(no subject)
I mostly don't know what to say after reading many many entries from ago. One thought that does occur in my mind is how can we forget such difficult times in our lives? Difficult, crucial times in our formation. Also, what kind of youngun was I? Christ, I don't intend to invalidate my younger self, I was kinda funky. Certainly I haven't lost the funky, the funk has simply aged. Reading some of those older entries served as a bit of food for thought, providing me with clearer details of topics pertinent to certain recent thoughts. In one particular entry I speak of divisions in character, personality, mind. Intertwinement. There was more, but it's easy for me to forget at this late-early hour, the hour toward which I always unfailingly gravitate, sleep-deprived, mad-eyed. Either in the same or different entry I mention something about believing myself to not have a grasp on tools of persuasion/manipulation connected to charisma. I find it interesting that I said that. I wonder what I was thinking, behind the curtain. Because in my opinion it holds true that I was charismatic, innocently unknowingly so, likened to an infant's grasp of charisma. My tangible self was just an instrument of adaptation. I wasn't aware of this, I didn't fully understand the workings behind it or the effect it would have on me over time. Ok. Breath.
For a long time I could not interact with others as myself. I didn't know how to. Eventually this caused me great amounts of anxiety. I was constantly hyper-aware of my surroundings when not in my home. Registering faces, movements, sounds, tones, moods, reaction. I was creating a map that would allow me to navigate and to a degree control interaction with other human beings. This kept me on the fucking edge and I never knew it. So I was rarely interacting with others as absolutely myself. I think the motivation I had to do this which I don't think I was fully aware of at the time was that sense of control. Control. Therefore I hated it when a situation spiraled out of my control. But what the fuck? I mean, unnnnnreaaalistic. I didn't have this verbal clarity. I simply felt emotion. I suppose it's nice to now understand the workings behind all those nasty flashes of anger, self-loathing, burning in my head sensation due to the instances of lost control that I would get. The desire to maintain that tight grip on a sense of control over interpersonal interaction meant staying on edge, which meant additional anxiety that I didn't know how to deal with. I seriously wonder if I'm reading too far into it. I stand firm on the belief that I was invested in having that sense of control and would become upset when it was jeopardized. Those are feelings I can vividly recollect. So I think I got to a point where I developed a persona to portray a general exterior of me. The one I would work off of in sub-situational interaction. Any moment in which I was alone it was as though I unmasked myself. Zipped down and stepped out of a layer. Transparent now the thoughts running through my mind, able to be seen on my forehead. Whenever I was alone my thoughts would speak aloud to me. I was this whole other being in solitude. I left school but I didn't leave those pieces of me behind. When I developed a relationship with M. while I was still with Martina is when it went to the next level. I was severing the fissures in my non-bodily self. For the body was merely an instrument. I was finalizing the fragmentation. I was forcing myself to be separate people and it was fucking me up. The night I ended things with M. was the night I confronted myself. This is where the "I reached out to the evil in me" piece comes in, you can get to it at baynwrites.tumblr.com. I don't think there has been another day in my life where I cried that intensely. I had also never been that close to that high of a risk of severely injuring myself. There was no ounce of rationality in my being at that time. I had lost complete control, more than ever before. I was falling apart. A disintegration of the fragmentation I had become. I sharpened that large kitchen knife with a wooden handle and I held its tip against my taut skin. I cried and cried, couldn't stop. Tears soon mixed with blood and I had this split open fat-revealing cut. It's kind of disgusting. I went to sleep that night with a towel between my legs because I was bleeding there too and a towel wrapped around my arm. I had decided that night that I would shave my head in the morning. I needed to see myself bare. I felt bare. I felt hollow, empty and blank. My eyes were so swollen that morning, christ. I must have looked like shit. I like/d to describe it as a meltdown. I imagine concrete structures melting. Helplessly melting. I felt that it was slow like melting. The way I imagine you can feel melting. Oozing too. Messy. The way I was in the days following was nothing I had ever been like before. It was absolutely surreal. When I spoke there was only one voice, one lens, one filter, one option. It was me. It was weird. Straight up weird. But fucking fascinating. I can honestly say that I haven't felt the same since then. I mean, I've changed from whatever I melted to, of course. But the certain traits that marked the pre-melted me, I don't have them. I'm not on edge constantly anymore. I do have to remind myself to relax and that everything is going to be fine when it comes to interacting with people because I get anxiety about it. I don't know what else to say. It's 4:06am and I can't keep my eyes open anymore.
