionally obliterated in order to avoid the suffering of both happiness and pain. I disassociated myself from myself and was keenly aware that my body went through the motions of living while my mind was elsewhere. I spent that time deep in the recesses of my mind, creating worlds and scenarios, mostly for others. They were never Utopian, always there was some sort of reality, the awareness that things fuck up from time to time. It allowed me to walk through the life I was desperate to ignore, the only thing that kept me going somewhere besides an early grave.
Because I did not recognise myself as "I," but merely as a weak body destined to find trouble. I look back at pictures of those years and have to remind myself, even to this day, that they are of myself as others perceive me. The blonde child with a bright smile and excitedly happy eyes seems like a complete and totally separate person, one I considered dead and buried. There are no memories of myself from that time that exist, therefore I do not consider her a reality. She is something my parents constructed to comfort themselves in the absence of my own light. The stories that are told are merely that, they are stories. Fiction. Is it any wonder I was drawn to writing? I consider the majority of my life to be completely, utterly, and totally fictional. False, even. A construct based on the memories of a group who clings desperately to it. That happy, bright, intelligent, and optimistic child who was beloved by all and was the pride and joy of the entire family. They never understood that I viewed them all through deadened eyes, that when I see a picture of myself from back then, I see a soulless doll. There is one picture above all else that I see that is the only one that belies the truth of that and it is clear to see. There is a reason it is not on display in my house and it would be for that one alone.
So what changed? I found a boy who gave me words. A person who helped ground me in as safe a reality as I would ever find. The first person who told me that they would always be there and I believed it. It took five years before I trusted in it, though. And it was then that I allowed for memories. I saved every conversation, I savoured every word because it had been so long since I had bothered to retain anything pertaining to my own existence that I was afraid I would forget it all like I forgot everything else. He was something I didn't want to forget. And K entered as well, the same to be said for her. The three of us only survived because of the existence of us. The fact that there was an "us" and that we three were not as alone as we had previously felt. There was solace their words, something that I held onto desperately when I was at some of the lowest points in my life. It was those two alone who saw through me, who knew how hard I was fighting to act as if all was well for the benefit of others, no matter what it did to me. They allowed me a sanctuary that was not merely in my own mind, that their words were something tangible. The only thing that I allowed myself the indulgence to believe in for the first time since the start of my existence as Former. Their words allowed me the safety to feel, slowly, slowly, my god how fucking slowly, but it happened. He gave me my words, she helped me focus them, and together they helped me polish them. Saving my sanity by getting everything out onto the page. It was them who allowed me to see beauty for the first time, to appreciate the moment and not always fear that it would be destroyed. Because I gained an understanding that a moment is a moment because it is something that does not exist forever, that it is temporary and to appreciate it for that. There is a difference between moment, memory, and existence.
Because in those times of lowest points, even when I desperately wished for myself to disappear, it was impossible because there were two parts of me that were still there, telling me to hold on and helping me out of the mess I created for myself. And I have stated on numerous occasions to them both, that especially during those close-knit summers where our minds and horizons and lives were enriched through the other, that because of the level of involvement in each other's lives that sometimes it leads to confusion. That the two of them are such a part of me as to be indistinguishable, that I am of three. It is why with his departure that I feel so empty in places, that the pain is so acute. But I endure it because he gave it to me. That it was him who allowed me to feel it and that I should honour that. That he should not be like the rest of the things in my life, reduced to that numbness. I feel it to remind myself that he is still there, that as I live on, as does he through me, and through her. And when K and I are separated for times, upwards of two years even, there is always that immediate intimacy upon return. The one who above all else, understands me and I her. A soulsister, if you will.
I could try and point out which part is him, which part is her, which part is myself, but it is futile. What is him became me, what is her became me as I became a part of them. There was no separation of myself from them, because simply to do so would mean destroying myself. An while I am fully aware that our bodies are what separate us and there are fundamental differences amongst us, the core of us is the same, I think. Because we developed it together, we survived together. We are not three bodies in three graves. It's why I could continue writing; though he was gone, I could write through the him that was a part of me, since that would never leave.
