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11:00 a.m. - 03/23/02
coming of age during a plague.
When did I get so *sad?*

I've started a thousand journal entries in my head so far this morning (well, maybe five), but for some reason I feel I don't really have much to say. I feel friendless again, and it's disheartening because I know that this lonely feeling will affect the relationships I do have...even silly professional ones that shouldn't matter but do because let's face it, who else do I see but my therapist?

I'm a bit on-edge because I thought this week would be a break in the stress of dad-not-working, (he's staying with my paternal grandmother until Friday) and now I'm not so sure. I know this is kind of a big deal, seeing as one of the biggest issues straining my parents' relationship is their respective feelings about my grandma, but I figured any problems that would arise would arise after the week was over. I figured, naively perhaps, that Dad would be his hour or hour-and-a-half away, thus allowing Mom to calm down a little for a few days, and me to go about my life uninterrupted.

It seems Mom is already injured by Dad's spending time away, and since he isn't here to hear about it and I am - I am. Hearing about it, that is. Yesterday when I talked with Brea, I said something about how I was getting a free week just after this whole Dad-at-home thing started, and she was saying how that was great, that I could get some time off before the whole thing started up again. It seems I have just switched dilemmas, not altered them. But maybe it's a good thing. I was starting to forget that my mom is as pained and painful as my dad, and maybe this week will give us both a chance to remember. I think she needs to remember.

It would be so easy if there was only one variable in our dysfunction, but I guess we'll be forever healing bit by bit.

I want so badly to be in an unhealthy relationship right now; unfortunately, I know it's unhealthy, so I won't allow myself to engage in said relations. I want so badly to be codependent with someone, though...to spend hours talking with them, to cuddle with them, to need them too much, to be needed - too much. I want it all so badly and too much. I don't know why I want the extreme- maybe because I feel I've descended to the other one, even though rationally I know I haven't. Rationally, I can look at all the sweet words saved in my memory, all the smiles and voices and letters, and know a throng of dearhearts exists to ensure I'm not alone...but in the irrational realm of wanting, I would give nearly anything to be a stuffed animal, worn by the pressure of someone's gentle fingerprints.

There's something in my head that doesn't leave. I used to call it poison, but I no longer know. It's a knowing, I guess, a reality that begs to be addressed, one that doesn't fit correctly in the pegs and holes of social perception. There's something *else* - something dissonant, and the weight of it, the weight of knowing something and not understanding (fully) what it is, or how to balance it with being human, and 17, and fallible...is draining. I'm weary and my hair's in rags.

Figuratively speaking. In the literal world, I don't give a shit what my hair is doing. Until I must present it to the outside world, that is. I'm worried about what I'm going to say to Harriet on Monday. I know we need to talk (obviously, that is the point), and I really thing we need to talk about what went on Thursday, but I think that so *often* and...I don't know what to say. Other than I'm shamed, and I'm defensive, and I'm lonely. I feel powerless in my shame so I put up defenses and too few people coax down those walls, so I feel lonely.

Me, to Brea yesterday: "Sometimes I see people, at the store or something, people my age, and I think, 'where are you? why can't I find you?' and then I remember that I never leave the house, and they don't know to come visit, so...I guess it makes sense that I don't know anyone." But when I first see them, when I first catch glimpse of a being who has enough visible humanity not to frighten me, I don't realize it's my own (in)decision that keeps me from befriending them. Sometimes, I forget I'm not a prisoner.

I wonder if there's such a thing as a play-date for kids who are nearly voting age.

chord

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