(no subject)
Just woke from a dream where I had apahsia, and could not talk. I could sing, hum, and whistle, but as soon as I tried to listen to words or say them, nothing would work. Maybe 'nightmare' is a better descriptor. At least my headache is gone!
So, since I'm having some scaring-myself headspace, I thought I'd entertain you all with more stories of the crazy I used to be, and maybe finish up today's post with some new crazy I'm trying on.
I can't remember what it's called, that thing where you have several seconds of fantasy violence go on in your mind all in the blink of an eye, but I used to get those ALL THE TIME. Junior high and high school were one long string of people aggravating the fuck out of me, and even though freshman year I decided that I was going to dry up the deep well of hate within me, it was a work in progress. And my rage was ponderous in scope. My mind distracted me from actually doing any of the things I needed to not feel bad for wanting by imagining doing so in the loveliest way possible. Like as long as the violent tendencies were artistically choreographed I wouldn't feel as bad about having them. I have no way to tell whether it worked. :\
And I'm not even sure 'rage' is the right word for it. Other people have tiered levels of upset that only initially resemble mine. We start off annoyed, progress to aggravated, then angered, and enraged. There's a split there where some people get violent and some people shut off (which is what I've been doing since about '97). But beyond rage, most people have never been. They normally never get into violent, and according to the ones who do, there's nothing beyond violent. In my own experience, at some point there is a state change - like the phase transition from solid to gas. Rage transubstantiates to joy. I am sublimed by violence. And at that point, when I go off the rails, it's like dancing - I'm having FUN. Thoughts flow away from me, time lines up all of my actions to greatest effect, every act effortless.
I remember the moment I realized that I had this one more thing to hide, standing outside the school cafeteria with Tina after those two Mexican girls jumped me and I was (for me) really nice about beating them up. (I just grabbed them each by a shoulder and smacked their heads together until they ran. They didn't have room to land a solid hit, so I was in no real danger.) And when I took stock of the post-fight condition of myself I started complaining that one of them had managed to rip my favorite "nothing's cool" shirt, so I was bitching about that, and Tina was giving me this funny look. Then she asked me why, if I was so upset, I was still smiling like that. I hadn't realized that I was. I think I made up something about the adrenaline rush. Mostly I remember the sick feeling of having yet another thing I couldn't share with my best friends, and would maybe scare them with the truth. I only ever wanted to be scary enough to make it not-worthwhile for strangers to start shit with me. That really doesn't work the way teenage-you hopes it will, though.
I'm not ashamed to call myself a monster, it's what I am, and one of the few things that's completely out of my hands. But understand that this is what I mean: the Tao of Heidi is destruction. I've learned to bring that to bear in non-physical violence: the subversion of ideas, the wholesale war on interpersonal idiocy that is why I need to call bullshit on self-contradictory things when I see them. But I fuck shit up, because that's what I'm built to do, and I can't not. I think I've got a good system worked out for myself with the balance between what I am and keeping the world stable and safe around me.
And now that I've got it sorted, I can talk about it. Next time I'm probably back to discussing daddy issues or possibly therapy.
In other news I'm trying to back off of the internet usage the way I currently use it and change it up. To what, I'm not sure. But I spent so much time reading this spring, and I think I'm going to get a second job this fall. I'll be living 100 yards from a Starbucks. The logical way to keep from bankrupting myself is to be working there. Thoughts?
So, since I'm having some scaring-myself headspace, I thought I'd entertain you all with more stories of the crazy I used to be, and maybe finish up today's post with some new crazy I'm trying on.
I can't remember what it's called, that thing where you have several seconds of fantasy violence go on in your mind all in the blink of an eye, but I used to get those ALL THE TIME. Junior high and high school were one long string of people aggravating the fuck out of me, and even though freshman year I decided that I was going to dry up the deep well of hate within me, it was a work in progress. And my rage was ponderous in scope. My mind distracted me from actually doing any of the things I needed to not feel bad for wanting by imagining doing so in the loveliest way possible. Like as long as the violent tendencies were artistically choreographed I wouldn't feel as bad about having them. I have no way to tell whether it worked. :\
And I'm not even sure 'rage' is the right word for it. Other people have tiered levels of upset that only initially resemble mine. We start off annoyed, progress to aggravated, then angered, and enraged. There's a split there where some people get violent and some people shut off (which is what I've been doing since about '97). But beyond rage, most people have never been. They normally never get into violent, and according to the ones who do, there's nothing beyond violent. In my own experience, at some point there is a state change - like the phase transition from solid to gas. Rage transubstantiates to joy. I am sublimed by violence. And at that point, when I go off the rails, it's like dancing - I'm having FUN. Thoughts flow away from me, time lines up all of my actions to greatest effect, every act effortless.
I remember the moment I realized that I had this one more thing to hide, standing outside the school cafeteria with Tina after those two Mexican girls jumped me and I was (for me) really nice about beating them up. (I just grabbed them each by a shoulder and smacked their heads together until they ran. They didn't have room to land a solid hit, so I was in no real danger.) And when I took stock of the post-fight condition of myself I started complaining that one of them had managed to rip my favorite "nothing's cool" shirt, so I was bitching about that, and Tina was giving me this funny look. Then she asked me why, if I was so upset, I was still smiling like that. I hadn't realized that I was. I think I made up something about the adrenaline rush. Mostly I remember the sick feeling of having yet another thing I couldn't share with my best friends, and would maybe scare them with the truth. I only ever wanted to be scary enough to make it not-worthwhile for strangers to start shit with me. That really doesn't work the way teenage-you hopes it will, though.
I'm not ashamed to call myself a monster, it's what I am, and one of the few things that's completely out of my hands. But understand that this is what I mean: the Tao of Heidi is destruction. I've learned to bring that to bear in non-physical violence: the subversion of ideas, the wholesale war on interpersonal idiocy that is why I need to call bullshit on self-contradictory things when I see them. But I fuck shit up, because that's what I'm built to do, and I can't not. I think I've got a good system worked out for myself with the balance between what I am and keeping the world stable and safe around me.
And now that I've got it sorted, I can talk about it. Next time I'm probably back to discussing daddy issues or possibly therapy.
In other news I'm trying to back off of the internet usage the way I currently use it and change it up. To what, I'm not sure. But I spent so much time reading this spring, and I think I'm going to get a second job this fall. I'll be living 100 yards from a Starbucks. The logical way to keep from bankrupting myself is to be working there. Thoughts?