I’m talked out.

If I Had A Heart from Fever Ray on Vimeo.

"There is no beautifier of complexion, or form, or behavior, like the wish to scatter joy and not pain around us." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

I want to help. it’s necessary for me to feel like I am helping, engaging, aware.
when I was a kid I used to save mice and birds from the mouth of our cat. I’d keep them and try to nurse them back to health. I’d take every pain personally.

I’ve stayed here. I decided to stay and help.
she’s the bird in the cats mouth, the kitten in the intersection.

I just got home from the icu. we didn’t think she’d make it through the day.
have you ever watched a mothers face as a main line is put in her daughters throat?...
I don’t recommend it.

the tubes were put in. her arms, legs, neck, nose... and she looked over at a mirror above the sink, in the room, beside the bed and she said: “I look fat”.

sane
adjective
1. rational, normal, all there (informal), lucid, of sound mind, compos mentis (Latin), in your right mind, mentally sound, in possession of all your faculties: He seemed perfectly sane.
rational mad, crazy, nuts (slang), daft (informal), insane, mentally ill, loony (slang), bonkers (slang, chiefly Brit.), loopy (informal), crackpot (informal), out to lunch (informal), doolally (slang), off your head (slang), off your trolley (slang), non compos mentis (Latin), round the bend or twist (slang), a sausage short of a fry-up (slang)
2. sensible, sound, reasonable, balanced, moderate, sober, judicious, level-headed a sane and safe energy policy
sensible stupid, foolish, unreasonable, unsound, dumb-ass (slang), wacko or whacko (informal)

I’m 47.3% crazy. I did a test on the internet. I feel pretty good about it. I figure that it’s okay, as long as I’m below the 50% mark.

you now what’s crazy? not being willing to admit a woman who is 5’10 and 85lbs into the hospital. it’s crazy to say that she has to prove that she wants to be in the hospital first. she has to prove that she wants to get better... that’s crazy. it’s crazy to ask someone who can’t even make the basic decision to eat, or to drink water- to make sane decisions for herself. asking an insane person to make a sane decision- that’s crazy. that has to be like, at least 87.4% crazy...

I’m used to having alone time. I like being alone. I like the quiet. I like being alone with my thoughts.
I find it difficult to adjust when I’m working to the constantly being with people. constantly, 24 hours a day being with someone.
no time. no sleep.

I have a moment or two, here and there. like now. after a long night and morning of another trip to emergency. a pre dawn of needles, drips and monitors. nurses, doctors, dirty, confused looks. how many hours. I don’t know anymore.
it’s 10 am. it’s 7 at home. it doesn’t matter. when you’re not sleeping, time becomes kind of irrelevant...
I have a moment now. but I can’t sleep.

I have time to think. I have scattered moments to write incoherent babbling emails that I’m too tired and hurried to be thoughtful about. I have time to beat myself up for all sorts of things. time to ruminate. time to wish I was better at all of this... to wish I was more patient and knew how to say the exact right things at the exact right times. or wish that I had magical abilities.
I wish I was better at just accepting people where they are. meeting them where they’re at. my compassion is laced with a drive to push people.
I see that. I know that.

don’t mind me, I’m just fighting with myself. I’m just tired.

I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m trying to bend with the wind and not break.
I’m surprisingly calm actually. I’m handling this.
it’s amazing what we can handle, when we are faced with something.
just when we think we can’t take it anymore, we do.

but I’m sad, this makes me sad. I feel it welling up in me.
I feel helpless and at the same time like I have this chance, the opportunity to help this human being. I hope and I hope.
there is a fine line between hope and fear.

I am living with a seriously anorexic woman and her family for 2 weeks. I’m trying to help get her into a hospital program. I’m trying to help her live to get into a hospital program.

I get mad. I lose my temper sometimes. we just want her to live and she argues and makes no sense and I get frustrated. her brain is starved and she makes no sense. I’m trying to make sense to a crazed mind.
I talk for an hour to get her to just please have some pedialyte and then all she does is ask if she can have 40 packages of splenda tomorrow....

you can have all the fucking splenda you want if you’re still alive tomorrow.

