Group Session 2: Another Cycle

Tonight at the second cycle, I broke down. That's all I really wish to share. Goodnight.

It Happens So Quickly...

I'll keep this short. As I am getting sick of it all. The Tall Man is in a relationship. That is the one little item that he didn't let slip out when he was giving me the boot.

And thus whatever it is that I was holding onto as far as hope and figuring things out. It's dead. I will rant, I will whine, I will stare into space as I do this. I will gracefully go wherever I am suppose to go when things like this happen.

How ironic that upon finding out these news items. No one who is there to support me can be found. So I find a reasonable person to hookup with and I unload it on them. For a moment I apologized for it, but I was just going where I am being led.

God splits the skin with a jagged thumbnail from throat to belly and then plunges a huge filthy hand in, he grabs hold of your bloody tubes and they slip to evade his grasp but he squeezes hard, he insists, he pulls and pulls till all your innards are yanked out and the pain! We even talk about that. And then he stuffs them back, dirty, tangled and torn. It's up to you to do the stitching.

I am not well mentally. I'm a good lay apparently. Always have been.

Give Me Strength

If by: e.e. cummings

If freckles were lovely, and day was night, And measles were nice and a lie warn't a lie, Life would be delight,-- But things couldn't go right For in such a sad plight I wouldn't be I. If earth was heaven and now was hence, And past was present, and false was true, There might be some sense But I'd be in suspense For on such a pretense You wouldn't be you. If fear was plucky, and globes were square, And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee Things would seem fair,-- Yet they'd all despair, For if here was there We wouldn't be we.

It's okay to be sad. To allow yourself to mourn. I could be the worst I can be. Crying is enough for now. I will get by, the well worn phrase, "It will get better." So hilarious that I cling to it. I feel like something inside of me is now broken off. Perhaps, only time can develop that it's noticeable. The damage is done and now it continues on. Sometimes you don't get the time to heal, you just need to keep moving.

I wish it could have continued as it seemed to be. I'm apparently to good at it all that leaves them in awe. In short, I'm not datable. People can see fit to physically get involved and then something happens. Something always happens. 90% of the time it's your fault, so what? I lost out to someone else? He was dating others apparently. Romanticism has died.

Swallow while you still can, let the sadness run down your throat and feel the taste of it. It's not easily forgotten. Embitter? For the first time you've felt lost, really lost. The breakdown paid due an now you have to rebuild.

I never want to be sober again. I want life to always be slanted. It seems better that way, even the bad seems somewhat more surreal and fantastic. Which is easier to deal with. The walls were broken down and for that I need to rebuild.

I never want to be sober again.

I need to run as far as possible

The Tall Man ended it last night and thus the emotional breakdown that was over a month due came last. As much as I'd love to articulate everything that happened, I'm not gonna.

I feel lost and scared. I feel as though I'm trying harder than ever to just "keep going." Absolutely absurd is this whole situation. It was the same story as last time. Things were said and things weren't said. I'm quitting therapy because that cunt made me believe it would work out.

So it's 8:35 AM and I'm still up. Perhaps, I'll skip class today. I will skip class today. Perhaps I'll go running. I will go running. Perhaps I'll cry more. I will cry more.

In And The Band Played On a couple passages that stood out to me as poignant were these:

"As Joe drove from Gary's house, perched on the hills over the Castro District with the dark silhouettes of downtown skyscrapers in the distance, he realized their lives would never be the same. December 15, 1982, was his point of demarcation. From then on, he cast his life in terms of Before this even had happened and, now, After." (212)

"As Gary surveyed the village below him and watched the weeds in the wind, he was surprised at how much more he was seeing, how every sight has extra color and more palpable texture. Intellectually, he understood why. He might never see another winter. As if for the first time, he was actually taking in the feeling, the entire sense of the moment as he has never before. It was what he had long been seeking in his years of self-exploration and his career in psychology—to be so totally in touch with the moment, with now. In a strange way, he began to feel as blessed as he was cursed." (230)