Am I just an Eastern girl in a Western world? Or do I fall into the psychosis realm? But before I was even aware of the concepts, these modes and constructs, the above is something I held to be true. Because since we were so deeply entwined and bound together, when they experienced pain, so did I and conversely as well. There was no line to be drawn, nor a desire to. It was only when things began to be destroyed by situations beyond our control that there was a distance formed. I know not where he is, and for all of my angst and regret, but I content myself in knowing that he is still a part of me and if I never see him again and that is all I have, even still I am grateful for it and for him. While I have probably developed one of the most bizarre Luciferian Complexes, it is not something that I would change. I would not wish him out of my life and I do not desire to condemn him to a mere memory. And while K and I were always on a slightly more level ground, preventing the aforementioned complex, even though I've never physically been in her presence in almost a decade of knowing each other, it is as if she is right here, always close by. It is reassuring, comforting, to know that there is still so much love after so much time.
The lines I draw between others and myself, though are safety mechanism. Because I feel things so deeply, so intensely that if I do not keep it in check, I can literally be a danger to myself. I am aware of my ability to absorb the personality and presence of another. While it can be entertaining when wanting to imitate someone, it can also be highly problematic, because I don't so much forget myself as it is no longer the primary source of functioning. To use myself as other as an example (since it's easier than naming real people in past instances), when I need that easy confidence, that social grace, and ability to interact in society, there is Elle, the persona most readily available for that. It is through that "attitude" I am best able to succeed, because I know exactly what people want and expect from me and how to give it to them. And when it is matters of debate and intelligence, Naoe has the perfect mix of confidence and composure, though sometimes I think suffers from a perceived air of smug arrogance. But, I can easily get caught up in it, stay in character I guess you could say, longer than necessary. When I start perceiving a situation getting beyond my control, Naoe's calm collectedness serves me well, whereas in emotional areas that I'm not comfortable I all too easily revert to my Former, hiding behind my eyes when it has past that point.
My existence has a certain liquidity to it, I suppose. I don't necessarily think this a bad thing, although it does grant me the accurate label of disassociative. Because I do it in order to not be consumed, for those few lapses in judgment when I have gone with certain situations, I have almost burned in the fires of others. I take empathy to a heightened level that I have to keep in check in order to survive and to remain myself. It is the same reason that when I start to really bottom out in depressions that I check myself through numbness. Unintentionally, but a conditioned response.
I know that these are not the experience of every individual and that I shouldn't be surprised at the lack of understanding in my class, but still. Even if I were to say these things in class (though I wouldn't dare, obviously), it too would go ununderstood, save for Monk who I think would grasp it completely. But it is not something I need understood by others, which I suppose defeats the point of this even being written out, but it's worth mentioning, I suppose. The reason I'm threatened by my own emotionality is that I am incredibly aware of how overwhelming it is. That I have the potential to experience ecstasy in the purest of forms, but by the same token, the depths of misery as well. Either state is not one good to reside in for too long.
That class is the most expensive form of therapy ever. It stirs up a lot of old shit and makes me think about things that are most likely best left alone. I always feel in a quiet pensive state that borderlines a funk. Because we spent entirely too long for comfort discussing the issue of crying. All I could think of is how I refer to it as 'leaking' because I hate the associations that come with it otherwise. He stated something of great interest, though.
