![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The picture on my desk of Melanie and I has the shadow of the twin towers in it. Literally. Through the haze and the distance of being all the way at NYU campus.
I don't want to go to therapy tonight. ("Nice to meet you, I'm broken record.") I don't want to talk. Too much talking in the past days. Too much listening to other talk, or reading which created talk in my head. I went home and didn't talk. Couldn't talk. Didn't want to talk. Was comforted by someone beautiful anyway, thankfully. Spent the rest of the evening forgetting -- not thinking. Lots of small things -- went to walgreens, bought magazines for collages, made a mixtape, acted generally goofy in a childlike way. Then in my typical childhood demeanor, refused to go to bed until I had opened every box of books and found the one I wanted to read before going to sleep. Of course, it was in the first and most easily accessble box, but I missed it the first time -- had to to go through every other one first, then backtrack to discover it.
She asked me to tell her something. So I talked about buying a book in the dollar store about psychic sciences and my mother asking me if I really believed in the stuff, and wasn't it just for fun? and then later also buying a book on how to be a ninja. Then I said too much. I told her she wasn't polyamorous this summer, because she was only in one relationship. And it wasn't with me. There I go talking again. I don't want to talk. But what I said was fairly true. I was alone this summer. I never fully shifted gears into being alone, because I wanted to honor her, remain with her, remain part of her. But I was alone. And now I'm not. But I'm still stuck between gears, sometimes slipping down, shifting up. I had a dream last night and in one part I was driving a stickshift car. It's no accident.
I forwarded my dad's email to my therapist, and she wrote back to say she got it. Now I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about anything. I don't want to talk about not even able to do a tarot reading for fear of turning up the tower card and seeing the symbolic archetype that is now a fact and memory I can't stop seeing. I don't want to talk about being in love with a man who can't love me -- and how it breaks my heart to see him try. And wondering if my heart will permanently break or shutdown if I keep trying. I don't want to talk about my unhappiness at work, and how things seem even more trivial, and at least with a career in music I have creativity. With my current job I only have the people, and it's not enough. I don't want to talk about feeling numb and wondering how I should be in a relationship that I'm sure I want but can't find in my heart -- I'm not sure where and how it's housed. I don't want to talk about feelings towards other people -- searching for new, easy, beginnings of relationships, or the familiarity of old ones. I don't want to talk about my body, my tears, my desire to fuck, my nausea, my jealousies, my loves. My loves. My loves are so big and grand and thinking about how beautiful they are makes me want to feel hot streams on my cheek and pull tightly on their ribcage. How did I find such amzing people in my life, who also actually like and enjoy my company? How did I get so lucky as to find more than one person like this? My family. My true and chosen ones. I don't want to talk about my family, blood or chosen. I want to sit quietly in the room. And not feel awkward or misunderstood.
I don't want to go to therapy tonight. ("Nice to meet you, I'm broken record.") I don't want to talk. Too much talking in the past days. Too much listening to other talk, or reading which created talk in my head. I went home and didn't talk. Couldn't talk. Didn't want to talk. Was comforted by someone beautiful anyway, thankfully. Spent the rest of the evening forgetting -- not thinking. Lots of small things -- went to walgreens, bought magazines for collages, made a mixtape, acted generally goofy in a childlike way. Then in my typical childhood demeanor, refused to go to bed until I had opened every box of books and found the one I wanted to read before going to sleep. Of course, it was in the first and most easily accessble box, but I missed it the first time -- had to to go through every other one first, then backtrack to discover it.
She asked me to tell her something. So I talked about buying a book in the dollar store about psychic sciences and my mother asking me if I really believed in the stuff, and wasn't it just for fun? and then later also buying a book on how to be a ninja. Then I said too much. I told her she wasn't polyamorous this summer, because she was only in one relationship. And it wasn't with me. There I go talking again. I don't want to talk. But what I said was fairly true. I was alone this summer. I never fully shifted gears into being alone, because I wanted to honor her, remain with her, remain part of her. But I was alone. And now I'm not. But I'm still stuck between gears, sometimes slipping down, shifting up. I had a dream last night and in one part I was driving a stickshift car. It's no accident.
I forwarded my dad's email to my therapist, and she wrote back to say she got it. Now I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about anything. I don't want to talk about not even able to do a tarot reading for fear of turning up the tower card and seeing the symbolic archetype that is now a fact and memory I can't stop seeing. I don't want to talk about being in love with a man who can't love me -- and how it breaks my heart to see him try. And wondering if my heart will permanently break or shutdown if I keep trying. I don't want to talk about my unhappiness at work, and how things seem even more trivial, and at least with a career in music I have creativity. With my current job I only have the people, and it's not enough. I don't want to talk about feeling numb and wondering how I should be in a relationship that I'm sure I want but can't find in my heart -- I'm not sure where and how it's housed. I don't want to talk about feelings towards other people -- searching for new, easy, beginnings of relationships, or the familiarity of old ones. I don't want to talk about my body, my tears, my desire to fuck, my nausea, my jealousies, my loves. My loves. My loves are so big and grand and thinking about how beautiful they are makes me want to feel hot streams on my cheek and pull tightly on their ribcage. How did I find such amzing people in my life, who also actually like and enjoy my company? How did I get so lucky as to find more than one person like this? My family. My true and chosen ones. I don't want to talk about my family, blood or chosen. I want to sit quietly in the room. And not feel awkward or misunderstood.
