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Reflection from August 27th, 2007 @ Age 26


I’m trying to figure out how it could possibly be, that I am still not over my anger as it relates to the way that Dave treated me.  And I think, perhaps, part of the reason is that I still very much so get trapped into the games that these kinds of boys (and that is what they are—boys) like to play.  I get so mentally involved, hoping for that which will inevitably not be available.  Does this stem from my relationship with my father?  I think, at least in large part, it does.  But my knowledge kind of seems to end there, you know?  I don’t know where to go from there.  I have this passed-on destructive tendency to desire boys who perhaps are interested in looking at me—but that’s prolly about it.  They don’t care about what’s on my mind, they don’t care about what’s weighing on my heart, they don’t care to hear about all the ways in which I’ve been cut down and had my heart broken—they’re afraid of my beauty, they’re irreverent towards my intelligence, they’re fearful of my wisdom; they are, in short, not what I’m looking for.  But why, in light of this knowledge that I do know, does my heart tell me otherwise?  Ahh but, perhaps all emotions don’t stem from the heart.  Perhaps emotions are just as much tied to the mind, as they are tied to the heart.  And in that sense, then, I at least have a fifty percent shot at fixing this.  But then again, I’d say my heart is okay; so I have at least a 100 percent chance.

I feel angry with Sara for being so…not interested in me.  I feel angry at most of my friends for treating me unlike any other stranger they’d meet on the street—namely, with lagging disinterest.  I feel angry that I don’t have things figured out right now; that there is so much I do have figured out, but still so much that remains unknown.  I want to get back into therapy but I have no health insurance (ohh wait, on that one—maybe I do get some coverage…but alas, there is always the deductible), and no income with which to pay my deductible.  My dad comes into my room and asks me what’s up and I say I’m fine and he says I look down and I say I am, but for general purposes.  I have been thinking about cutting myself lately because the pain is so great; I feel the need to see blood, to make it real.  I’m having trouble acknowledging the pain is real for myself, even.  I feel lost and I don’t know what to do.

I’m having a lot of difficulty not feeling like I should want to be hanging out in bars because of my age.  It’s hard for me to believe that I’m still struggling with this concept as well, considering the length of time in my life the struggle has spanned.  Perhaps the time has come in my life to start observing this struggle in a new light.  Something needs to change.  I cannot live like this.  It is not healthy for me; but where do I begin the change?  I’m in need of divine intervention, and what better way to begin by returning to AA meetings, now in Columbus?  I’ve not yet been to one here, and I believe the time is rapidly approaching.

It makes me so angry lately, that the one way my father ever knew how to help me, the one aspect my father always thought was what he was supposed to contribute—namely financially, he can no longer even provide.  I’m just feeling furious that he never took the time to develop himself in any other way because he always thought money was enough, money was all that mattered.  And it’s true as well, for him, that money was all that mattered.  It mattered more than his wife, more than his children, more than his family, more than his mental and emotional well-being.  Money mattered more to my father than any other thing in this world; although, my father is also severely handicapped in the sense that he cannot comprehend that which cannot be seen.  It’s ironic, then, how the shape of my life could not be more different than his.  I’m thankful for that.

It makes me furious that I used to spend whole entire fucking summers just trying to scrounge up enough money, shitty jobs enough to make some money to last me throughout a year in college—and then to have people like Dave Magoon in the world who come around and tell me they make $2,000 in two weeks coaching tennis, which lasts them the entire fucking school year and then some (except in his case it prolly wouldn’t because he was used to a somewhat extravagant lifestyle).  That fucking pisses me off.  I don’t understand why some people have to struggle so much harder than others.  And then he goes and fucks up god knows how many peoples’ lives and is just gone?  He doesn’t even have to live with what he’s done?  It just doesn’t seem fair.  And I don’t suppose I’m suggesting life should be fair—I’m just saying it doesn’t seem fair to me from my severely limited perspective, and that it is consequently difficult for me to understand why things are the way they are.  And I do wonder whether my sense of discomfort comes from my limited point of view.  I suspect in large part that it does.  But what to do, what to do about it I just am not yet sure.