There is a difference between cause and reason. There may be an event that caused occasion for tears, but it didn't have to be the reason they were produced. It is something I experienced too damn much last semester. I wouldn't have a reason, I wouldn't even understand why they started, but they would fall and leave me in utter confusion. Tsukiyo from the Gankutsuou soundtrack was something I had to avoid listening to, because for whatever reason it would just produce them, without fail, every single damn time. It wasn't for the beauty or for the sadness or a related memory (which didn't exist), and if I listened to the following track, Kaishou, I would be a mess for hours. Without any fucking idea why. And the girl next to me was literally arguing with him that it was impossible for a person to produce tears without an emotional reason, be it sadness, grief, pain. She allowed for the wind blowing grit in your eye, though to be a cause rather than a reason. How generous. He just looked at her and I wonder if monks are allowed pity.
Today's class was just odd. My mind was highly unfocused and all over the place. Usually not where it was supposed to be, either. One of the less disturbing things was a ponderance of Loveless. Lily-sama should appreciate this part (provided she made it this far, although I'm quite sure that she has ^_^ ), though. I realised just how many fangirl fetishes were crammed into that show and was mildly disconcerning. Let's consider, shall we? Lolicon (Soubi at 20, Ritsuka at 12), bandages, bondage, teachers (Soubi and sensei) which leads to S&M, catgirls and catboys, yuri, shounen-ai, normal-ai, glasses, I mean my god, the list goes on and that's just the surface. Why the hell I was thinking about that in class I have no idea, but there it is. Maybe it's because I'm currently obsessing about the ending theme, Michiyuki which is ridiculously beautiful. It makes me wish I could play piano. Amongst other things.
And slightly more bizarre, probably to be filed away like the rant above as too much information, is of a legal matter. If a man is falsely accused of murdering his wife and serves time in jail for it, if upon release it turns out the woman had faked her own murder in order to escape with another lover, then he could murder her and not serve another day in jail since he already had done his time for the crime. It's one of their weirdest loopholes that fascinated me as a kid and I have no idea how the hell I even knew about it, or what the hell made me think of it in class after all this time, but I did. Probably too much Dateline and 20/20 as a child or something.
But most of the time was really just spent trying to figure out where this sudden rush of words is coming from, especially considering the paltry little essay I'm avoiding. I still have SAT work to do, but it's a little more manageable now. I have to read all of Mrs. Dalloway and write three pages on readings unrelated for a class, so that's not too bad. I think I'm pretty much all caught up, since those two things are due and not past due, but it sure doesn't feel like it. Gotta love the October week of wariness that hits everyone the exact same time. I'm so glad they instituted the October "break" (one day, w00t w00t you bastards, but it's better than nothing, I suppose -- a sanctioned sick day, a 'mental health day' so to speak), finally. Although since I missed Thursday, it's a bit moot, but still appreciated. Although I'm only missing my Monk class, so it's a bit pointless for me, but it's probably a good thing so I'm not having this same mental struggle same time next week. Then again, these last two weeks I haven't had my first class on Tuesdays, I took off last Thursday, this week I'm missing a Thursday class, next week I have Monday off and Wednesday. How is it that I'm missing classes all over the place and still feel exhausted? I don't even have a single midterm or final, for fuck's sake. I blame it on the quality of sleep. Dreams are still all over the place and leave me weary. But, I'm so used to it now that it's really pointless bitching unless it's particularly bizarre. Like the one last week where my dad and I both dreamt he died on the same night.
So, yes. I think I'm just typing to type at this point, so I'll go do something more productive like take a shower. Or sleep, perhaps.
setsunasa no kagiri made dakishimete mo
itsumade mo hitotsu ni wa narenakute
yasashisa yori fukai basho de
fureau no wa itami dake
futari wo musunde kudasai
bokura wa mou yume wo minai
tomadoi nagara te wo totte
zankoku na yoake no hou he
arukidasu
Even if you embrace me until it's suffocating,
We will never become one.
In a place deeper than gentleness,
Touching each other is merely pain.
Please bind the two of us.
We will dream no more,
Joining hands in uncertainty
Walking towards
The cruel dawn.
Hontou no kotoba wa kitto
hontou no sekai no dokoka
bokura no mukuchi na yoru ni
hisonderu
ima mo kitto
True words are surely
Somewhere in the true world,
Lurking
In our wordless night.
