Port of Call

I tend to think of my relationships with people in analogies. This is worrisome.

( Lalala....Liz's getting weird on us again )

Anyhow, it's ultimately worrisome, because I shouldn't try to summarize my relationships with friends and family like this. I feel that the healthier option would be to begin viewing friendships and kinship in a way that isn't comparative.

Does anybody else do this? It would be oddly comforting if I found out that this quirk is something entirely human and not horrendously flawed and erroneous. How do other people think of their relationships with friends and family? What is "normal"?

I honestly don't know what's going on with Beate, and I feel tired. A small part of me is tempted to give up on our two-year friendship entirely, because I feel abused, and - as an abuse victim - I don't need to feel that again. However, two years of friendship is a lot, and I don't want to give up so easily when this just may be a rough patch. She has been an important part of my life, and giving that up is too hard for me. She's still important, too.

Instead, I'm backing away from friendship with her for a little while. I don't know what she's going through that has made her hostile towards me (after everything seemed to be patched up and we were talking together so easily), but she obviously needs distance and I need to not feel hurt all the time.

I'm feeling ill at ease. Is my friendship an inconvenience to some? If so, then why string me along, only to hurt my feelings in the long run? It's not fair.

I don't know which is worse: my speculation or if it's really true. Either way, I hate feeling like this.

I called it too soon. She's not ready to talk, and I respect that. It just hurts a lot, knowing that things are like this between us. But. I've done what I needed to do, with regards to changing and starting down a healthier path. Right now, I need to know what she wants, and she doesn't want to talk.

I'll let her call me. It would be audacious to call her out of the blue some time from now, assuming she would be ready to talk.

I realized what I need. It's not a girlfriend or somebody to be intimate with. I need my friend back. She's irreplaceable and unique; there's no other friend like her. The only way I can describe my feelings on our friendship is sine qua non - without which (there is) nothing. Her friendship has been a more important thing in my life than our attempt at romance. Don't get me wrong - the romance was nice. It was good to be loved in a way that surpassed friendly affection. I had forgotten what it felt like. Her friendship, though, is more valuable, and that's the thing that I'll carry with me into the next life (whenever that may come).

I'll give her time, and I'll wait, because I'm loyal to my friends.

...

I'm still going to write. Not everyday, though. Writing helps, but I'm starting to get to the point where I don't think I need to write everyday; just on the days when I really need release and introspect.

This is a really stupid post, but I have to make it anyway; it's important.

I had a dream, in which an outcome occurred that I didn't want. Upon waking up, I was bummed out, but then, I realized what I have to do, what I have to become, and what I want to be. I realized that I have to be a little more selfish with the things I want; normally, I just stand aside and let other people take these things, because I labor under this delusion that if people want the things that I want, I should just step aside, because I'm not as deserving as they are. It's cowardice and deprivation masquerading as altruism; I've convince myself that not fighting for something (or someone) and giving it (them) up so easily are the right things. If I'm selfish about something, then I'll fight for it; if I'm willing to fight for it, then I'm passionate. This is part of what I want to be: passionate enough to hold my ground and hold onto what I really want.

I did not salvage the remains of the day by going out or doing something big and life-changing. I stayed indoors again, and finished the art meme, which is not appropriate to post in a public entry, because of one small occurrence of wang. And then I played more Mass Effect, while meditating on a couple things.

I talked to Tuesday today - the first time in a long while, it feels - and I actually opened up about a lot of my problems and what had happened. I didn't feel pathetic, which I take as a good sign; my default mode after I talk about my problems is normally "pathetic." Instead, I felt relieved. It was the first time I actually had spoken aloud any of what I have written. By speaking, I felt I had given myself a voice, which has been absent in my life for so long.

