"Who are you, girl?"
Yesterday I spent almost an hour and a half writing out this huge analyzation of my fear of commitiment and how it relates back to life working in circles and how this actual fear is an acceptance of my fear of rejection and a rejection of my fear of success blah blah blah...
I hit "publish post" and the work web server reset and I lost the whole fucking thing, and it made me realize how transient words are until they "aren't". I mean, you know that feeling of feeling defeated after you had just poured everything you had for the last hour into this thing that you were writing that was so good and right and, despite it's long rambling nature, amde sense at the time you wrote it?
And then it's just gone.
Like a magician who fucked up the magic trick and is standing there embarrassed cause that thing he made dissappear? Yeah, he can't get it back.
The problem then becomes do you rewrite what you had or do you take it as a hint that it either wasn't worth posting for others to read, or even more cosmically, it was never meant to be posted or read in the first place. It wasn't "God's grand scheme" for that particular piece of writing, as it were.
Now I'm talking about words as if they're living, breathing, animate objects.
But aren't they?
"So why not simply re-write what you wrote?"
Because it's not that simple, my dear friends. You see there was somehting special, unique even, to those words that were written at that time in that place. Time erodes away at the meaning until you can only grasp at the whisps of what the original intent of said words were.
It's kind of like that really intense dream you had that leaves you with this knotty feeling in your stomach, but as the minutes tick away after you open your eyes, you can't remember any details about the dream (except the feelings it left you with) and all you do have left is that feeling. That feeling is like the cliff note to the dream, but no matter how hard you try to force the memories, they won't come.
The moment has passed.
So, I'm left with a quandry of trying to equate this analogy to some stuff that's going on in my life right now. Is it even analogous really? I don't know. But I see a pattern forming. And even if I say or anyone else says that it's different this time, I probably know deep down it's not.
And as much as I want something more than a cliff note lying in my stomach or my head, all the warning signs are there that this is aiming up to be exactly the same thing. Same outline and sketch, different person coloring.
Maybe I am...masochistic?
Maybe it is a need to be comfortable with rejection, so despite my implicit fear of it, it is where I am cofortable and where i tread that line bewteen "being rejected" and "not really being rejected".
Which in all reality, is just kind of being.
Which is static after a while, which I hate. Static.
And meanwhile I have the reality of some sort of minor success kind of smiling me in the face and I'm so scared of this other thing (over here, not the other thing over there that I'm told "is really different this time", but is it really?) being successful, that I subconciously try to think of ways to make it a failure. I sabotage a possible success before it has a chance to be successful, sometimes fully realizing that my actions that would immediately lead to some sort of grand destruction I could have avoided and wished I had but I didn't.
Why do I always do that?
Confusing more so to me, (on so many ridiculously complex leverls, you have no idea), then even you dear reader, although you wonder how can that be?
One person told me recently I worry too much. This could be equated with the fact that I think too much about stuff too.
What stuff? You name it and I'll overanalyze to next Tuesday, "give meself an ulcer", and then decided ultimately the best thing is to just keep it all inside. It's external because I share with a very scared few people but it's internalized until I'm almost sick about.
Of this I am really aware, as it is my nature.
Some people would say it's sick. It's a neurosis. I don't see it neccessarily like that.
Acute hypersisnsitivity to everything. I might agree. But does that make me a bad person. DOes being thoughtful, and introspective, and aware, and yes, even empathic...are those all bad qualities?
Being obsessive and complusive tends to run in the family a bit.
But I'm comfortbale in that I know I do this. Realization is the first step to healing isn't it? But what if I don't feel like I have anything the needs healing.
Part of me says I am this way.
Deal or no deal.
Pas or no pas.
So anyways, bottom line being, I don't know where this goes from here. If it was that easy I wouldn't type all this out and go over it later with a fine tooth comb.
(Such is in my nature, as the way I am, to do.)
And there's nothing stopping me from yelling out "Stop, this isn't what I want. THIS is what I want and it should work thusly."
Except there is.
SO why can't I be truly one hundred percent honest. Why can't peope be one hundred percent honest with me?
When I say "what do you want me to say?". it isn't just to mimic the common phrasiology of the time when these things happen.
I think part of me is saying, tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it.
But also, the rebel in me says fuck that. You don't get that satisfaction. Not from a place of revenge, but from a place of defense.
Life isn't a fairy tale, or even a moderate box office grossing romantic comedy. Life is difficult and scary and confusing and if your lucky, you get everything you want and you end up happily ever after, even if not for a couple of weeks.
If your not, you end up lonely and dead and wishing you had done things different in your life. You wish you hadn't followed those cycles, or you at least did something, anything, to break that cylce. You would wish you had done something that pulled everybody out of the cycle, took the girl in your arms, kissed her, and rode of into the....no no no...that shit just never, ever, ever happens.
Just how many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?
The world may never know.
By Queens Of The Stone Age
Release date: By 22 September, 1998