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November 8th, 2007

(no subject)

I've finally realized that a relationship won't fix things. Love means having to take care of another person, in a way that I'm just not capable of right now. M. doesn't deserve that, and he can't fix me.

If only it were that simple.

October 30th, 2007

(no subject)

Shit. Back to not sleeping, not being productive in my work.

My family trying to contact me is now a trigger. This is really not ok.

I shouldn't have just dropped out of therapy.

There was a clothesline project at my school recently. I thought it was just for dv victims. I wish I had known I could have made a shirt, too. The silence kills me.

I think this silence is part of what draws me to coming out narratives by LGBTQ people. I feel like we're similarly closeted. You'd be crazy to say that these things that happened to us didn't change us in some fundamental way, become part of who we are. But we don't have a way of coming out. We don't have stories in pop culture of how to find that truth. But, even though it's not sufficient, queer people do. So I read and watch their stories, seeing myself squinty eyed in their shoes.

October 25th, 2007

(no subject)

I thought I would be up all night finishing a paper, but our whole class was given an extension. I actually slept last night, without sleeping pills. Is this what progress looks like?

I'll hold on to the ups. Savor them while i have hem.

I bought Sugar by Aloha on itunes. I just remembered this band one day. I remember listening to them while lying in the bathtub when I was in high school. God I miss baths. Isolation, water, music, bubbles, reading. that sounds so perfect right now.

Tonight I'm an extra in my friends film shoot. Friends, a couple of beers I can do this. I have to finish a paper, but its due at five tomorrow. I only have one more page. I need to sleep on some things about it. I think I'm ok.

God this music is so good.

My head is a million places, but right now I feel like I'm not scattered permanently.

But God, I want so much more than this.

October 23rd, 2007

(no subject)

Every day I seem to go back and forth between "I can do this" and "what the hell am I doing here?"

I guess it's better than thinking the second one all the time, but it's exhausting.

Oh, and M was a complete failure. But at least I tried.

October 19th, 2007

(no subject)

I think I'm clinically depressed.

At one point in my life, this realization would have shook me to the core. It would have been impossible to deal with. The thought of taking medications would have terrified me. But last night I took a depression checklist on webmd, and I checked yes in every box. It was startling, but I recognized it to be true. And if I'm honest, I've been feeling this way for a long time, it's just gotten worse in the last month.

What I haven't been acknowledging is that lately I've been thinking about death a lot. Not wanting to kill myself, nothing so proactive, but about how much easier it would if I died. I was in central park this week, looking out over the edge of Belvedere Castle, thinking of how much easier it would be if I just tumbled to the rocks below. I cross streets half hoping that the cars won't stop. This is scary, this is not healthy, this is not ok.

Recognizing this feels good, though. This problem has a name, which makes it so much more manageable.

I've taken inventory, and its time to change some things so that I can get better. I've been self medicating with food. This is not ok, This will disrupt my health for life. I need to eat more vegetables and exercise more.

I've been staying up too late, and having trouble getting out of bed. So I need to go to bed earlier. At least if I do that, it won't be quite so late in the morning when I convince myself to leave the safety of my bed.

I need to clean my room, put my life visually in order.

I of course need to talk to a therapist about this, maybe start taking an antidepressant.

The more difficult problem is the question of where I am. I talked to KN about this for a long time last night. My school work is suffering. I can't make myself do it, my ambition and drive are gone, my thirst for knowledge and learning is, for now, dried up. So I don't know if staying here is best for my life. But I can't go home, because A. is there. I worry that if i do that, these inactive thoughts of death will become much worse. I don't have aunts or uncles or cousins I'm close enough to to live with.

I'm at an impasse. I'm stuck and I don't know what's next. And I have to wait until I'm speaking with a therapist off campus to discuss this, because policy is that if a student is having anything like the thoughts I'm having, they get sent home. And we already covered how bad an idea that is.

I don't want to mess this semester up because of this. M put it better for me than I could. She told me, "You don't want to miss a step, because each step you miss is one he took from you." It's so true. And sometimes, that means sticking it out. But for now, I can see my gpa suffering. You know what? It's a damn good one. Its the kind that, if I can keep it up, can get me into an Ivy League grad school if I get good GREs too. I can't let him take the Kennedy School away from me.

So I'm stuck. What do I do? What do I do?

It seems impossible. It seems like there is no solution, not one I can see from here.