Surely, even now.
sabishisa wo shiru tame ni deau no da to
kuchidzuke wo kawasu made shiranakute
soredemo ima kimi to aeta
yorokobi ni furuete iru
kokoro wo sasaete kudasai
bokura wa mou yume wo minai
atatakai basho he nigenai
zankoku na yoake wo kitto
koete yuku
akirameteta sono shizukesa
hontou no kotoba wo kitto
aishi kizutsuke au tame ni
sagashidasu
itsuka kitto
Meeting each other in order to know loneliness,
We won't know until we exchange a kiss.
Even so, I am trembling with the joy
Of having met you.
Please support my heart.
We will dream no more,
We can't run to a warm place.
We will surely overcome
The cruel dawn.
The abandoned quietness
Will surely find
The true words
In order to lovingly hurt each other.
Someday, surely.
setsunasa no kagiri made dakishimete mo
itsumade mo hitotsu ni wa narenakute
yoake mae no tsumetai hoshi
futari dake no michiyuki wo
douka terashite kudasai
Even if you embrace me until it's suffocating,
We will never become one.
O cold starts before dawn,
Please light
The path that's just for us.
Edit: Inserted more LJ cuts in order to cut down on scrolling for Flists. Lord knows I make you do enough of that on a good day. And I cleaned up all the typos, too. Rejoice.
But seriously, I love how fucked up it is that to avoid writing a three page paper, I have probably banged out almost forty pages worth of material not related to the subject. Why is that? It makes no logical sense. None. It's an easy paper, a scene analysis on a movie that I like, but there is nothing except procrastination. I labeled the page with the appropriate headings and such before I got so disgusted staring at the word "In" that I closed Word completely. I think I got discouraged when I saw that "Your argument needs to be supported by specific pieces of textual evidence, that is, what can be actually found in the text you analyze (including both written and audiovisual). Any broad generalization which is not supported by such evidence will be subject to grade reduction." Now, while in any other paper, that would just be a given, here it puts me up against a wall, because the film I want to write about there is three pages of text I have to reference and none of it has to do with the scene that I want to analyze. The only way I can use text effectively is to talk about how since America pulled out of Japan, it allowed for more freedom to discuss things like the bombing on film, and the collapse of the studio system which I have plenty of pages. So me discussing about how he dresses up like a pregnant woman to "give birth to the bomb" can't be substantiated by anything, but I thought it was fairly obvious. So much for debating on if the blue of the dress had any correlation to the first bomb being named "Little Boy." The other films have so much text, though that it's too much to process and the paper would be filled with other people's thoughts and not mine. Goddamn.
Sitting in class, though I wasn't worrying about that. I was more focused on the argument presented that there is no exterior world, thus no interior world, and that I do not exist as a self, but as a part of oneness and therefore all pain is one. Self is defined through suffering and that there is no mind to be found, because by having a mind, or rather, a concept of mind separate from body, it allows for the existence of self which is a construct. But if there is no world, then where does one exist? Monk talked about the Zen concept about compassion, which roughly got reduced to you don't truly feel the other's pain, but you experience as something besides "otherly." Therefore it is a shared experience? That lines between the two are non-existent, so there is no telling where their pain ends and yours begins. And it led to me saying, "But what of those who are overly compassionate? Who feel things so keenly that they become overwhelmed and numb to it all as a way of saving themselves?" The monk said that it happens.
Oh, and does it ever.