I shouldn’t panic. I should be calm, patient.
I just want her to hear me. I want her to know that I care and I’m here to help. I want the little piece of her that’s in there, hiding in some dark corner to hear me.
why can’t we love people better. I have love. I have lots of it. I want her to take some.
she is in so deep. I don’t know if I can reach her.

I need to feel connected to something. I need a rope around my waist. I need to feel that if I go too far in, there will be hands to pull me out.

this family I am staying with are Catholic. there are saints all over this house. they believe. they attend mass, they pray..
it gives me hope. somehow, for some reason. it makes me feel better. cleaner or something.

I’ve found myself thinking a lot about faith for the past few weeks. I want to have faith. maybe I do have faith.
I believe in the goodness in people. I believe in all sorts of things, that by some standards might be considered holy.

maybe I pray. to what, I don’t know exactly. I walk by a church in my neighborhood every day and lately I’ve been thinking about going in and sitting quietly by the sunny stained glass windows. sitting and thinking of something bigger than me, something outside of me.

I like the idea of a public space built for people to pray. to not feel so alone. I like the idea of that community. I like bits of it. I like the premise. I like the idea of connecting.

I like the idea of some moral structure to live by.

I like the whole: love the sinner, hate the sin, and all that.
I’ve been thinking about faith.

I wonder if some prayers are answered sometimes, but either we don’t see it. or we don’t accept it. I don’t know.
but it can’t hurt to try.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how much to say.

sometimes I let it spill out. and then sometimes I regret that. regret being too open. regret saying too much.
sometimes I try to hold up the veneer. I’m fine. I’m okay. good. great.
sometimes I want to instill confidence, instill hope. give the appearance of being unruffled and strong. I want people to feel good. better.
I don’t know what to say.
if you ask me I’ll say I’m fine. I want to avoid saying it out loud.

I’m scared.

I am en route to see a woman back east. a girl and her family. she’s dying. I know she is.

I say to them: if there is breath, there is hope. and I believe it. I really do. but I’m still scared.
maybe even terrified.
people ask me, how to you protect yourself? how do you not take it on?
I do take it on. I don’t protect myself. that’s how I get through to them, it’s the only way I know how. I go right in there with them.
but this one. I’m afraid with this one. she’s so close to the edge. she has a foot already in that dark water.
and I feel guilty for saying that. I should be stronger, tougher. cavalier. I should be positive. project positivity.

I can handle it. I know I can handle it. I want to handle it. I want to feel like I’m being effective, like I’m helping.
I want to fix it, I want her to get better. please.

According to historian Suetonius, Caesar uttered the famous phrase ālea iacta est ("the die is cast").

Suetonius described how Caesar was apparently still undecided as he approached the river, and the author gave credit for the actual moment of crossing to a supernatural apparition. The phrase "crossing the Rubicon" has survived to refer to any individual or group committing itself irrevocably to a revolutionary course of action.

I dreamt about crossing the Rubicon last night. I didn’t know what it meant, but I woke up with the phrase in my mouth: crossing the rubicon.

maybe it’s about committing to a process. committing to something. taking action. acting boldly. not pausing. not waiting.
there is that moment sometimes, when something happens in us, some change and we surge forward. sometimes forcefully, forcibly. sometimes painfully. but it happens, regardless of what we think we want. and in that moment we choose movement over stagnation.

I’m feeling that, a force of movement. I’m actually feeling kind of fierce. if you want to know the truth.

I find this incredibly and strangely soothing...

I am sorry to think that you do not get a man's most effective criticism until you provoke him. Severe truth is expressed with some bitterness.
~Henry David Thoreau

I feel like I’m 3/4 of the way there.
I feel like that on a bunch of things, like I’m almost there. I’m cleaning things out, finishing, and fixing

Last week I found myself saying, out loud: I just need some help, please.
I want to do it all by myself, and I can’t. I feel like I should be able to do it all on my own. I feel like I’m fundamentally lacking something for not being totally self sufficient, for not being able to figure everything out on my own.
I need some criticism, some guidance, some structure and outside strength.

this past summer I began a project, for work. and it’s been sitting here, staring at me, almost finished. and I can’t finish it, I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to take it from this to that. and it’s making me crazy for not being able to complete it. I want to, I want to DO something with it, I want to help people with it . but I don’t know how to.
I don’t know how to get it from here to there. I feel like I should. like, I should be able to figure this all out on my own.
but I don’t know how.

what I’m really thinking is: I’m an idiot.

