Behaving

It’s very strange. I feel really good about my newfound self-restraint, but also want so very badly to just say fuck it and go out and get drunk, or smoke a cigarette, or make out with someone.

I am rather proud of myself for sticking to it though. I have had all sorts of temptations thrown at me, and I haven’t fallen yet. That said, it hasn’t been very long.

I’m trying to figure out what it is exactly that I really want. It’s tricky because I know that I’m not going to become this righteous, balanced person over night. I am still an extremely sexual little creature, who enjoys pushing boundaries and misbehaving. But I don’t want to take it to the levels I have been. I want to learn how to interact with guys on a non-sexual level. I want to get used to being talked to without all of the innuendo. I want to get rid of the power games. Easier said than done, I think. This is behaviour that’s been going on since I was about fourteen. That’s more that ten year’s interacting that I’m going to have to try to reprogram.

I need to figure out what I’m going to write for this sex column as well. I need to make it really good. I guess I’ll have to spend some time brainstorming for that tomorrow morning. I think I’ll go to the 6pm yoga class and then go to meditation afterwards and make an early night of it. I don’t really think it’s a good idea for me to go to the former coworker’s barbecue. I am trying to stay away from situations involving booze, cigarettes and boys who want to have sex with me.

On a different note, I’m a little confused about the man. I feel like he’s sort of dropped out of my life, and because I’m not working at the club or partying, I haven’t seen him in over a week. And I know that I shouldn’t be stressing about it, but I want to hang out and I really care about him and I don’t know what the deal is. A big part of me thinks I’m just reading into it too much and realistically we’re both super busy with work and his propensity to party a lot has meant that I just haven’t seen him. But I can’t help wondering. I mean… we did spend most of the last couple of months hanging out all the time, and now he won’t give me a straight answer on when we’re going to see one another next. I think that’s the thing really. I just want him to say — yeah, I’d love to have dinner or watch a movie, or whatever. Instead he ignores it. I feel snubbed, and I don’t know if it’s just in my head, or if there’s something else going on here. Meh. I think I’m thinking too much again.

I need to go to bed.

I just had a big argument with myself. It’s 10:45pm. Just about the time to go out. Or to go to bed.

I want to go out. But I know I should go to bed. I think the middle ground is to eat a cookie.

Damn. How sad. I don’t want to be so responsible. Except I do.

Learning

I am daily exerting more control over my life, and with it realisations of choices made come hurling themselves at me, surfacing up from the mucky tarpit of feeling and lost and drowned emotion.

I realise now how much is my fault. How willfully blind I have been of my actions. How much I have relied on others for happiness, and even been angered by them if they will not be who I want them to. I ran away from love because I couldn’t hide my fear of myself behind him.  I demonised someone for not allowing me to mold myself to him, for trying to tell me how it is. It’s a shame. It makes me realise just how much growing up I need to do before I can be ready for anyone.

I want love. That’s really all that I want. I want my heart to feel as though it’s going to burst with love. I feel it to an extent. But I want to feel it in return. I know, however, that I cannot run into and hide in those emotions any more. It’s dangerous and tilts everything. I have felt myself slide down that dangerous incline before, unable to gain solid footing, and upset and hurt when my object of affection was unable, unwilling to rescue me from myself.

I need to save myself before I’ll be ready for love. No matter how much I want it. I need to save myself from the evils of wanton attention, from the dictates of the battered child who is my self-esteem.

There’s something that was said a long time ago that still really resonates.

“If I love you, then why do you need the attention of so many other guys?”

I don’t know. Why do I? And how can I be confident enough in myself to learn to reject that attention, even if I’m not in love?

Willful blindness

A sliver of light seeps through the crack

illuminates possibilities

reveals choices made.

Hollowed out in the knowing

regret for willful blindness

things spoken too long past

self-inflicted wounds that won’t heal

Crossing lines into muddy water

Apparently boundaries are there so that people will stay within their confines. This is a concept I rarely adhere to.

