Old habits die hard
It seems as though everyone I know has sunk into hibernation. Like we are all holding our breath, freezing out the cold, chests heaving with quiet determination, barely a smile anywhere.
I'm the same as well. Camera batteries I should have bought by now, pictures waiting to be taken. Ideas never developed. Or at least not yet.
A few weeks ago I boasted about how sleep comes easy these days. Well, look who's laughing now.
If this one certain relationship in my life was attached to one of those heart monitors, officially, it would have long been declared dead - officially.
But read between all these lines, or, who am I kidding, read the lines themselves - and you find that that hardest lessons leave a scar. The hardest ones are forcefully learned, and then relearned just to make sure you. really. got. it.
It comes from a doomed feeling that picket-fence-love is impossible. It comes from an utterly paralyzing fear of completely trusting someone (a fear that was there long before I ever met this one person).
For the longest time, I wanted to drown it out with positive thoughts. When that didn't work, I tried to marinate it in alcohol until it shrivelled and died inside of me.
Augusten says:
"I begin pacing back and forth, like a zoo animal.
'Nothing is enough, nothing is ever enough. It's like there's this pit inside of me that can't be filled, no matter what. I'm defective.'
'You're not defective. You're an alcoholic,' he says, as if this neatly explains everything."
If I was a machine, which of course we all sort of are, I would need certain things to function, and even more things to function to my utmost capability.
If my life's goal is to figure out what I need to keep the world going and make people better people and make myself better too - actually, hold that thought.. is better happy? Not necessarily, right?
Much as I've grown to love the linear - which is a whole lot - I have to admit I've been craving something offbeat. Something organic. Something off this daily treadmill time and again.
And how.
I'm the same as well. Camera batteries I should have bought by now, pictures waiting to be taken. Ideas never developed. Or at least not yet.
A few weeks ago I boasted about how sleep comes easy these days. Well, look who's laughing now.
If this one certain relationship in my life was attached to one of those heart monitors, officially, it would have long been declared dead - officially.
But read between all these lines, or, who am I kidding, read the lines themselves - and you find that that hardest lessons leave a scar. The hardest ones are forcefully learned, and then relearned just to make sure you. really. got. it.
It comes from a doomed feeling that picket-fence-love is impossible. It comes from an utterly paralyzing fear of completely trusting someone (a fear that was there long before I ever met this one person).
For the longest time, I wanted to drown it out with positive thoughts. When that didn't work, I tried to marinate it in alcohol until it shrivelled and died inside of me.
Augusten says:
"I begin pacing back and forth, like a zoo animal.
'Nothing is enough, nothing is ever enough. It's like there's this pit inside of me that can't be filled, no matter what. I'm defective.'
'You're not defective. You're an alcoholic,' he says, as if this neatly explains everything."
If I was a machine, which of course we all sort of are, I would need certain things to function, and even more things to function to my utmost capability.
If my life's goal is to figure out what I need to keep the world going and make people better people and make myself better too - actually, hold that thought.. is better happy? Not necessarily, right?
Much as I've grown to love the linear - which is a whole lot - I have to admit I've been craving something offbeat. Something organic. Something off this daily treadmill time and again.
And how.