Because I stopped and thought about my past and in the manner which I handle the problems of others. There have been far too many instances of me being completely absorbed into the issues of others. Not in the meddlesome sort of way, mind, but where the problem is so all-consuming that I fall in with it. I did this with M above all else; I was so deeply aware of his pain that I felt it and the pain it caused me to know what he was going through as well. I've almost driven myself mad on several occasions. It's one of the greatest ironies, or perhaps hypocrisies, of my life: I, who tried so hard to wall others out and have nothing to do with them, the same I who wanted nothing to do with emotions and convinced myself that I had none and lived in a numb state for years, is the very same one who became completely consumed by the emotionality and problems of others. I wonder if perhaps it was because I cut myself off from my own emotions that I experienced them vicariously through others in disguised empathy? Hm. Another time, I suppose. A night far later than this, to be sure. Because I found myself saying, "Because I feel so much pain of others, I have to remind myself to draw a line so as not to completely disappear into them." And Monk's reply came in the form of, "But why the need to draw that line? Why not become the other?" I don't think he knew how to interpret the look I was giving him. Because he followed it with, "Well, besides the fact it is not socially acceptable."
If I didn't draw the line, if I hadn't drawn those lines, what would have become of me? Monk keeps insisting that Westerns cannot grasp the idea of oneness with all others, simply because we are addicted to the concept of "self" and define ourselves through that, via suffering, alone. Everyone in the class agrees and it's why a month into the class, they're still asking and trying to figure it out and fail. But I sit in my chair that is not a chair, but simply an object called a chair, and try to figure out why it is that I have no problem with this. Just the same way as I can easily accept that reality may not be reality, it could be a dream, I could be a dream, that there is no certainty when it comes to existence of self or of world. And while the entire class protests it, I'm simply going, "Did none of you see The Matrix?" I mean, the whole damn movie is about the concept of believing in the programming of the system and waking up to the reality that is existence beyond that dreamed world. And still, they make him repeat it over and over again, as if it will somehow change into something they can understand enough to believe in. Hell, parallel it to the existence of God and how some believe in it on circumstantial evidence, where others refuse to believe it at all. Same thing. Kinda.
Monk states that Buddhism without the protection of the technicality of the label is merely psychosis in this modern world. The belief that there is no separation between self and others, that there is no agency in action, that all things are non-dualistic and that perception has nothing to do with the perceiver and the perceived. Because it implies a separation between self and object. It is a non-objective world that it promotes, where all things are harmonized into a non-dualistic existence. Which is all well and fine, but it makes me wonder if I'm completely fucking batshit insane, or if I am enlightened beyond comprehension ("Ah, those insomniac nights paying off at last," she says with great sarcasm).
My Former was a non-participant wandering through life, observing and recording in order to forget, with no attachments to this world, no emotionality. It is the reason I lost almost fourteen years of my life; completely and utterly forgotten, rebuilt through the memories of others with only a few that are truly remembered by me. Six of those were spent in the numbness, the rest were intentionally obliterated in order to avoid the suffering of both happiness and pain. I disassociated myself from myself and was keenly aware that my body went through the motions of living while my mind was elsewhere. I spent that time deep in the recesses of my mind, creating worlds and scenarios, mostly for others. They were never Utopian, always there was some sort of reality, the awareness that things fuck up from time to time. It allowed me to walk through the life I was desperate to ignore, the only thing that kept me going somewhere besides an early grave.
Because I did not recognise myself as "I," but merely as a weak body destined to find trouble. I look back at pictures of those years and have to remind myself, even to this day, that they are of myself as others perceive me. The blonde child with a bright smile and excitedly happy eyes seems like a complete and totally separate person, one I considered dead and buried. There are no memories of myself from that time that exist, therefore I do not consider her a reality. She is something my parents constructed to comfort themselves in the absence of my own light. The stories that are told are merely that, they are stories. Fiction. Is it any wonder I was drawn to writing? I consider the majority of my life to be completely, utterly, and totally fictional. False, even. A construct based on the memories of a group who clings desperately to it. That happy, bright, intelligent, and optimistic child who was beloved by all and was the pride and joy of the entire family. They never understood that I viewed them all through deadened eyes, that when I see a picture of myself from back then, I see a soulless doll. There is one picture above all else that I see that is the only one that belies the truth of that and it is clear to see. There is a reason it is not on display in my house and it would be for that one alone.