You know, it’s a terribly difficult thing in this life to take action and then just leave things to fall where they must fall.  For example, it’s really difficult for me to want to be a part of Sara’s life, and then try, to little or no avail.  It’s so hard to break free from the pattern of wanting what you want for other people as it relates to your own preferences, rather than wanting for other people what they want for themselves.  Or something like that—it’s all just confusing to merely think about at times! 

I feel angry that my father comes to my door and wants me to go to the park for a walk with him because I think he thinks that would be best for me.  Even though I told him I am already planning on going over to the track, but just not right at this minute he is wanting to go.  And then he seems to get all offended when I don’t want to do what he wants me to do, perhaps because he thinks it’s a good idea.  Much like he prolly thinks it’s a good idea to leave his fucking classical music playing all around the goddamn house all the time, even when he is not here, and how he seems to think it’s a good idea to set the house temperature at sixty degrees at night and fucking eighty degrees during the day. 

Doesn’t make much sense to me, except perhaps in the sense that I almost get offended when Sara doesn’t feel like responding to me when I would like her to, even though she has in fact been responsive several times if not more.  She’s not acting the way that I want her to act, but what is it that I in fact really want?  Do I want her to feel obligated to react the way in which I believe she should?  Or do I want her to act in a way that feels right for her, and be thankful if that thereafter includes me.  And let it go if thereafter she decides not to have me in her life.  When I think about it, what I really want for Sara is what Sara wants for Sara—not what I want for Sara for me.  So god help Sara because I don’t know how to, and god please help me too because I also, do not know how to.

I feel so fortunate, right now in this moment, to have endured the struggles I have—especially those financial ones, because they have led me to a place where I appreciate knowledge in ways that are not, I think, normally seen.  I just opened up C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters to start reading, and I didn’t even make it past the forward without a smile.  Of course, C.S. Lewis seems to have that effect on me, but I do enjoy a good dose of wit.  And of all people, the book is dedicated to J.R.R. Tolkien, about whom I do not know much, obviously other than he is the author of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.  But I do know enough to know that it is fate that I picked up this book, this day, and read that dedication from one beautiful mind to another.  I know not the implications, but those, I feel, are okay to leave at bay for another day.  For now I revel in my good fortune.

You know I think, to an extent, information relating to how corporations treat their employees should be made public.  That way, consumers can choose to support corporations that choose to support their employees, and the cycle could thus support itself.

Also, I have been thinking about this conduct of mine last Friday night where I texted Ryan ridiculous and embarrassing (well…I don’t think it is nearly as bad as I make it sound or as it could have been—but, embarrassing to me nonetheless) messages, assuming that I was the reason for his not calling.  And that he just didn’t feel like it was necessary to respond to me.  The problem I have with that thinking is twofold (and prolly more), but namely:  (1) that who knows why he didn’t call in the first place, and god forbid something terrible happened to him or a loved one, and here I would be thinking it was all about me; and, (2) that even if it is about me, and he just doesn’t want to respond, I think I want to be okay with that, you know.  I feel like not being okay with that would be my ego getting in the way, saying, “hey, I’m so fucking great and wonderful that you should want to be my friend (or more) and if you don’t, I’m going to judge you and say that you’re this or that because you don’t want to be my friend,” when all along it would just be me feeling “bad” because someone didn’t want to be my friend.  But in reality, what I want is for Ryan to want what Ryan wants; not for Ryan to want what I want for my own purposes.  You know?  Kind of like the Sara thing I was talking about earlier today.  I want to be okay with Ryan not particularly wanting to be my friend, or just not wanting to be in contact with me—because, when it comes down to it, that decision really isn’t that big a deal in the scheme of things.  I mean, sure he seems like a decent person (at best…no no, that’s my ego again!), but whether or not he is in my life—I would much rather leave up to the discretion of FDC (a.k.a. the Universe) than to say, my own or even his particular discretion. 

So there you have it!  I feel like I’ve learned something today, and although my perspective still seems hopelessly muddied—I’ve in fact, shed some light on the situation.  A lit-tle clarity sure can help, no matter the extent of the muddied situation.  I’m feeling like much of life is going to be a muddied situation—i.e. one lacking clarity.  Like there will be fleeting moments of light and clarity in a forever darkened and muddied situation.  Ahh to be human…ain’t it grand?!