Last night Emo and I went to grab dinner. In discussion of why my life seems to become so messy so easily and frequently, he presented me with the concept that my desire to cross lines coupled with my inability to say no means that I do and will always get myself into tricky situations. The reason there are norms and clear delineations of what is and is not acceptable is to keep people in check. To make people’s lives “normal.” Problem is, I don’t want to be normal. I have spent so much time thinking about the lines and making a concerted effort to cross them, that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to being careful of them. When I was younger, certainly, I was afraid of what might happen if I deviated and crossed over into the grey area between what’s seen as reasonable behaviour by my peers, my elders, and what’s seen as deviant, unacceptable. But now I’m in a place where even my parents seem to accept and enjoy the fact that I’m an explorer, that I’m not willing to say that something is bad until I’ve seen or tried it for myself. But I may have taken this to an extreme. In my search for what’s right for me, I’ve crossed so many lines that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find my way back to that solid ground upon which most people plant their feet. I want some stability. I want to break conventions but I also want to be able to embrace them if that’s what I feel is right for me. Lately I’ve not only been breaking them, but I’ve been making them impossible for myself to take a hold of. I love exploring — I’m really glad that I’ve spent the last couple of months trying to figure out where my own lines are, sexually, romantically, emotionally. But I’ve realised that I’m pushing myself outside of my comfort zone into dangerous areas where I’m extremely vulnerable. I need to learn to take a few steps back from time to time and find a space that’s amenable to me. It doesn’t mean that I have to stop crossing over. I still prefer the grey area to the black and white of convention. But sometimes sitting right on the line is good too. I don’t always need to push myself so far.

Then there’s the other issue that Emo raised. The one of being incapable of saying “no.” Tough to admit, certainly. But yeah, I have a really hard time saying no. Why do you think I’m so busy all the time? Granted, I enjoy filling up my time (it means that I spend less inside my own head!), but a good part of the reason why I’m so busy all the time is because if someone asks me to do something for them, with them, I usually say yes. If I don’t already have something else I’ve promised someone else I’d do. It’s not really a healthy way to live life. I need to start saying no to other people and yes to myself. I say this now, although I know I’ll have a hard time following through, but this needs to be the summer of me. I need to do things for myself. All of the stuff that I really enjoy. Actually, not even all of it. Some of the things I enjoy. All of them would be a repeat of my usual self-evasion tactics.

Why is it so difficult to listen to oneself? It seems like it should be the most straightforward thing, and yet it’s the one that I struggle with most in my life. As long as I remind myself daily of my goals, keep my solid friends close by and continue on this attempt to wean myself off of male sexual attention, maybe, just maybe, I’ll find some solid ground. It’s still a bit muddy at the moment.

I think I know who the cheeky monkeys are.

Funny how things just drop into one’s lap sometimes to explain otherwise inexplicable things.

The ego is a monkey catapulting through the jungle:

Totally fascinated by the realm of the senses

it swings from one desire to the next,

one conflict to the next,

one self-centered idea to the next .

If you threaten it, it actually fears for its life.

Let this monkey go.

Let the senses go.

Let desires go.

Let conflicts go.

Let ideas go.

Let the fiction of life and death go.

Just remain in the center, watching.

And then forget that you are there.

***

I’m not going to be extreme and say that I can make a complete turnaround, but yes, I do think that the cheeky monkeys I need to watch our for are the manifestations of my ego. My ego loves stimulation. But these past couple of months have proved to me that too much ego is a recipe for disaster.

An interpretation

So, the Big Love came over this morning and we talked a bunch about the meditation/dream from the other night.

This is what I came up with:

The ocean is the void. It’s the void that I feel I’m being sucked into, that I’m terrified of. The void is need, it’s fear and it’s cold and numbness and suffocating. The dead people in the void are my needs — the ones that I can’t handle facing, the ones that I ignore and pretend not to have. My needs have become toxic. I don’t want to get sucked under by them.