I’m really stuck.
a little help, please.

when I met you, I saw your light. and I liked you at once.

I have something in my mind. it’s like an outline of something. something I just can’t quite figure out.
like seeing a shadow at dusk. something is there and I just can’t grasp it.

I’m tired of this mind always trying to make sense of everything.
I wonder if it’ll ever just let things be. let me be.

you know how some people just get you. they can draw out those things that we can’t see and they can tell us things about ourselves that we thought no one could know. they have a way of forming some kind of solid or sturdy reality. they make you feel more real, grounded somehow.
I’m missing that.

too much too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody.

I just read an article about how Jennifer Love Hewitt bedazzles her vagina, her “special lady”, with pink swarovski crystals.
the news was on in the background with pictures of a little girl in Haiti who died on the road and her body was covered with discarded plastic bags.

laughter or
tears

haters
lovers

and then, on the news, they said that someone tricked a crowd of people on the street in Port au Prince, they yelled that an aid station was handing out water. and the people dropped everything; even if is was the only thing they had. a bowl to eat from, their child’s blanket, and they ran.

strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks

but it was a hoax. whoever tricked these people did it, so they could steal these things. these bowls and blankets.
(things that mean nothing to us, but everything to them)

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

but, If you go to American Airlines, they’ll give you frequent flyer points if you donate to Haiti relief. good thing. Cause I want something back from this. Can I get a tax receipt?

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

there’s always more. and there is always less.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.

people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.

I suppose they never will be.
I don't ask them to be.

people are only good to each other if someone is watching. people are only good if they get something out of it.
what’s in it for me. what do you want from me.

too much
too little

too fat
too thin
or nobody

more haters than lovers.

sometimes I want to shrink and disappear. I’m embarrassed at the way people are. at the way they think. at what they want. at what they’ll take.

there must be a way.

surely there must be a way that we have not yet
thought of.

who put this brain inside of me?

it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.

it will not say
"no."


* some parts taken from “The Crunch” by Charles Bukowski

I believe in long, silent walks
I believe in fun
I believe in loud music
I believe that making someone laugh is one of the best feelings ever
I believe in laughing. period.
I believe in karma. I believe that what we don’t learn, we will just re-visit, over and over until we do
and I believe that however we treat people, good or bad will come back to us one way or another, over and over
I believe in forgiveness
I believe that we can fix most things, as long as we care enough
I believe in talking. but I also believe that we can get talked out and that sometimes its nice to just hang out
I believe that we can only tend to our side of things, and that we can’t change people, no matter how much we love them
I believe that some people will never get it
I believe in being careful with the hearts of others
because we never know how fragile, or damaged or fierce they can be.
I believe that friendship can heal most aches and pains
I believe that my couch has magical powers that induce comfort and that my home gives psychic hugs
I believe in kids and dogs and friends and love
I believe in keeping my door open
I believe that everything comes out in the wash
I believe that we need each other
I believe that cooking for someone is good medicine
I believe that dreams tell us more than we’d like to admit sometimes
I believe in being supremely thoughtful. even if someone is not thoughtful back (sometimes we just need to do what we need to do)
I believe that we can’t ignore our hearts, or maybe they’ll start to ignore us, and that would suck
I believe in compassion
I believe that timing is usually always mostly wrong. except for those rare lucky moments that we meet the people that we’re supposed to meet, and then it’s up to us to minimize how badly we mess each other up
I believe in being nice
I believe that we only get really mad at the people we care about
I believe that trust is the most divine gift you can give another person
and that it needs to be treated with greatest care and respect and is never to be treated recklessly
I believe that we can’t live only for ourselves
I believe that you know what I’m talking about

When a caterpillar is changing into a butterfly, it’s body turns totally to liquid. and then, it somehow transforms into a whole other structure, a whole other being. Even the scientists don’t know exactly how this happens.

I feel like that these days. like I’m turning to liquid, like everything about me is changing in one way or another and it’s all kind of painful and messy and a little awful. but just maybe in the end I’ll turn into beautiful, beautiful butterfly? eh?

