Thursday, March 14, 2013


I will get back to my stories eventually. Tonight I sit in front of my computer and think I should be working, but I know that is not going to happen, so instead I sit here and type to you, anonymous readerif you are indeed there, and if you are not just more of me talking to myself (and honestly, I'm okay with that as well).

I am full of history tonight.

I've had a welling depression that has just been creeping up on me all day. I can't shake it. I've tried to shake it, but it is just inside me, deep, insidious, buried, and unwilling to take no for an answer. It's taken root.

It's the...what it is it? I wonder this to myself and then I realize that it is the constant sense of being invalidated. My ego can only take so much. There is this breaking point between being yelled at, underappreciated, undermined, and generally taken for granted. It's not just one offender but many, and all of it adds up. A constant pile onto my unworthiness button until it's not even possible to shut it down anymore and all I can think is I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

I am locked in a room and shaking back and forth and saying over and over again sorry. It is a dark place and I know it well. I've been there since I was a child. Sometimes I can avoid it, but so often I end up locked in there, and feeling it, knowing it and nothing else, and I am just there.

And I let that be who I am.

It is a small tight place, but somehow when I am there I am comforted by it, closed in by it, held by it. On the surface, though, I am nothing. I am gone, I no longer exist, but in it, somehow down there I am safe and I exist and I am okay.

There are a thousand memories tonight, perhaps that is it.

I wonder about that. A thousand days of history.

There are so many memories down that deep dark hole and I am usually pretty good at keeping them down, but sometimes they are surface dwelling and I lose myself to the down deep. A change in position; it's better when the memories are in the hole and I am on top. When it is the other way around I am just a shell of who I want to be and who I am.

And what I keep coming back to, is that I don't have time. I don't have time to be insecure and lost in myself. To much depends on me being that projection of confidence that people buy.

I have too many decisions to  make. I don't want to make any of them.

I am dealing with an overwhelming yawning pit of change and I don't want any change, but I don't know if I will have any choice.

I am haunted by my past and my future, who I have been, who I can be. Do I stay the same or do something radically different? And if I choose change will I like who I become? It's all questions without answers and I without guidance and it's all on me to decide.

And here I sit at this crossroads, robbed of my confidence and counsel, and not knowing what I want or what I will do.

I suppose that is what is really means to be haunted. The ghosts and ghouls that plague me are my reality and my unreality, and I just don't know.

Two men have sat next to me in my beloved Lonely Hearts, which is where I come on a night like this, at a time like this, to be alone. Their accents are so thick I can barely understand them. Scottish, perhaps? I don't know. I find it interesting that they come in and say hello to the Koreans, they look me up and down, but don't acknowledge me. For them I do not exist. That is how I feel at the moment: as if I do not exist, as if I have become nothing, I am nothing, not worthy of acknowledgment or existence. I pay for attention or I get none. And I have so little money to pay. For some reason this is the most comforting thing that has happened to me today.

It continues. It goes on. I go on.

I spent too much money tonight on a dinner for a friend in need that I did not cook. I made an attempt to be there for another that had no time for me. The others are for corners in a universe that seems to be ever expanding and that I cannot for some reasons reconcile. Someday I need to stop trying to please people but it is so hardwired that I cannot imagine in a world in which I don't.

Perhaps that is what haunts me.

At least I have constants. Wine, music...what else does a girl really need?

"I try my best; my best is just not enough."

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