The beach is where I am now. It’s not exactly safe, but it’s not as dangerous as the ocean. It’s unprotected, and it’s close to the water’s edge, so I’d rather not be there. The closer I get to the water, the more terrified I become.

The shack on the beach is an empty shell. There are dried flowers hanging there, so someone used to live there, but right now it’s just a skeleton. It’s safer than the ocean or the beach because it’s protected, but there’s no glass in the windows, so I’m not really protected here. I think the shack is somewhere I need to get to. I need to rebuild it. I need to be closer to the void, to face my fears, my needs, but still be at a safe enough distance that I’m not going to drown.

The forest is the safest place in the dream. It’s warm and I can hide there. I can find a spot to sit in and I can see whoever is coming. There is a safe path from the shack to the forest, so I can definitely come out of the forest as soon as I’m ready. When I walked through the forest I found a boardwalk which led me to some little dormitory-style houses. There was a sign outside that said “Watch out for Cheeky Monkeys.” The first dormitory was empty. The second one was empty of people, but there was a sleeping bag on one of the beds and a pack on the floor beside it. I curled up in the sleeping bag and went to sleep. I have a tendency to hide in other people’s sleeping bags. I have a tendency to hide behind other people because that’s the only way I feel safe. I need to find a way to get out of the forest, to bring whoever’s sleeping bag it is with me to the shack on the beach. To show them the place that I’m going to rebuild and tell them that I don’t need their sleeping bag, but they’re welcome to come and stay with me in my beach shack once I’ve rebuilt it. Until then, I’m going to try to be okay without their sleeping bag, but knowing myself and my propensity to run toward other people and away from myself, I have a feeling I might wake up in other people’s sleeping bags from time to time while I’m rebuilding the shack.

I forgot about the boat. There was a little rowboat on the beach. It only had one oar. I think I should make another oar and go out on the boat. That way I’m not actually in the water, I’m still safe from drowning in the void, but I’m facing it, getting closer. Maybe from the rowboat I can call out to the dead people and ask them how to bring them back to life. The dead people are my needs and I want to know how to listen to them. I want to talk to them and hear what they have to say.

Lately, I’ve been hopping from sleeping bag to sleeping bag. This is a bad habit. The Big Love offered his to me, and I hid in it for three years. Then I realized that I couldn’t really breathe in there, and I hopped into the Catalyst’s. But then he went away and when we were together again, I realized that he didn’t really want me in his sleeping bag — he preferred for me to have my own and sleep beside him. This would have been a much better thing to do, but I wasn’t confident enough for that so I ran away from him. Then the man came along and he opened up his sleeping bag to me, but there were conditions. I was happy with the conditions, hell, I sort of created the conditions — that other people would be in there sometimes, and that I’d only be in there from time to time. Except now I’ve realized that I don’t want to be in anyone’s sleeping bag any more. I really like the man, but hiding in his sleeping bag is really stupid. He doesn’t actually want me in there. And I don’t really want to be in there either. With him, I’d much rather be running around having fun. I’d rather not have anything to do with his sleeping bag.

So what I really need to do now is get my own sleeping bag and rebuild the shack on the beach. And every day I need to go to the water’s edge and talk to the dead people in the sea and hear what they have to say. I really want to figure out a way to get them out of the void. One day, eventually, I will dip my toes into the void to see how horrible and cold and toxic it really is. But not for a while. I think I need to rebuild the shack first. Each thing in it’s order.

The Sea

I’m going to be writing all day long, but I figure a good way to start myself off, get the proverbial juices flowing, is by getting some of my shit out on here.

Still lots of ups and downs, but unsurprisingly, drinking less is helping my levels of instability. Sleeping and taking care of oneself prevents mania. Fancy that.