So what changed? I found a boy who gave me words. A person who helped ground me in as safe a reality as I would ever find. The first person who told me that they would always be there and I believed it. It took five years before I trusted in it, though. And it was then that I allowed for memories. I saved every conversation, I savoured every word because it had been so long since I had bothered to retain anything pertaining to my own existence that I was afraid I would forget it all like I forgot everything else. He was something I didn't want to forget. And K entered as well, the same to be said for her. The three of us only survived because of the existence of us. The fact that there was an "us" and that we three were not as alone as we had previously felt. There was solace their words, something that I held onto desperately when I was at some of the lowest points in my life. It was those two alone who saw through me, who knew how hard I was fighting to act as if all was well for the benefit of others, no matter what it did to me. They allowed me a sanctuary that was not merely in my own mind, that their words were something tangible. The only thing that I allowed myself the indulgence to believe in for the first time since the start of my existence as Former. Their words allowed me the safety to feel, slowly, slowly, my god how fucking slowly, but it happened. He gave me my words, she helped me focus them, and together they helped me polish them. Saving my sanity by getting everything out onto the page. It was them who allowed me to see beauty for the first time, to appreciate the moment and not always fear that it would be destroyed. Because I gained an understanding that a moment is a moment because it is something that does not exist forever, that it is temporary and to appreciate it for that. There is a difference between moment, memory, and existence.
Because in those times of lowest points, even when I desperately wished for myself to disappear, it was impossible because there were two parts of me that were still there, telling me to hold on and helping me out of the mess I created for myself. And I have stated on numerous occasions to them both, that especially during those close-knit summers where our minds and horizons and lives were enriched through the other, that because of the level of involvement in each other's lives that sometimes it leads to confusion. That the two of them are such a part of me as to be indistinguishable, that I am of three. It is why with his departure that I feel so empty in places, that the pain is so acute. But I endure it because he gave it to me. That it was him who allowed me to feel it and that I should honour that. That he should not be like the rest of the things in my life, reduced to that numbness. I feel it to remind myself that he is still there, that as I live on, as does he through me, and through her. And when K and I are separated for times, upwards of two years even, there is always that immediate intimacy upon return. The one who above all else, understands me and I her. A soulsister, if you will.
I could try and point out which part is him, which part is her, which part is myself, but it is futile. What is him became me, what is her became me as I became a part of them. There was no separation of myself from them, because simply to do so would mean destroying myself. An while I am fully aware that our bodies are what separate us and there are fundamental differences amongst us, the core of us is the same, I think. Because we developed it together, we survived together. We are not three bodies in three graves. It's why I could continue writing; though he was gone, I could write through the him that was a part of me, since that would never leave.
Am I just an Eastern girl in a Western world? Or do I fall into the psychosis realm? But before I was even aware of the concepts, these modes and constructs, the above is something I held to be true. Because since we were so deeply entwined and bound together, when they experienced pain, so did I and conversely as well. There was no line to be drawn, nor a desire to. It was only when things began to be destroyed by situations beyond our control that there was a distance formed. I know not where he is, and for all of my angst and regret, but I content myself in knowing that he is still a part of me and if I never see him again and that is all I have, even still I am grateful for it and for him. While I have probably developed one of the most bizarre Luciferian Complexes, it is not something that I would change. I would not wish him out of my life and I do not desire to condemn him to a mere memory. And while K and I were always on a slightly more level ground, preventing the aforementioned complex, even though I've never physically been in her presence in almost a decade of knowing each other, it is as if she is right here, always close by. It is reassuring, comforting, to know that there is still so much love after so much time.
