10:15 p.m. - 09/27/02
00spilling unintended words00
Oh, God. I didn't realize how bad it was. This idea I've allowed to rent space in my brain, the idea that I have to be perfectly ok at all times in order to make sure everyone else is- it's completely taken over. Everything I see of pain now, in people I haven't talked to in ages, in people I just spoke with- I feel it's all my doing. See? See? This is what happens when you are less than optimistic! This is what happens when you be real about yourself. They lose hope.
I've convinced myself that I am hope and that the world cannot survive without me. I pretend to have such power in everyone else's lives, at the same time I'm so helpless in my own. Was I always this way? Has it gotten worse? Is this something new? I have no idea. I used to think people couldn't be bothered by my pain because I wasn't worth the time. And I was always optimistic for other people's lives. I was always able to find silver lining in clouds I did not own, solutions to problems not involving me. If it is new, it's not surprising, but it's absolutely awful. Just more guilt. I have to keep myself from taking responsibility. I know this is something I can't change, but I can't feel the pain of it. I have so much pain and seeing all that's wrong in the world just escalates the unbearability. I feel like one of those people who can't sleep at night because the rain forests are being cut down. Melodramatic, hyper-sensitive, what else did they call me? I wish I were callous/ if I were callous, I would not know myself. I wish I had some ability to defend myself. Some selective permeability. I wish I were gortex; that's what Dr. R told me once to be.
I have to take *some* responsibility, don't I? If I can defend myself against the pain, won't I grow apathetic, won't I quit caring whether the world is changed or not? I want to be active; I want to transform my "idealistic" epithet into "realistic" by transforming reality, and I don't think I can do that if I build a wall between myself and what is happening to so many people in so many ways. There are so many types of violence that do not make the news. There are so many types of war that go unspoken. At the same time, I can't take it too far. Anxiety is a motivational tool that ultimately paralyzes. It's highest utility borders a major danger zone. Most of my coping mechanisms seem to be this way. One moment I'm achieving in a way no one can believe; the next I've fallen over the edge and can't move.
I wonder how much different my life would be had I started taking drugs in middle school. I seem to have all the same problems. Addiction, dependency, danger, stigma. Methinks this is a paragraph not worth continuing. At least that's one issue I *don't* have on my resume.
There are many of them actually. They're really are. And that's where I start to minimize what I've been through and to focus more steadily on everyone else's pain. I wonder what hurts me more- my deepest injury or my inability to protect you from yours. I really can't tell, and it's awful; it's so painful. I just want it all to stop, and that's why I withdraw or lash out or caretake. I can't handle it. I can't handle people being not ok, dead or alive, sick or healthy, I still worry constantly. I don't know why, and obviously, I don't know how to stop. I admitted I was powerless over caretaking and my life had become unmanageable...
I keep telling myself I can stop caring about people. I keep telling myself I won't love anyone new. And then a month or two goes by, someone starts to struggle, and I realize I've gone and let myself care again. I've attached, Harriet. I've attached. And I can't stand to see them not ok. What can I do? I can't fix it. I can't be there. I can't keep you safe, whoever you are. I can't make sure that physically, emotionally, in every possible way you are whole at all times. I don't want to be a friend or a therapist; I want to be the pain-effacing superhero. I want to quarantine the universe, keep a strict monitor on pain, so that it never passes "growth" and reaches "unbearability."
I'm scared to have problems. I don't want to have problems. I want to take care of you. I'm scared to write letters to people I've lost touch with- because I have to choose a stance. Do I say, "I'm doing fairly well" and alienate them with my progress or "I'm struggling" and draw their attention, *their* worry? I can't, I won't. Yesterday I said I wanted to be someone's top priority, and it's true; it's absolutely true. I have this little heart that wants so badly to have someone say "you're my favorite out of everyone" and "how can I make this moment better" over and again. I cried when I wrote it last night because the moment struck deeply, and it felt so true. But "this is what happens" when I ask for that. This is why I'm so certain I can't. If I take care of myself, if I ask other to meet my needs, how do I look after them. And of my needs is that everyone else be ok, and maybe I don't have to be that way, maybe I have had points this past year where I wasn't...but...I can't catch hold of it now. An alternative flutters before me, but I can't catch hold. Your pain happens to me, with the addition of my guilt. And I would never censor it; I don't say this to hurt or silence you. It's just unending, the need to stop all the pain and set up a wall between us and the edge. A memorial wall to everyone I've already lost, so high no one else can trip into the dust, be gone. No more ashes to ashes. Just growth and peace and touch.
Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop. I've spent the day pretending I care about what a marvelous curve-breaker I am. But none of it matters now, it doesn't. All the suffering and there's nothing I can do. Oh, God...
chord
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