how.
I thought that I was done with this panic. Although I have a problem even calling it panic, it is the closest thing that I could explain it as. My heart races and my stomach drops and I zoom out. Too far out, seeing the minutiae of life disappear and I can't grasp on to anything. I want to see the broader pattern, to know for certain that certain things are certain ways. I want to see the result of the processes I am following now, right now, and to know that these paths are the wisest ones. I want all of the time I have and more, never to sleep again or to worry about school or relationships or anything.
Compare: I never used to be this afraid. I never ever ever ever ever remember feeling this way. Even when I found out that B cheated on me when i was 16 years old, I was never afraid. I was angry. Then when it was over, I was sad. Never fearful. Never panicked. Perhaps these are just the form my adult emotions have chosen to take.
I just feel exhausted and I want to go to sleep, have a dream that will explain all of this to me. Why he, this certain person in particular, had such a power over me, why I allowed it and why it is still shaping me to this day. Why the thought of his eyes bring tears to mine. why the thought of getting up and leaving this room makes me inhale sharply and jump.
How is this still happening? I define fear. It is like with spiders. I know they will not hurt me, or kill me. I know I am surrounded by people that would help. But still the glimpse of their long and furry legs makes me just shudder. The fact that there seems to be too many legs and I feel myself shudder, imagining every stray nerve firing, ever little flutter of wind in my hair is one of them, a primeval enemy to be battled and eradicated.
I know that leaving this room, continuing my progression with A, continuing in school and life etc. I know it is not going to hurt me. I know that the very worst that could happen would be that i am alone again, but my thoughts are all muddled. It's like they have been folded improperly and are now hopelessly tangled, and I cannot extricate the full meaning. I cannot find the way to untangle them. I don't see the solution. I just feel fear that I don't know what it is.
Sadness because I wish I did, and if I did I so much would be illuminated.
This isn't helping. Fuckin' words. Sometimes getting them out is like lancing a boil, but sometimes the infection lies deeper and all you relieve is your need to lance. The infection remains.
I abhor sundays.
1 hour later:
So I did leave. I got up, grabbed my stuff and walked out, forcing myself out into the world that caused me this fear. I strode down the street and telephoned a friend, walking and talking and laughing and storytelling. Reminded me that while I do sometimes regress to that foul place that I lived in the spring, that my life is different now, full of connections and ties that bind me to the people I love. It's like a knitting, the way the thread of two lives become intertwined and blend to form a different geometric shape, a plane where before there was only a line without mass or weight.
The people I love without question, who I will have in my life forever. The people that cherish me, that love me and have loved me for so many years (I've known her since I was 14. Our ten year anniversary next year!) (her I've known since I was 4 or so, we're basically approaching our silver anniversary) (him 10 years, too) (and all the 6-10 year anniversaries of people I met in high school) I wonder why people don't define the years of friendship they way they do the years of love. They are more rooted than romantic love is. perhaps that is not true, but that is the way I see it. Maybe that's my problem, that romantic love and friend love are so distinct in my mind. I'm going to change that. I'm making a new plane, we'll see where it goes. I just have to remember, while you're knitting, it is impossible to zoom out and see the finished project.
Your progress is clear, but it is never any more or any less than what it is. You see what you have done, and that which is not yet a part of the pattern rests coolly in a ball or skein, waiting for you fingers and needles to make it into what it wants to be, what you want it to be, a warmth to be worn against the skin. A protection and armor. Sometimes mistakes are made, and progress must be unraveled. Frog out those nasty little twisted stitches and restart again, with a fresher head and a clear knowing of what mistakes are and how they were made.
It is frustrating to destroy things you've worked so hard to build, but an evident imperfection will not contribute to the beauty of the whole. A hole will permit cold to touch the skin, and destroy the functionality of the item.
When I started making the blanket for my sister, I had never made that particular pattern before, and my mistakes were not clear until I realized exactly what the pattern was meant to be. Once I realized the mistakes I made, I unraveled probably 14 hours of work until I reached the point where I had diverged from the pattern. I corrected and continued. I have now made 3 blankets from that same pattern, and everyone a cherished item where it lays, warming the skin of babies I love and my own relaxing haven/womb of a bed.
It is why I want to cover the heads and necks of the people that I cherish with warmth. A handmade gift which is always treasured. Beauty created from simplicity. That is what I am all about.
A cashmere sweater in an ugly shape, unraveled and made into the best socks you'll ever wear.