The lines I draw between others and myself, though are safety mechanism. Because I feel things so deeply, so intensely that if I do not keep it in check, I can literally be a danger to myself. I am aware of my ability to absorb the personality and presence of another. While it can be entertaining when wanting to imitate someone, it can also be highly problematic, because I don't so much forget myself as it is no longer the primary source of functioning. To use myself as other as an example (since it's easier than naming real people in past instances), when I need that easy confidence, that social grace, and ability to interact in society, there is Elle, the persona most readily available for that. It is through that "attitude" I am best able to succeed, because I know exactly what people want and expect from me and how to give it to them. And when it is matters of debate and intelligence, Naoe has the perfect mix of confidence and composure, though sometimes I think suffers from a perceived air of smug arrogance. But, I can easily get caught up in it, stay in character I guess you could say, longer than necessary. When I start perceiving a situation getting beyond my control, Naoe's calm collectedness serves me well, whereas in emotional areas that I'm not comfortable I all too easily revert to my Former, hiding behind my eyes when it has past that point.
My existence has a certain liquidity to it, I suppose. I don't necessarily think this a bad thing, although it does grant me the accurate label of disassociative. Because I do it in order to not be consumed, for those few lapses in judgment when I have gone with certain situations, I have almost burned in the fires of others. I take empathy to a heightened level that I have to keep in check in order to survive and to remain myself. It is the same reason that when I start to really bottom out in depressions that I check myself through numbness. Unintentionally, but a conditioned response.
I know that these are not the experience of every individual and that I shouldn't be surprised at the lack of understanding in my class, but still. Even if I were to say these things in class (though I wouldn't dare, obviously), it too would go ununderstood, save for Monk who I think would grasp it completely. But it is not something I need understood by others, which I suppose defeats the point of this even being written out, but it's worth mentioning, I suppose. The reason I'm threatened by my own emotionality is that I am incredibly aware of how overwhelming it is. That I have the potential to experience ecstasy in the purest of forms, but by the same token, the depths of misery as well. Either state is not one good to reside in for too long.
That class is the most expensive form of therapy ever. It stirs up a lot of old shit and makes me think about things that are most likely best left alone. I always feel in a quiet pensive state that borderlines a funk. Because we spent entirely too long for comfort discussing the issue of crying. All I could think of is how I refer to it as 'leaking' because I hate the associations that come with it otherwise. He stated something of great interest, though.
There is a difference between cause and reason. There may be an event that caused occasion for tears, but it didn't have to be the reason they were produced. It is something I experienced too damn much last semester. I wouldn't have a reason, I wouldn't even understand why they started, but they would fall and leave me in utter confusion. Tsukiyo from the Gankutsuou soundtrack was something I had to avoid listening to, because for whatever reason it would just produce them, without fail, every single damn time. It wasn't for the beauty or for the sadness or a related memory (which didn't exist), and if I listened to the following track, Kaishou, I would be a mess for hours. Without any fucking idea why. And the girl next to me was literally arguing with him that it was impossible for a person to produce tears without an emotional reason, be it sadness, grief, pain. She allowed for the wind blowing grit in your eye, though to be a cause rather than a reason. How generous. He just looked at her and I wonder if monks are allowed pity.
Today's class was just odd. My mind was highly unfocused and all over the place. Usually not where it was supposed to be, either. One of the less disturbing things was a ponderance of Loveless. Lily-sama should appreciate this part (provided she made it this far, although I'm quite sure that she has ^_^ ), though. I realised just how many fangirl fetishes were crammed into that show and was mildly disconcerning. Let's consider, shall we? Lolicon (Soubi at 20, Ritsuka at 12), bandages, bondage, teachers (Soubi and sensei) which leads to S&M, catgirls and catboys, yuri, shounen-ai, normal-ai, glasses, I mean my god, the list goes on and that's just the surface. Why the hell I was thinking about that in class I have no idea, but there it is. Maybe it's because I'm currently obsessing about the ending theme, Michiyuki which is ridiculously beautiful. It makes me wish I could play piano. Amongst other things.