I like changing. that’s where I am now.
I realize that I’ve been so mad and confused and upset so often the past couple of years. and that I was so stubborn. I am stubborn. maybe a part of that is just fighting this change... fighting against something. eyes closed, fists clenched, punching the void. trying to not face things, trying to just maintain... whatever, whatever wasn’t working.

instead of just accepting what was, what is... and all that.

people want to know: what do you want? what do I want? they want to know about wants and how to fill those wants.
they seek wants. to fill the deep.

but, what I want is- to know, what does it mean? what does it all mean....
I’m not as interested in how events in life come about and I’m not interested in the details of the story.
what I want to know is: why. what’s underneath, and more exactly: what does it mean?

does everything mean something? does it all have meaning. or is it all just random series of nothingness. a random series of accidents.
I want to know why certain events and people are hurdled into our lives. I want to know why some stick and why others don’t. I want to know why some appear to feel more important than others. I want to know why some appear to have deeper meaning or connection- when in reality, they may mean nothing. when maybe we are just empty, soulless wells... firing neurons, synapses and pumping blood. living machines.

so, what would it mean, if it all means nothing? why do we feel things if they mean nothing. why do we continue to care, if we mean nothing.
why can’t we just forget, if it all means nothing. (as it’s easy to do, when someone means nothing to us).

but... what if it all means something.
what if every person who comes into our lives in a significant way, is there for a reason beyond our knowing. what if some people are there for some divine purpose, and something meaningful, slightly beyond comprehension. what if, when it all shakes out, in the end- that’s how we measure our lives, that’s how we are measured- through how we treated people, through how much we cared, how thoughtfully we acted, and for how we tried to see meaning, even when we were unsure.
I don’t know.

how are we supposed to know.

There are two kinds of people.
no, wait. that’s bullshit.
there are a kazilion kinds of people and we vacillate all over the map.

however, I think that I can rightly say that there are happy people, and there are unhappy people. there are people who are fundamentally happy, but who from time to time, depending of circumstances, become unhappy for spells. but then they even out, and go back to being happy. and then there are unhappy people. these people are happy from time to time, but are generally unable to maintain happiness for any reasonable length of time and are generally unhappy.
that’s just how it is.

but why are some people happy, and some people unhappy?
I think it has something to do with our mentalities.

I am a fundamentally a happy person. I believe in abundance. I believe that there is enough happiness to go around, and that if I am sad and someone else is happy, that means there is hope for me. It makes me feel better to know that people are happy. I want people to be happy and heathy and whole- because that makes me feel good. So, I try to do things that will make people happy. I will try to avoid doing things that will cause people to be unhappy, or worried or upset. I will go out of my way to avoid hurting people and to whatever I can to protect people and make them feel comfortable.
I think like this:



Then, there are the fundamentally unhappy people. they don’t like it when other people are happy. for whatever reason. maybe they think that there isn’t enough happiness to go around. if they are unhappy, they want other people to be unhappy. and they are generally miserable people. Except for the moments when they are happy, then they allow other people be happy- until they decide to not be happy anymore, then they don’t want anyone to be happy, cause they want people to feel like they do. They are champions at creating unease and unhappiness in those around them, through any means they can.
They think like this:



These people are generally unhealthy.

Especially to happy people, but not as much to unhappy people.

Unhappy people have nothing to lose, so they don’t care if they are unhappy. but to happy people, these people can be very, very bad.

They are bad, because they are destructive and they will try to make us unhappy through any means they can- and then we will try to help them, cause we just want them to be happy. This is of course futile. It’s futile because they will never really be happy. So we just end up unhappy, and exhausted.

until we’re happy again.

Einstien said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

I think too much. over and over, trying to get a different result.
thoughts and feelings make us miserable, because we tend to believe what we think. we think something and then look for ways to confirm this hypothesis. or we become masterful at avoiding the feeling, avoiding conflict. trying to make sense of it. we try to take something emotional and intellectualize it. square peg. round hole.

my therapist said not to avoid feeling things and not to avoid situations that might be emotionally painful. she said that the pain won’t kill me, that it’s actually healthy to feel things, even if they’re “bad”.
that I need to accept the full range of the emotional experience. and then learn how to put the emotion in it’s place.

the current problem is that I worry too much.
these existential pangs and stress responses are messing up my system.
if there is nothing to worry about. I’ll find something: orphans, polar bears, messy cutlery drawers... whatever.
but It’s all just a clever ploy for my brain to avoid other things, namely: me.
I’m onto you, brain.