I had a really intense night with the Big Love a couple of days ago. He came over to make me dinner. We’ve decided that this is a good agreement as he owes me big time (or feels he does) and I’m not going to be working for a while, and being broke and tired means that eating tends to involve toast or the like. So he came over and we were both in absolutely ridiculous moods. Went to the Intermarche and acted like children, all giggling and causing shit and generally enjoying the fact that we were together and not having to hold back. No judgment here.

The intensity came from the fact that I read his Tarot cards. When we were going out he thought that all of this stuff was mumbo jumbo. He derided me for believing in clairvoyance and energy and tried to make me see that science and rational thought were the only ways. I sort of resented him for that, but never made too much of a fuss and just kept on believing it anyhow. Well, on Wednesday night he started believing. The cards he pulled were eerily accurate. I knew that they would be because that’s how it is. That’s how it works. It’s all about psychology any how — it’s not as though you’re predicting the future. Your body is aware of the cards you are pulling and your body also knows the choices you are going to make, it’s just that your conscious mind isn’t, so it seems amazing or crazy when a spread of cards tells you exactly what you’re living.

To repay me for the reading he started giving me a massage and I just lost it. I had been feeling really chipper all day — I’d hung out with Emo while he was getting tattooed, started getting excited about a potential tattoo for myself. And then Big Love started massaging me and I felt a giant wave of stress flow through me, I started getting heart palpitations, I felt really cold. It was insane. And so I got him to stop. Went and sat on the couch. Couldn’t understand why it won’t just release. The same thing has been happening to me in yoga the past while. I feel like shit after practice because it starts bringing the negative energy out, but there’s something still blocking it and keeping it in me for some reason. I have a feeling that this weekend’s workshop is going to help me release it. I have a feeling I’m going to start bawling during one of the sessions.

But that’s okay. Anyhow, I told Big Love this, and he told me that it was okay to cry, except that I couldn’t — it was stuck. So he started massaging my shoulders again and trying to calm me down, and then he started asking me to visualize it and I went to this beach where the water was steel gray and completely still and terrifyingly viscous and I was terrified of it. There were giant storm clouds and the beach was long and flat and went on forever. I didn’t want to go into the water. I was petrified of it. Couldn’t fathom the idea of going in. If I went in the dead people would pull me under and I’d drown. (I know — it sounds sort of childish, but that’s exactly what I was seeing). There was a forest behind me that I wanted to go into, that I felt drawn to. I wanted to hide in the forest. Big Love suggested that I get a branch from the forest and throw it into the sea, but that made me get really upset because I didn’t want to go near the water. Every time I thought about getting near the water I was overcome with fear and started crying.

It was one of the most visceral and intense meditative experiences I’ve ever had. The wave of emotions were unbelievable. I would literally freak out when I felt I had to get nearer to the water, and then completely relax when I was in the forest. I felt happy in the forest.

I wonder what’s in the water that I’m so afraid of?

***

Today I need to spend the whole day working on my screenplay. I was meant to have worked on it all last night but then I got into a little bit of a funk because of thinking too much and being sort of excessively emotional. I had a wonderful day at the costume shop, but when I got home I just didn’t want to do anything, talked to the Best Friend for a while on the phone about our dramatic personal lives, and read my own cards. Got online and was immediately asked by Combat if I wanted to go for dinner: he was feeling blah and in need of company, and we always have a great time together, plus he’s pretty incredibly good at helping me figure out my shit. So we went for dinner and talked about our various crises and I came home feeling a lot better than I started out.

I am enjoying the fact that I’m starting to take more control of my life. I’m too busy for bullshit.

Evacuation plans?

I’m tired of being so emotionally extreme. It’s good for my creative output, but it’s also exhausting. I feel like I’m going around in circles trying to figure out what it is that I want, need, but then I come no closer to actually knowing, or having any idea how to put changes into motion. I’m tired. I just want to get away.

I just talked to my neighbour about how people like us have this desire to get away from it all, to leave the cities and get into a space that’s more amenable to our desires and our realizations about how life is and what we want from it, and yet here we are living in cities, interacting with the excess and craziness, taking in all of the crazy energies that are seeping from every being that resides within too close proximity.

