Been a while.
I've been away for a while.
I had a wonderful few months in Cambridge (MA, not UK); I got to meet a number of very nice people and got to sit in on some impressive classes. It was a generous taste of the life I always wanted and will always want. Now, it's over and I'm back.
The rest is less pleasant.
I hadn't realized how much of my past I habitually block from my memory. Or is it that I just have a very clean memory function? I was picking up my room, which I'd not spent much time in this year, and started finding pieces of my past which I'd locked away. Just finding a blue hooded sweat jacket brought a large number of uncomfortable memories and feeling. It reminded me of parts of my life I'd not recalled for … I don't know how long. Items I'd not seen for just months brought me back to times and events, which I'd locked away. Most of them, I wouldn't want to ever remember again.
That might sound normal, but for me, it was like opening fully closed doors. I was quickly and unhappily much more aware of my past. It's no wonder that digging through my stored stuff is always traumatic, and that I always block that out until the next digging brings it to mind again. Then, the memories all return, opened.
That's not to say there aren't happy memories too. It's just slanted. No wonder I've thrown away almost everything from my childhood. I can't recall it, and probably decided I'd never want to, then even blocked the memory of that decision. I'm very tidy, when it comes to logic and procedures. Do other people have more good memories than bad? Am I just being a wimp and a cry baby? Do they make month or years of their life fade away as they move on to the next?
I think that's what hurts the most, right now. I know I've already started forgetting the past eight months, and I don't want to. I want to hold onto it and treasure it; I don't want to just know it happened with a few scattered details. It may easily end up being the most wonderful time of my adult life. Already, I want to recall the feelings, but they contrast with the present too much.
Today, I've yelled at the air. I've hit my desk. I'm angry. I'm scared. I'm alone. I hate my world, and I'm crying out for escape. And this was before a disappointing phone call. This is my normal life. This is what I've returned too. This is who I am.
I know I have friends. I spoke with a few today, and had lunch with one I'd not hung out with in a few years. It's nice to hear them; comforting too. But, what can I say? "Hi, I'm going insane!"? "I need someone to hold me!"? "Please, please, kill me!"? Instead, I stick to lite topics. I seek the comforts of calm, familiar and safe interaction. Why dump on my friends? I really don't want to chase them away; I want them to stick around and be friendly.
Ever since I got sick a few years back, my control over emotions has slipped; I still haven't adjusted to being so weak. All of this is just an emotional rejection of my reality. I used to be far more able to just accept what was real and work with it.
I think I'm done rambling for now.
The funny part is that these aren't my problems. These unspecified pains, this constant hurt; they aren't problems. They're just what life is, and I have to get used to it again. The real problems are what I spend my time trying to fix or hide from.
I had a wonderful few months in Cambridge (MA, not UK); I got to meet a number of very nice people and got to sit in on some impressive classes. It was a generous taste of the life I always wanted and will always want. Now, it's over and I'm back.
The rest is less pleasant.
I hadn't realized how much of my past I habitually block from my memory. Or is it that I just have a very clean memory function? I was picking up my room, which I'd not spent much time in this year, and started finding pieces of my past which I'd locked away. Just finding a blue hooded sweat jacket brought a large number of uncomfortable memories and feeling. It reminded me of parts of my life I'd not recalled for … I don't know how long. Items I'd not seen for just months brought me back to times and events, which I'd locked away. Most of them, I wouldn't want to ever remember again.
That might sound normal, but for me, it was like opening fully closed doors. I was quickly and unhappily much more aware of my past. It's no wonder that digging through my stored stuff is always traumatic, and that I always block that out until the next digging brings it to mind again. Then, the memories all return, opened.
That's not to say there aren't happy memories too. It's just slanted. No wonder I've thrown away almost everything from my childhood. I can't recall it, and probably decided I'd never want to, then even blocked the memory of that decision. I'm very tidy, when it comes to logic and procedures. Do other people have more good memories than bad? Am I just being a wimp and a cry baby? Do they make month or years of their life fade away as they move on to the next?
I think that's what hurts the most, right now. I know I've already started forgetting the past eight months, and I don't want to. I want to hold onto it and treasure it; I don't want to just know it happened with a few scattered details. It may easily end up being the most wonderful time of my adult life. Already, I want to recall the feelings, but they contrast with the present too much.
Today, I've yelled at the air. I've hit my desk. I'm angry. I'm scared. I'm alone. I hate my world, and I'm crying out for escape. And this was before a disappointing phone call. This is my normal life. This is what I've returned too. This is who I am.
I know I have friends. I spoke with a few today, and had lunch with one I'd not hung out with in a few years. It's nice to hear them; comforting too. But, what can I say? "Hi, I'm going insane!"? "I need someone to hold me!"? "Please, please, kill me!"? Instead, I stick to lite topics. I seek the comforts of calm, familiar and safe interaction. Why dump on my friends? I really don't want to chase them away; I want them to stick around and be friendly.
Ever since I got sick a few years back, my control over emotions has slipped; I still haven't adjusted to being so weak. All of this is just an emotional rejection of my reality. I used to be far more able to just accept what was real and work with it.
I think I'm done rambling for now.
The funny part is that these aren't my problems. These unspecified pains, this constant hurt; they aren't problems. They're just what life is, and I have to get used to it again. The real problems are what I spend my time trying to fix or hide from.