I wish there was a map, clearly marked in front of me, that could tell me where to go. But there is no map. No one can tell me what to do, and I can't tell myself.

I started this out feeling better than I ended.

October 11th, 2007

(no subject)

My friends are heading home for the week.

They're getting into planes, trains, automobiles and at stations mothers or fathers will pick them up, bring them home, laughing in the car ride, laughing over dinner, cuddling on the couch in front of a good movie.

I'm taking a train, but to a friend. And it's strange how this feels.

To be honest right now, I do not miss my family. IThis makes me feel horrible. My mother is sick, my father is worried about her. My family is already frayed. So that is why I do not tell them what A. did to me. But just trying to work through this, that is enough to make our already strained ties worse. I am angry at my parents, too. This anger terrifies me. It is so much bigger than I am. When I feel it fully, I feel like I cannot live with it. Not that I will kill myself, but simply that there is not enough room in this body for myself and for this anger. It is consuming, blistering, lashing out at anyone and everyone. It is a lighlty sleeping monster. Even now, thinking about it, I can feel it start to stir. It slowly blinks it's reptilian eyes, starts to uncurl its dangerous tail. It stretches out it's back - the clanking of its scales is deafening.

How can I possibly bring this anger home with me? It will burn the house down with its heat. It is strange to love someone and feel this depth of anger towards them at the same time. I am filled with furious question.

How could they not have known?
How could they not have stopped it?
Why did they turn their eyes and let this happen?

They ask me regularly and often, do you have a boyfriend? Any prospects? Anyone? Anyone? The question not asked is, "are you a lesbian?" And that if the answer is yes, then that is not ok.

Of course. That is the only possibility. Not that I don't know how to love a man, how to even get close to that point. That emotional intimacy terrifies me, because strangers can never hurt you as much as the people who are supposed to love you can.

I want to through it all in all of their faces - the blurry faced blow jobs, the alcohol induced mistakes, the bite marks and hickeys, the red ass cheeks from poorly conceived spankings, the men I have let sleep over only to get more from them in the morning, the men I have kicked out of my bed because I got what I needed from them, my constant musings over how much I hate my body.

This. I want to say to them, This is my life. In all its messy glory. This, you had something to do with this. How dare you condescendingly, pityingly question me about my lack of a lover?


I will see M. this weekend. He is kind, and funny, and smart. And I think, maybe. Maybe I can do this. So maybe while I lose my family, at least now, I can find love in another.

I wish I could warn him, but not scare him away. This will be messy. This will be hard. I will get scared. I may, once, cry as his body pushes ecstatically against mine, and this is not his fault.

But to test the waters of love and find my love for my family again? These cannot happen at the same time. And M. seems so much easier right now. Maybe this is cowardly, but I am tired of apologizing.

October 9th, 2007


I recently heard John Amaechi, the retired NBA player who came out last year, speak at my school. He has an interesting personal philosophy, and one of the questions he asked was was "Could you find your soul in the dark?" meaning that, if you stripped away all external identities, past experiences, upbringing, religious beliefs, would you still know who you are?

This is an incredibly interesting question in this age of identity politics. After all, most of these identities (Black, Queer, Gay, Lesbian, Christian, Muslim) exist because of an oppositional force, there is nothing intrinsic to them. For example, if there were simply variations in skin color that played no role in oppressive systems, and never had, it wouldn't be necessary to identify oneself as "Black," Similarly, if various sexualities were simply accepted as a fact, then one would not need to identify as "Queer." As a counter example, white males rarely identify as such in the same way, unless they are crazy fuckers. (Yes, that is the technical term for neo-Nazis)

Ok, so there's nothing intrinsic about these identities, they are formed by society. But that doesn't make them any less real. How can they be stripped away when they have really enormous effects? Doesn't identifying or being identified as the other make us who we are? In a Foucauldian sense, these identities also form the soul. So in the dark, in Amaechi's sense, we are soul-less.

Our life experiences have such an enormous effect on who we are. If I were to strip away my female-ness, my white middle class upbringing, my abuse, my education, I would not be who I am. For good and for ill, these things have shaped me on an intrinsic level. The challenge is in coming to terms with who that person is - her fears, her limitations, her needs, her dreams, her desires - instead of wishing that she were someone else.

And sometimes, in that process, I do feel like I'm groping for my soul in the dark.
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