I want to find myself, but I don’t know how to do it.

I went for drinks tonight with my Writer/Mentor. We see one another very rarely, and every time it’s a big honest outpouring. Tonight felt particularly one-sided. He’s trying not to analyze too much, but part of me really just wants the analysis, wants to know what he thinks of the situations I am putting myself into. I am far too dramatic for my own good. Yet I write my life into reality. I believe the angles I put on situations through writing, although I know that life is not so black and white. There’s more colour and greyness to it all, and although I am fully aware of this, I still try to pin down my feelings, my experiences. I am still attempting to rationalize my emotions and it’s no good.

I’m tired. I should go to bed.

This next period is going to be manic. I need to prepare myself for it.

The suburbs

I was discussing my life with Emo today and he thinks that I need to start writing memoirs . I have a hard time believing that my life is already that much crazier than the average person’s, well, maybe not the average person’s, but there certainly are many people out there who lead much more colourful lives than mine. I think I’m just in a slightly more erratic place right now and it’s reflecting badly.

We were trying to figure out whether I will ever settle down with some nice guy and get married and have kids and perhaps live a stable and conventional life. I’m not sure. Neither of us can figure out whether or not I have a type, considering my recent relationship history. The only thing the guys in my life seem to have in common is that they all make me crazy. Or maybe that’s me?

Me: Maybe I’ll marry an architect and live in a big house in Westmount and have kids and be a mom.

Emo: Not an architect.

Me: Why not?

Emo: I don’t know. I see you with someone kind of normal but not really. Like some computer programmer covered in tattoos, but really pretty solid. Except he might live in Dorval…

Me: I’d rather die than live in the suburbs.

Emo: Okay, so no Dorval.

I would rather die than live in the suburbs. And if I do have kids one day, I’m sure as hell not sticking them in a suburban environment to be bored stupid and drinking in parks. Drinking and smoking in parks sucks. I know. I drank and smoked and hung out in parks. On playgrounds. Constant fear of cops. All sorts of weird group rivalries. And I lived in a really safe suburb. Fucking stupidity. I’ll totally let my kids smoke weed and drink at home. And we’ll live in the city. Well, and my kids’ll probably go to alternative private schools, but that’s just getting a little ahead of myself.

So I’m feeling a little more settled now. I have time off work. I’ve been getting my school shit done. I’m actually pretty excited about the stuff I have to do. I just need to do it. I’m sort of pissed because I don’t think my bro’s going to be able to come up to visit because there’s a wedding he might have to go to in Boston, but maybe that’s for the best. It’ll give me a few extra days to focus on my work before the Catalyst arrives.

Oh yeah, and I think I’ve figured out what’s going to happen there. Emo was laughing at me last night deliberating over it.

Emo: Why are you thinking about it so much. You know what’s going to happen.

Me: I do?

Emo: Yeah.

Me: Okay, fine. I do.

Emo: Yeah?

Me: Well, I’m going to sleep with him and it’s going to be great and then he’s going to do or say something to upset me and then we’re going to decide that it’s a bad idea for us to try long distance and then he’s going to leave.

Emo: So?

Me: So?

Emo: Is that so bad?

Me: No.

Emo: Well then?

I can’t help thinking that’s a best case scenario. If I spend more time with him than just a couple of nights, then we’re going to end up going down the road of intense emotional anguish again. But if there are fireworks, then I’ll want to spend lots of time with him. The other possibility that I’m not really factoring in here is what happens if he doesn’t want to be with me. But I guess if that’s the case then that’s the closure that I’ll need. We won’t hook up, and I’ll accept the fact that it’s over and try to get on with things more successfully than the last two times I’ve tried to disentangle myself from him.

Oh right. And I’m not spending too much time thinking about boys. I promise! I’m spending just enough time to keep myself from going crazy. I swear…