4:10 p.m. - 01/20/02
loneliness to madness. dream long enough for change.
I have something to say, under the strict regulation that at no point during this entry am I allowed to insinuate my current frame of mind is in any way a byproduct of reading an obsessive amount of Joanne Greenberg. Although I have spent most of the day lying on my back with a thin paperback doing its best to distract me from the widening vortex of the loft's white ceiling. Certainly I would feel the same as I do had I been reading The Boxcar Children or some Beverly Cleary love. It comes down to the fact that this is how my head *works* as of late; this is how I've thought/felt for some time, and I don't want it to be minimized by the stereotypical, adolescent ways I pass my time. Have you *read* I Never Promised You A Rose Garden? Do you realize the intense beauty of that woman's vocabulary, not to mention emotional understanding of a psychosis so personal every reader can relate? *sigh* I hate relating.
It's all so stupid - to be yet another dot on the wanta-be-goth diagram. I don't understand the role of a person as artist, as writer, performer, creative energy in general makes no sense anymore. What is my purpose here? To *phrase* things? To knowingly break grammatical rules? To distract, articulate, understand? What is the *good* of any of this? All I can do now is be crazy in an interesting enough way that the world refers to it with happy little euphemisms like "eccentricity" and "art" - meanwhile more and more girls are becoming artists, more and more artists are becoming crazy, and more and more waves are crashing down in my head, telling me that where I'm needed and where I'm allowed to be will never coincide.
I think I'd make a very good veteran psych patient. As terrified as I was to no longer be the newbie at Red, I took quite the liking to my mentor status. I want to curl up under crochet projects and wince at the lighting. I want to interject my opinions into conversations that stem from pop culture to the physiological reasoning behind psychiatric illnesses. I want to have girls come to me for help when they are struggling. I want to be a shoulder, but then I want to be able to go for help to, with everyone understanding that, though I will rightly grow, healing is out of reach for me. I want to take my days of rest, locked in my room, throw the occassional tantrum, engage in reticence now and again, if only to amplify the integrity I normally hold. I want to be among the girls I understand but can never be, the girls who are willing to learn from me, and eventually leave me behind - the teacher who can go no further than her own experience, who enlightens others, but has no room left for her own evolution.
I want to be the unmoving thing in a world so constantly changing it makes my head spin. I have finally determined how one counteracts the nauseating speed of separation- true stillness. Paralysis almost - but paralysis, *voiced.* I want to be the girl who comes close enough to changing that she excites others to follow that lead, without being burned up in the realm of it.
I want to be the peter in a psychiatric neverland, the early god/avatar all lostgirls most pass.
and never grow up-->|
dreamychord
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