I’m going to go work out.

there was this party on new years eve that I didn’t go to. I was going to go, but I didn’t.
i didn’t go for a few reasons. but the main one was that there was a boy there. and he is just my type...
and it was new years. and something would have happened, I know it. and, I am totally freaked out about that.
like in a trying to put a cat in the bathtub kind of way.
so I chickened out.

where is the pause button?
I want to get off this ride. I want to slow down.
I need time to think. I want to have the time to have everything done and clean. I want to have everything ready, then I can start.

what happened to the me that was there when I was young and brave and fearless?
was I young and brave and fearless? I’m sure I must have been... I’m sure that was me...

now, I just want my books and my paints. I want to cover up and hide out... I can do that. I’m good at it- which means that there’s a good chance that I’m going to become one of those weird ladies who rides her bike to the library wearing mechanics coveralls...
I need to get out more.

I’ve been single now for 2 and 1/2 years. I’ll be 33 next month. so, from 31 and a half to 33 I’ve been single (I’m not including some dating or the quasi reconciliation between my ex and I- that began last fall and then resurfaced throughout this summer. because those were never ‘official’ )

a couple of weeks ago when I was getting my hair whitened at the beauty parlor, I was chatting with the hairdresser about christmas and such. I said that I had most things done, but it’s not such a big deal for me, cause I don’t have kids. and she laughed and said “oh, come on- you’re not old enough to have kids” (bless her) and I said “I’m 32, actually” then there was an awkward silence and she slowly said “oh, yeah, that’s like, the perfect age...” and then I said, “and I’m single” and then she looked like she was going to cry.

i used to want to meet someone new, and maybe i still do... I don’t know. it’s just so hard, and intimidating and confusing and scary.
I don’t know what to do about it.

and it doesn’t help that a while ago I was researching: “what men want” on the internets and I found this (and about a million other articles just like it):

“for men, the lure of dating very attractive women is obvious as they are arm candy, boost self-esteem, increase social status among men, multiply a guy's sexual desirability, and hot women are just damn good to look at. While all of this is well and good, very attractive women have their dark side and can be shallow, self-centered and self-absorbed, not to mention that many of them are selfish, think that their vaginas are gold-plated, and are manipulators, among many other negative qualities. Despite these drawbacks, very attractive women are what most guys look for”
(from Ask Men . com)

is this true? and if so, what does “very attractive” mean? what’s the definition?
stuff like that makes me never want to leave the house again. I just feel like I have to be everything, perfect in every way. and I know that is like, a really unrealistic goal.
what’s a girl to do.

A tourniquet is a constricting or compressing device used to control venous and arterial circulation to an extremity for a period of time. Pressure is applied circumferentially upon the skin and underlying tissues of a limb; this pressure is transferred to the walls of vessels, causing them to become temporarily occluded. It is generally used as a tool in applications such as cannulation or to stem the flow of traumatic bleeding.

have you ever realized that what you thought was a slow bleed, was actually a hemorrhage.
and you realize that everything that you think you’ve been keeping at bay, keeping controlled, is actually pouring out, all over;
and you can’t stop it?

I had a dream. she was all pointy and analytical and slim. not like me....
I’m all wrong. it’s me. I know it.
I’m too messy and emotional and heavy. not light and smooth and cool.

that’s it, isn’t it?

these are the thoughts I can’t control. the ones that flood. I don’t have any answers to make them change. I don’t have any new information. I only have that. I only have my version of this truth. and I know it’s true, which only makes it worse. there’s nothing to temper it, nothing to ease it or soften it. nothing to take the pain out of it. this is what I sit with. these are the pieces I am trying to shift. this is what I am going to change. I have to. I can’t stay here, knowing what I know. feeling this way about myself.

I may be lacking in many areas, but unfortunately- awareness is not one of them.

new project: 365 days of self portraits

based on and depending on how I’m feeling that particular day.

TAGSnarcissism