22/05/03
i find what i've done here hard to look at, including using the harsh white background. somehow i need it this way today. partly to be a little different, but partly because i feel raw, exposed, foolish, old, unattractive, pathetic, irrelevant, hopeless. i don't know if i'll ever be able to really feel attractive to anyone, i don't know if anyone could ever want me enough. i don't think i have much hope. is this how i come across to people? do i reek of deterioration and death? do i scare people? repulse them? i don't really want to write, and i hate saying all the same things, but i need a break from playing with pictures, playing god with 'reality' (the one above was done a couple of days ago.)
i do want to go deeper in, deeper into the frightening parts, the confusion, the thought processes, the ideas, theories, philosophies, the fantasies, the yearnings. i want to translate the inner language, if i can. i'm still figuring so much out, practising, etc, and i only have so much energy, and can only go with it when i've got it. i like some of my efforts better than others, but i'm putting a lot of what i do here in the hopes i'm expressing some of what i can't express as well with words, even if i'm awkward. and just regarding my site itself, i need to figure things out about fonts, colours, extra little touches, improving overall layout, i want to put in a bit more effort to increase complexity somewhat while keeping things reasonably simple. thinking that maybe i can use this as my exercise book, hoping it will all come together for my new site, that this time there will be so much less that embarrasses me. that sounds so naive. we'll see if i have the energy. anyway, i'm out of energy at the moment, creative energy (although i do have a lot of ideas for new photos, and so much else that i may never act on), but i find i'm lonely in a way that makes silence unbearable. so i'm babbling. fuck i hate myself.
i crave human contact, but i don't feel like i have the ability to communicate anything that will interest anyone or not stress everyone involved, including myself. so i'll say nothing here, and hope it distracts me a while. i've been hoping that in approaching expression from different angles it might help to free up words a bit, but writing is very halting and feels uncomfortable still. maybe that will change at some point, or maybe it never will. i feel sort of like i can never go back, like i've passed some crucial point, and that i won't ever be able to handle certain types of situations again, that i don't want to try. and the seconds pass so slowly. most of the time i'm just sitting here, staring into space.
it's not like depression ever leaves me, i just don't have enough energy to try to describe it. it just feels like i endure the unendurable, that it never seems to stop. and i feel like i should try to explain how i used to make lists of things to do, and how i tried to do the things on the lists if i felt bulimic urges. how i used to try to write out all i was feeling, thinking, etc and analyze the patterns. how i tried so hard to make it stop. how disgusting i found it, how disgusting to not have control, but especially regarding something like food, something that should be controllable. and the constant effort and failure took their toll. but it wasn't like it was possible to just let myself give in to my natural inclinations, just accept them, because doing so prevented me from doing anything else, always. and there were issues regarding relationships. the behaviour just isn't acceptable to others if i'm not making an effort to stop it. not for long. so when i repress, there's this nagging need for release, a feeling of not knowing how long i can endure the misery, and no amount of time gets me past it, but when i don't repress i live in a different kind of misery and there are all kinds of repercussions that just bring more stress and destruction. and i just pingpong back and forth, and that's the variety in my life. and it's so hard, when you don't really feel like you want to do anything. i'm so weary now.
gk sometimes works in remote places, out of mobile phone range, and hotels don't take calls at all hours of the night. that's what happened the other day. i feel embarrassed freaking out about a silly malfunctioning doorbell, too panicked to even look out a window to see who might be at the door and clear the matter up quickly. i just wasn't thinking. my heart was pounding. it was like the doorbell would ring a couple of times, and then it would be half an hour and it would ring again. i thought that maybe it was something semi-urgent, and maybe whoever it was could see there was a light on in the house, or even hear the music i was playing. that was my first thought - the music was too loud and a neighbour wanted to complain. but i turned the music off after the doorbell rang the first time. the panic can be so strong, i'm afraid to move, the idea that i'm alone and might have to deal with *something* unexpected. it occurred to me that it might be a burglar who was checking to see if anyone was home. i was also sort of reminded of the movie 'a clockwork orange', although no one was screaming to be let in because they were injured. anyway, it was difficult for me, i felt very alone when i knew there was no way to get hold of gk, there was no one i could call to talk me through the panic, there was no one in the world who could try to calm or comfort me. would i have to call the police, would someone try to break in? it's like i don't think i care if someone wants to kill me, but there's no way to predict that, is there? i could just face a situation that would end up making my life worse. i hate being so pathetic, though. and i don't think i was really afraid of the actual situation, it was the idea of having contact, any contact, with people, in my home, the only place where i feel somewhat 'safe' at a time i don't feel up to dealing with it. but all feelings of safety are an illusion.
when i imagine gk dying, i feel this horror, and force the thoughts from my mind. i do not want him to die. i *must* die first. he's such a sensitive, thoughtful, kind creature. it makes me feel panicked, like i should kill myself, that i should do something about myself so that i never have to face losing him. there's something in me that just doesn't want to lose anything more. he touches me, he moves me, he tries so hard to understand and to help me. every time i've left him after my initial visits here, i've started to cry uncontrollably each time starting about a week before leaving. this is unusual for me. i wonder if i'm more bonded to him than i'm aware of, or if i'm afraid that if i lose him i will never have anyone to care about me ever again. maybe it's both.
i think what i seem to need is someone who makes a good projection screen for certain underlying things i want or need. and i can realize at the time that it's less about the individual than about me needing to have some kind of focus for the huge emptiness i have, the need to have it seem clearer or more understandable or something, i need the illusion that there's a solution or the possibility of fulfillment or release. and some of it is partly in the way i'm wired, and maybe it's related to the bulimia as well, like there isn't a proper signal to keep things in reasonable amounts, and so i want an amount or intensity that will make me ill and destroy my life until there's nothing left. or.. destroy all ideas of what i thought life would be, so that i can see what else there might be for me.
quick updates: things still seem to be back to normal regarding my hair. i guess i feel relieved that it's not shedding freakishly any more. i've been out of control for a little over a week, drinking coffee every day, but i haven't had any signs or symptoms whatsoever of an outbreak. i *have* experienced 'highs' a couple of times, and somehow when they occur it seems to resurrect little flashes of hope that i might be able to accomplish something i like. my eating has been out of control for the week as well. i'm going to have to try again to change that. it's so discouraging, it's like i can't get past a certain point, i keep undoing my progress and then it's so hard to start again. but if i don't try, i don't feel like i'm working toward what i want, and i can't hold onto the feeling for long that there's anything at all in life i want. so i sort of try to go with it, hoping that i'm managing to get a little closer in small amounts. sometimes when i'm fooling around with images, or my mind is racing with ideas, i have the impression that i'm getting closer, that i'm getting closer to being able to express what i want to. whatever that is.
i feel so tired. and tiresome. i don't know what the fuck i'm doing or what i'm going on about. i have this urge to apologize for myself.