I thought about relationships: I put people on high pedestals. I cheerfully ignore their imperfections - their egotism, their selfishness, their foibles, the things that make them absolutely human. I make them into something higher than human. When the relationship ends, I see the things that I ignored and feel disgusted or betrayed, like they never showed me that side, when really, they were showing it the whole time. I need to stop blinding myself to these things, instead of getting caught up in a dream. I think if I spent more time seeing instead of dreaming, then half my relationships would have worked out. Or I would have been able to accept their ends with more closure and peace.

Ugh. I have a crunchy cynical outside and a gooey romantic inside. I need to be more realistic. Nothing lasts forever, no matter what romantic notions of eternity or the future your partner is spouting. Getting caught up in those notions only hurt me - twice even! Sometimes, I think I unintentionally set myself up for heartbreak. Maybe I want to believe in "forever." Belief and knowledge are two separate things, though. It's alright to believe, but don't let it cloud what you know.

Today I drew and the art actually came out looking awesome.

Tonight, I am being conscripted into attending a John Mellencamp concert with my mom, because my stepdad can't go. I regard John Mellencamp with the same weariness as Bruce Springsteen; their music to me is very similar in subject and sound, though admittedly my exposure to either has been severely limited.

While I enjoy songs about the everyday man (read: this is why I prefer Paul McCartney to John Lennon), I'm can't really get into heartland rock.

But who knows? I may enjoy myself.

Also, I gave up my shift tonight to go to this. I think putting a concert over work might be a step in the right direction.

Emotionally, I feel better than I did towards the end of the night. I feel like I might be getting back to a normal emotional state, but at the same time, I know that if I achieve this, it doesn't mean that I'm 100% better or have found myself or a happy medium to exist in. There are still things I have to work on.

"Your creativity is your strength."

Those are the words that I wrote on my goal board - a small dry erase board that I found in a box full of old crap from college. Last week, I brought it out and wrote down two goals that I wanted to try to fulfill within the space of a week: 1) write one monologue, and 2) write one short scene.

I only accomplished the monologue, which is crap, but it was something that helped lift my spirits a bit last week.

This week, the goals are:

1) Write two chapters of a story. (No revisions - yet)

2) Exercise three days, one hour per.

3) Draw & color one illustration

4) Try to eat at least two full meals (breakfast is a must!)

At the bottom I wrote the words that I've chosen to open this entry with, because this week, I'm going to focus on my creativity and strength, which in some cases coincide.

I enjoy being a mad artist. My best friend, Tuesday, can easily attest to the manic glee I operate under when I'm drawing. My roommates and other con attendees at Vividcon may remember the crack I churned out so quickly, like I was on a roll and nothing could stop me. When I was in college, I wrote a lot out of necessity (being a Creative Writing major and all), and there were a few stories where I wrote them with the same self-possession as when I draw something absolutely fabulous (sans the complete manic glee). Art and writing gave me focus, even when I was only doing either as an idle experiment never meant to be posted or read anywhere. It was so easy to lose myself in creative endeavors.

I haven't done much lately of either. I get so caught up in details and how to proceed, so anchored in my head, that the story or the illustration never gets created. When I do this, I think I'm doubting myself. I hold my art back because it's not perfect when I put it down on the page. I should just draw or just write and worry about the finer things later.

Today, I pleased myself by writing three pages, front and back, long-hand. The story flows. It goes somewhere, and while I don't have all the details worked out, I'm not bothered. Where will my writing take me? For the first time since I graduated, I'm excited to find out.

...

Along with my creativity, my appetite seems to be returning, though at a slower pace. There are certain foods that still repulse me, but I have managed to eat more than a few bites of something, and it had nutritional value.

I dropped eight pounds since last Tuesday - the first and only time I exercised this month. If I had done it in the gym, I would be thrilled, but I've done it by barely eating anything, which only worries me. In order to eat, though, I have to have the desire to eat. I can force myself to eat something for the sake of sustenance, but that's completely different from wanting to eat. I need to get to the point again where I can enjoy food, where eating doesn't feel like a joyless chore.

