diary entries

January 30th, 2008. Arbitrary time. Couldn't sleep, so I come out into my room and eat sugar?! I feel like there's something --many things-- fundamentally wrong with me. I'm aching to do the "right thing". I don't want any more reminders of what _____ [my mother] wants, I look at myself and see it. My brain recycles music over and over and what is success, anyway? Purely subjective, and therefore... no, see, my heart wants to calm down and enjoy life, and I can do that on my own, without joining anyone's cult. It just requires calming down. And enjoying life. Enjoying... the pain, too. Or rather, accepting it. I accept that I am in pain right now, that I am panicked and scared and a little hungry. My lips are dry, I'm afraid that everything some things I do are wrong, I'm afraid that people will notice and hate me, I fear disgust. Who do I know that feels that way about me? No one who matters. I'm afraid of being a lesbian. I'm afraid I'll leave my honey for a new one with a vagina and then I won't like it and will be a scary middle-aged panicked dyke with emotional problems. What a silly fear! I take it apart and it antagonizes me until it morphs into an overwhelming-crushing-fat-man-breathing-heavy-on-top-of-me feeling, and an unpleasant odor, of fart and bacteria and sweat and vinyl, a trace of those smells teases me. And my supposed dualism; an astrological curse to be a certain way. I'm caught in the age-old dilemma of wondering how much control I really have. I try to mimic _______ but that makes me angry. I don't want to mimic anyone. I want to be myself, and unique. I want to be lovable to myself, self-sufficient, but able to ask for help when I need it; smart, but not snotty, beautiful, loving. And calm.

March 5th? 2008....All this backlash, all this frozen terror and numb self-hatred is flinging in its last throes. It is difficult, and there are times in which I feel hell catch me and drown me and rape me but it passes and I'm me again. And I'll always be ______ [me]. I'm a little worried that I'll lose awareness; become insensitive to others once I find my security, but I don't think that's possible. I've got a good idea of what and how I want to be. I believe again that my body will heal. And though sometimes I don't, I believe my heart will heal up, too. I deserve my love and health. Still sometimes I get terribly sad, wanting my mommy, but the older I get, the less it eats at me. That is not to say that it doesn't, or rather, not to minimize my pain. Ultimately, I know everything will be just fine, lovely in fact. I have the strength and the willpower not to panic myself into a bad place. I have my friends and my self and my _______, whom I've been waking next to every morning....he helps me--no, when we are bound together it silly--the whole heavy bleeding angsty world becomes light, silly, loving, heavy, pregnant; we can use that possibility because we ARE that possibility and I am safe. That concept has been hardest for me to grasp but I believe-- I am safe in my own body, out of my own body, and no matter what happens, I will be able to protect myself and those I love. I love so much, it trickles down my skull, my spine, into my lungs...