For a long time I could not interact with others as myself. I didn't know how to. Eventually this caused me great amounts of anxiety. I was constantly hyper-aware of my surroundings when not in my home. Registering faces, movements, sounds, tones, moods, reaction. I was creating a map that would allow me to navigate and to a degree control interaction with other human beings. This kept me on the fucking edge and I never knew it. So I was rarely interacting with others as absolutely myself. I think the motivation I had to do this which I don't think I was fully aware of at the time was that sense of control. Control. Therefore I hated it when a situation spiraled out of my control. But what the fuck? I mean, unnnnnreaaalistic. I didn't have this verbal clarity. I simply felt emotion. I suppose it's nice to now understand the workings behind all those nasty flashes of anger, self-loathing, burning in my head sensation due to the instances of lost control that I would get. The desire to maintain that tight grip on a sense of control over interpersonal interaction meant staying on edge, which meant additional anxiety that I didn't know how to deal with. I seriously wonder if I'm reading too far into it. I stand firm on the belief that I was invested in having that sense of control and would become upset when it was jeopardized. Those are feelings I can vividly recollect. So I think I got to a point where I developed a persona to portray a general exterior of me. The one I would work off of in sub-situational interaction. Any moment in which I was alone it was as though I unmasked myself. Zipped down and stepped out of a layer. Transparent now the thoughts running through my mind, able to be seen on my forehead. Whenever I was alone my thoughts would speak aloud to me. I was this whole other being in solitude. I left school but I didn't leave those pieces of me behind. When I developed a relationship with M. while I was still with Martina is when it went to the next level. I was severing the fissures in my non-bodily self. For the body was merely an instrument. I was finalizing the fragmentation. I was forcing myself to be separate people and it was fucking me up. The night I ended things with M. was the night I confronted myself. This is where the "I reached out to the evil in me" piece comes in, you can get to it at baynwrites.tumblr.com. I don't think there has been another day in my life where I cried that intensely. I had also never been that close to that high of a risk of severely injuring myself. There was no ounce of rationality in my being at that time. I had lost complete control, more than ever before. I was falling apart. A disintegration of the fragmentation I had become. I sharpened that large kitchen knife with a wooden handle and I held its tip against my taut skin. I cried and cried, couldn't stop. Tears soon mixed with blood and I had this split open fat-revealing cut. It's kind of disgusting. I went to sleep that night with a towel between my legs because I was bleeding there too and a towel wrapped around my arm. I had decided that night that I would shave my head in the morning. I needed to see myself bare. I felt bare. I felt hollow, empty and blank. My eyes were so swollen that morning, christ. I must have looked like shit. I like/d to describe it as a meltdown. I imagine concrete structures melting. Helplessly melting. I felt that it was slow like melting. The way I imagine you can feel melting. Oozing too. Messy. The way I was in the days following was nothing I had ever been like before. It was absolutely surreal. When I spoke there was only one voice, one lens, one filter, one option. It was me. It was weird. Straight up weird. But fucking fascinating. I can honestly say that I haven't felt the same since then. I mean, I've changed from whatever I melted to, of course. But the certain traits that marked the pre-melted me, I don't have them. I'm not on edge constantly anymore. I do have to remind myself to relax and that everything is going to be fine when it comes to interacting with people because I get anxiety about it. I don't know what else to say. It's 4:06am and I can't keep my eyes open anymore.