Today was a good day; I was happy for the first time in a long time, but I know that happiness is fleeting. Tomorrow, I may feel worse or nothing at all. I don't know which I dislike more: the feeling of self-loathe or the complete absence of emotion altogether. For today, though, I felt joy and a little bit of confidence, and that's enough to convince me that I can truly be the person I want to be. I just have to work harder at making everyday a good one.

I've been thinking about self-destruction, which is not a pleasant topic to think about, especially after one has had a good day. Surprisingly, it only made me sober.

My sister - whether she realizes it or not - has self-destruction down perfectly. She drinks, and she drinks hard. When she drinks hard, she becomes less pleasant, less aware of herself, and more hurtful. She drinks more and more, until she's hugging the toilet, throwing it all back up, as she slings insults and hurts the people who care, who try to help her.

Or, she did, when she was living here in Indiana. I hope she's better.

My own self-destruction is less drastic, but still devastating: I work. I'll throw myself into my jobs and work and work and work until I'm exhausted and frazzled, at the end of my rope. Working allows me to distance myself from everybody, and gives me an excuse not to socialize. If I don't socialize, I don't run the risk of opening myself to other people. In the case of distancing myself from people I'm close to, it allows me to keep them at arms length. I'm afraid of their affection and love, because I don't believe I deserve it. My entire childhood was spent listening to how I was an inadequate child, how I was ugly or stupid or too weird to be friends with. There were moments of love from my mother, when she wasn't stressed, but that love was uncertain to me. Sometimes, it's uncertain to me even now.

I'm not entirely sure how love works, to be honest. But does anybody really know? Affection is involved, but I was never sure how much was too much or too little. It was easier for me to find an excuse - work - and cling to it; friends understood that if I was busy with a job, I had a legitimate reason not to hang around them. I could keep them at a comfortable distance.

If you knew the entire me, I'm not certain you would want to stay. It's better that you see what I show you at the distance that I allow you to stand from me.

Except, it's not. I end up alienating myself and other people. When I want company or to talk or hang out, I feel that the person I want to do these things with is ignoring me, when - in reality - I've alienated myself from their lives so much that I don't really know them or what's going on in their lives. I'm more selfish than I thought I was.

It's not a good sign of friendship or romance.

...

Aside from the thoughts on self-destruction, I've decided to stay away from social media - Facebook and AIM. I'm taking a hiatus, not because I'm "busy" and want further separate myself from the rest of humanity (or at least the small circle I run with). I really do need to think and reflect. Facebook and AIM just distract me. I find solace in neither, to be honest. It's the irony of social media websites and applications; the more "friends" we make, the more we "know" about those "friends," the less we interact with them in an actual, real social setting. We only remove ourselves from real life with Facebook, and there is no comfort in the text and .jpgs that replace real people.

The only reason I'm keeping a presence on livejournal and Dreamwidth is because both offer an outlet that neither Facebook nor AIM can give me. I'm expressing myself for the what feels like the first time in a long time; these sites are my outlet. Granted, my family and most of my friends don't know about these journals. If I'm going to find myself and my voice again or discover a new person entirely, my spaces on these sites are going to chronicle that process and help facilitate my own self-discovery. I need a place to write, a place to express the unexpressed.

For the readers on Dreamwidth, I really need to get an angst or contemplative icon. Sam Winchester's acknowledgment of another's pain with a sympathetic bear hug makes me feel like I'm not taking this entry seriously. It's the best I have, though.

I've decided that posting about my personal journey to regain myself is therapeutic and educational. Perhaps it could be a guide to myself if this ever happens again (depression is reoccurring) or to other people when they find themselves going through the same thing. Perhaps this will help bridge the gap between myself and Beate - the person I wronged, the person I hurt, the person I love and to whom I feel the most guilt towards. Perhaps it will help me understand what happened to me or who I am.

Yesterday (11/12) was the first day of my road to recovery. I woke up and decided to go out. I had work at 4:00, but I needed to go out and be among people in a non-professional setting. The first thing I needed to do, though, was eat.

