my divinity today is loafe. Here’s why.
I spent an hour last night reading some of the newly discovered entries mentioned previously (okay, more like two hours).
It was sufficiently embarrassing, as I knew it would be, but it was also really sad. Not pathetic sad. sorrow. actual sorrow. We’ll forgive in other people the worst atrocities, but refuse to give that same lenience to ourselves.
and okay, it was a little pathetic, too. I can’t help it. I don’t want to call myself pathetic, but it is what it is.
Those pages covered a time when I was consumed with finding love, in any form. It was when I met Gordon. It was when I lost Nick for good. I seemed so unhappy, so lonely, so desperate for something to give my life meaning. But I also seemed happy like that. Was I happy? It almost seems like I did things to avoid “real” happiness. More like I did things to keep me down, because I enjoyed it more there. Whether you’re really high or really low, things look perfect from far away, right? And maybe being low is being high.
Not much has changed, eh?
I’m in the slow process of getting those entries back online, but here, take a look at this. Do you remember this entry? I certainly didn’t, and reading it again was difficult. Who is that girl? that couldn’t have been me, could it? I felt like that? I thought that way? I remember this period in my life, of course I do, but I also let myself forget, I let myself not think about it. It’s easier that way.
Clearly, I’ve got a love-hate thing going on with my memories. I don’t even know what it is I want anymore. Do I want to remember? Do I want to forget? Does any of it even matter?
I certainly remember hating myself, but looking at it now, I can’t hate that girl at all. Sure, she’s annoying, but at least she’s trying, you know? And she admits to what she feels, doesn’t shy away from it. I can admire that. I don’t feel pity for her, I feel pride. Man, I really should be nicer to myself. We all should.
and why am I so goddamned obsessed with boys? christ almighty. the one constant in my life. I may wander through a lot of places, but I seem firmly rooted in boyland, I’ve staked my claim, planted my flag, set up shop, etc etc. It’s ridiculous. What exactly do I think I’m going to accomplish? What is a boy going to do for me, give me? besides a goddamned headache and freaking baby. a BOY baby at that. these freaking penises are haunting me into the grave.
It’s just that I get so fixated on what I want that I am unable to consider the consequences of my pursuit. Whether I fail or succeed, the mere act of trying is enough to cause major turbulence. I am so pinpoint-focused on that one thing, it’s all I see, and I let everything else fall to the wayside, to deal with at a later date. Maybe if I opened up more, had greater vision, I could anticipate and prepare, and then, down the line, I wouldn’t be left trying to fix so much shit.
Guess I’m just a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants girl. I suppose I’ll always be her. what can you do. It’s like my eye color, I can disguise it maybe, but it’s always gonna be brown.
But writing about my life in a public forum, unlike a personal journal, has given me an interesting perspective. Sometimes it’s hard to get out of your own head, out of your own way, when writing just for yourself. When you know you’ve got an audience, albeit a small one, you use different language, a different point of view, you make the effort at least to be understood. When I read my private journals, half the time all I think is “what the fuck was I smoking?” and “oh my god, this is horrifying.” I get too embarrassed to even look in the mirror.
And honestly, it pleases me to no end that loafe is still mine, that it always has been and always will be for me, for my benefit, for my writing, for my mental health, for my future self, all these words, all this internet space. loafe has given me new friends, brought me closer to old ones, offered me comfort and a place to rest. I love loafe. You have no idea what this silly place has done for me.