8:15 p.m. - 07/01/02
'''this ocean goes round and round that pineapple tree'''
in case I would feel compelled to forget it's July, the heat index is doing everything in its power to remind me. the past two days when I've tried to bike, I've only been able to go about 1/2 the distance I normally do, which is terribly depressing when the most attractive bit of my normal path is the far end. I must say that, no matter how much I crave some urban energy, for a move to the middle of absoflibbin nowhere, my parents didn't do too badly. despite the fact that all water-bodies are currently coated in green, and the bugs rival those find in insect-horror films, the fact that within two minutes of biking I can pass a retreat/ renewal center (not-really-Rogers) *and* Oz's one and only field (as in soybeans, farming, N*land-ish) deserves some credit. as corn-covered flatlands and health-building hideaways will always tug at my heartstrings as "home" little bits of them so close is certainly nothing to sneeze at.
true.
sick again. one thing I will say for the weekend insomnia, I don't wake up ill when I don't fall asleep. of course, they're going to figure out *exactly what is wrong* after wednesday's MRI, and it's going to be something really simple and non-threatening, so that's good. don't mean to scare anyone with my optimism, but I believe ever so in the power of positive thought. desperate times call for desperate hopefullness, and six months of physical cruddiness is what I call desperate times.
as I mentioned previously, I'm having a difficult time with all the surrounding struggles. I don't think anything that's going on with me is too overwhelming (really, if I can't handle slightly-less-than-calm waters by *now*) but everyone else's problems seem to be penetrating me. my core is shaky; my veins are overloaded. I can feel it in my arms, little toes, and the tendons in my feet; these are the places where pain is always introduced to me. (this is where I first notice I'm on edge.) I don't exactly know what to do about it; I know I just have to *face* the fact that I am *not* in control of other people's realities. I can't fix for you what I needed fixed for me, and I can't assume you need the same. Even when I'm absolutely sure you'd be so much safer and more peaceful if you'd simply let me lead you in your mending. I'm a codependent freak of nature; I know too many therapists.
*sigh* But I really would be careful not to control you if you'd simply let me *guide*...if you'd simply let me *help.* Yes. See. This is just silly because half the people I'm freaking about aren't even in my world- they're people in news articles, they're celebrities, they're fairy tales villains, and it's senseless to pretend I'll ever be in a position to help them, never mind the fact that they wouldn't want me to.
Just. If there's anyone reading this who can think of anything to ask of me, please do it. I'm going crazy in my helplessness.
I believe this is a large part of what led me to want to volunteer; I'm wondering if it was right to put that on hold in my search for (physical) health. I just don't want to give less than my best because I'm also busy fighting whatever this ickiness is, and I don't want to start something only to interrupt it with some sort of treatment if this should be more than I'm aware. I think I need to put some things in motion. It's too bad that I'm so terribly picky about how I offer my energy. It would be so much easier if I could just accept some of the volunteer opportunities I've gone back and forth between. if I weren't so intent on finding something I know will be perfect for me before I even give it a try.
what I really want to do is help moderate a support group for pre-adolescents/ early-teens experiencing something I've been through (i.e. depression, grief, eating disorders) that is otherwise watched over by an adult, especially one I know or would really hit it off with. ok? if I say that aloud, can it happen please?
::says it aloud::
I don't tell my parents what I'm going through because in protecting them, I protect myself. The less they know, the safer I feel. Wanting to help others is a similarly selfish impulse for me. I'm overly empathetic to the extreme. I double over at the sight of cartoon injuries. I need to know that everyone is okay in order to maintain that I am. I don't know how to believe I'll be ok until I can firmly contend that you will.
such is hell.
distraction via sad little internet pastimes is the key to survival: currently I act as addict to this farce and this nostalgia.
(note 1: mary, Tori Amos, and their ten non-biological kids, live in a Wisconsin mansion, from which mary drives her silver truck to her work as a teacher. note 2: if your favorite number, like mine, happens to be 4012, you might want to consider a substitute in the name of timeliness. just a thought...)
[perhaps too much?] love
chord
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