My appetite has completely abandoned me. For the last couple days, I've been eating here and there, but nothing of real nutritional value or substance. Food has no appeal; in fact, the thought of it repulses me.

That morning, I forced myself to eat oatmeal, because when I had an appetite, I loved oatmeal - especially with brown sugar - and oatmeal is healthy. It was the most disgusting experience I've ever had to endure. With each bite, I wanted to spit it out or vomit, but I forced myself to swallow; my body needed the sustenance. It was only one bowl of oatmeal (a half cup of oats + one cup of water), but it took me nearly an hour to finish it.

The next thing I ate was a parfait from McDonald's in Fort Wayne. This was around lunch time. I had better luck with that - less nausea as I ate, less repulsion.

Those were the only things I ate yesterday.

I did things, though - things that made me happy, if only briefly. I went to a comic book store; I talked to some old coworkers when I dropped off my uniform at the zoo; I looked at things that I wanted and things that I liked; I went to Hyde Bros - a charming old bookstore - and found a Christmas gift for my mom. It would all be very boring for anybody else, but these small, mundane things helped me to break out of myself.

I realized a few things too:

1) By attacking Beate, I had become more closer to being like my mother than I ever wanted to be.

You see, my sister and I were abused children. I've forgiven my mother, because at the time, she was going through a rough time: she had left the Air Force (to be with us), her job prospects were dismal, and she was stuck in a prejudice town that looked down on her and her children for the type of family unit we were. She took it out on us verbally, and I think she found an easy target in me.

I had low self esteem even as a child. I was bullied, I cried very easily, and I found myself even then inadequate, as I was always compared to my sister or other children. My extended family's efforts to improve me and my appearance only made me feel worse; they would tell me what was wrong with me and the solutions they offered for improvement never appealed to me, because I didn't see myself in any of those solutions. I think my mom was disappointed that I was nothing like my sister - a ray of sunlight, optimism, and ambition - so she took it out on me by belittling me.

My sister and I learned the worst coping mechanisms from our mom. When she was hurt, she would lash out at everyone. I did that to Beate.

I don't want to be like my mother.

2) I resolved that I need to put more space between myself and Beate. She's busy and needs to heal, and I need to get better. This morning, before I wrote this entry, I sent her a message on Facebook, explaining that I wouldn't talk to her for a while, until I was better. If the only thing I can do is hurt her, when she's been having a rough time, then I shouldn't be talking to her. Hurting her only hurts me.

Also, I want her to be happy, and in order to do that, I need to let her go. She was able to do that when she suggested breaking up, but I was completely incapable of it, because I was afraid I would lose her. I realize now that...

3) In order to get Beate back, even as a friend, I have to let her go, let her be happy with someone else. It hurts, but as she pointed out, now is not a good time to explore a romantic side to our relationship. Perhaps there will never be a good time, or perhaps we were never meant to have a romance. I still want her friendship, though.

4) The break up is only one source of my depression. The break up only exasperated it, because it removed something secure from my life and left me floundering. My depression predates it; it's something that stewed with in me at least since the late summer.

However, by dealing with the break up first, I confront the insecurity that's been plaguing me for weeks. So I'm writing extensively on my feelings, realizations, and resolutions regarding the break up.

I cried when I wrote her that letter, but in my heart, I also felt peace, because it was truly the right thing to do. I hope that I can talk to her in the future, because even before we started dating, she had somehow made herself into an important part of my life over the last two years.

...

For the rest of the day, I worked. It was easy to forget my problems when I was constantly busy, but when I left work, it all came back.

I got online, talked to a couple people for a while, but nothing helped make me feel better, so I decided to give up on the day and sleep. Before I went to bed, though, Whitney (a RP partner who was kind enough to lend me her ear) suggested that I do something I liked before I went to bed. I wasn't feeling much up to anything, so I read. When I was finally tired, I fell asleep less disappointed.