And slightly more bizarre, probably to be filed away like the rant above as too much information, is of a legal matter. If a man is falsely accused of murdering his wife and serves time in jail for it, if upon release it turns out the woman had faked her own murder in order to escape with another lover, then he could murder her and not serve another day in jail since he already had done his time for the crime. It's one of their weirdest loopholes that fascinated me as a kid and I have no idea how the hell I even knew about it, or what the hell made me think of it in class after all this time, but I did. Probably too much Dateline and 20/20 as a child or something.
But most of the time was really just spent trying to figure out where this sudden rush of words is coming from, especially considering the paltry little essay I'm avoiding. I still have SAT work to do, but it's a little more manageable now. I have to read all of Mrs. Dalloway and write three pages on readings unrelated for a class, so that's not too bad. I think I'm pretty much all caught up, since those two things are due and not past due, but it sure doesn't feel like it. Gotta love the October week of wariness that hits everyone the exact same time. I'm so glad they instituted the October "break" (one day, w00t w00t you bastards, but it's better than nothing, I suppose -- a sanctioned sick day, a 'mental health day' so to speak), finally. Although since I missed Thursday, it's a bit moot, but still appreciated. Although I'm only missing my Monk class, so it's a bit pointless for me, but it's probably a good thing so I'm not having this same mental struggle same time next week. Then again, these last two weeks I haven't had my first class on Tuesdays, I took off last Thursday, this week I'm missing a Thursday class, next week I have Monday off and Wednesday. How is it that I'm missing classes all over the place and still feel exhausted? I don't even have a single midterm or final, for fuck's sake. I blame it on the quality of sleep. Dreams are still all over the place and leave me weary. But, I'm so used to it now that it's really pointless bitching unless it's particularly bizarre. Like the one last week where my dad and I both dreamt he died on the same night.
So, yes. I think I'm just typing to type at this point, so I'll go do something more productive like take a shower. Or sleep, perhaps.
setsunasa no kagiri made dakishimete mo
itsumade mo hitotsu ni wa narenakute
yasashisa yori fukai basho de
fureau no wa itami dake
futari wo musunde kudasai
bokura wa mou yume wo minai
tomadoi nagara te wo totte
zankoku na yoake no hou he
arukidasu
Even if you embrace me until it's suffocating,
We will never become one.
In a place deeper than gentleness,
Touching each other is merely pain.
Please bind the two of us.
We will dream no more,
Joining hands in uncertainty
Walking towards
The cruel dawn.
Hontou no kotoba wa kitto
hontou no sekai no dokoka
bokura no mukuchi na yoru ni
hisonderu
ima mo kitto
True words are surely
Somewhere in the true world,
Lurking
In our wordless night.
Surely, even now.
sabishisa wo shiru tame ni deau no da to
kuchidzuke wo kawasu made shiranakute
soredemo ima kimi to aeta
yorokobi ni furuete iru
kokoro wo sasaete kudasai
bokura wa mou yume wo minai
atatakai basho he nigenai
zankoku na yoake wo kitto
koete yuku
akirameteta sono shizukesa
hontou no kotoba wo kitto
aishi kizutsuke au tame ni
sagashidasu
itsuka kitto
Meeting each other in order to know loneliness,
We won't know until we exchange a kiss.
Even so, I am trembling with the joy
Of having met you.
Please support my heart.
We will dream no more,
We can't run to a warm place.
We will surely overcome
The cruel dawn.
The abandoned quietness
Will surely find
The true words
In order to lovingly hurt each other.
Someday, surely.
setsunasa no kagiri made dakishimete mo
itsumade mo hitotsu ni wa narenakute
yoake mae no tsumetai hoshi
futari dake no michiyuki wo
douka terashite kudasai
Even if you embrace me until it's suffocating,
We will never become one.
O cold starts before dawn,
Please light
The path that's just for us.
Edit: Inserted more LJ cuts in order to cut down on scrolling for Flists. Lord knows I make you do enough of that on a good day. And I cleaned up all the typos, too. Rejoice.