"It is never too late to be what you might have been."
-George Eliot
I remember a time when I used to enjoy reading literature, but now, all I can do if focus on poetry, or a short research article. The idea of "finishing a book" is so daunting, and I feel like I would be a failure if I didn't finish a book. Littering my room are the half-living corpses of novels and memoirs I have tried to finish: The Boat, Moon Tiger, Bloodletting, Man in the Iron Mask, the Witches of Eastwick... I don't know if I'll ever return to finish them, though in my consciousness I can recall the places I stopped, as if I put them on "pause."
Once, I when I read Middlemarch, I was in remission, and so inspired by George Eliot and her writing. My passion for the written language used to be so active, but recently I just don't care, and I miss that place I was at. To reference the above quote: I feel like what I could have been will arrive too late for me to be what I might become. How's that for a paradoxical statement?
Today was a chaotic and deceptive day for me. I woke up at 9:00 and went running, then, wanted to practise kung-fu, but decided to log onto the online game again and start drinking bowls of red wine. I had consumed probably over half a bottle, maybe even a bottle, by the time I had to leave for an interview with a graduate student on campus. I was late, half-drunk, and the interview was about my sexuality and gender identity development during my college career. I told him I had an eating disorder, and that, to be frank it had fucked up my expectations and actions as it relates to my gender identity and sexual orientation. Maybe I should have mentioned the pending "bipolar" or "borderline personality" labels, but I didn't. I just said generic "eating disorder."
He scribbled away as I told him about how I'd never been able to relate, truthfully to people in relationships. I said that I'd always felt like I had to present a kind of person my parents wanted me to be. As the interview came to a close, I had to fill out a kind of demographic form, that asked what my gender and sexual identity were. I hesitated, filling them out last and said: transgendered, bisexual. The interviewer told me that the LGBTQI life-center on campus was always available if I needed to talk about my eating disorder or...anything, I suppose. I nodded, and thanked him. I suppose the fact I volunteered for the interview might speak more about my "questioning" status, than not...meh.
I participated in a visual cognition study and fell asleep during it, like always. I got five dollars from the post-doc that I spent on beer later on that day. I ate lunch, regrettably...and went to my therapist session...and boy was that a fun experience.
We spent so much time talking about why I'd missed sessions, and my therapist suggested that it might be my desire to create "drama" in my relationships. As I thought about this proposition, I realised it was probably a correct assumption: all my friendships are glazed with my antithetical behaviors. At first, I want to be close to people and will spend a lot of time with them, but eventually, I consciously/unconsciously distance myself from these people, forcing them to concern about me, which makes me feel guilty, because I don't want to be a person who needs to be concerned about. I want to be someone who is reliable. Cases in point: closeness with my lab professor punctuated by consistent absences in my lab, close confessions with my therapist followed by distant, appocryphal descriptions of events, avoidance of friends who I know care about me, telling my parents I am not outside my bounds when I drink a lot because my brother smokes pot in our apartment. This tendency to create interpersonal drama, I wish I knew directly where it stemmed from, but I am lost in the present guilt and shame I have about my drinking habits and eating disorder.
Last night I had a huge argument with my room-mate/brother. I came back from the market, because I decided to: 1. buy more booze and 2. buy food to replace the stuff I'd eaten that belonged to my brother. When I came back, I noticed my box of Pinot Evil was gone. I was livid. Sat down on the floor in my brother's room, and was stubborn as hell. I was not going to leave until he talked with me. I was angry, wanted to really, really punch him, mangle him, mess him up good, but I sat there, in a seizan position on the floor. He told me he poured out the wine, and that didn't make me any happier. I threatened to destroy his computer. He pushed me, I shoved him back into his seat. He called my parents, told them I was drunk, crazy, etc...I went for a trump card I'd been holding, and yelled that he smoked pot in our apartment, which of course he denied. Eventually, I talked with my parents, after my brother had stormed out of his own room. I said it wasn't fair to have expectations, demands for my behavior, and not have any for him. I said that, "at least what I am doing is legal, and I'm not failing any classes..." My dad overlooked the pot-smoking, surprisingly, and I wanted to call him out, that he might think me really, biologically, fucked up, but I didn't. My mom was more sympathetic. I got my wine back, drank more, passed out, and felt guilty as fuck in the morning.
I'm at the point where I am really starting to be consumed by guilty. I am not suicidal, like I have been, just very, very, resentful of people telling me what to do. I feel as though I could snap, want to beat the shit out of someone, anyone...my thoughts are very, very aggressive at times. This might be a response to the guilt I have over "cutting." At least, if I fight someone else, I won't be purposefully inflicting harm. But I am obviously confused to want to get into a fight, want to harm someone else for my own problems. Maybe I figure now, if I'm going down, I'm taking you all with me. I am not "angry" per se, just lost in frustration. I want school to end, I want life to be tolerable. I want to be the loner I envision in my head. I want to be totally self-sufficient, cut off from every person. I wish I could be alone...but look at me, I seek out social interaction via playing a girl in an online game, what use am I to anyone? I am virtually (har, har) useless, and would be better off dead...I wish I knew what I wanted...I wish I could be the person I would be...*sigh*
-Mt
PS-I've not touched my meds in over two months...lithium can kiss my ass.
-George Eliot
I remember a time when I used to enjoy reading literature, but now, all I can do if focus on poetry, or a short research article. The idea of "finishing a book" is so daunting, and I feel like I would be a failure if I didn't finish a book. Littering my room are the half-living corpses of novels and memoirs I have tried to finish: The Boat, Moon Tiger, Bloodletting, Man in the Iron Mask, the Witches of Eastwick... I don't know if I'll ever return to finish them, though in my consciousness I can recall the places I stopped, as if I put them on "pause."
Once, I when I read Middlemarch, I was in remission, and so inspired by George Eliot and her writing. My passion for the written language used to be so active, but recently I just don't care, and I miss that place I was at. To reference the above quote: I feel like what I could have been will arrive too late for me to be what I might become. How's that for a paradoxical statement?
Today was a chaotic and deceptive day for me. I woke up at 9:00 and went running, then, wanted to practise kung-fu, but decided to log onto the online game again and start drinking bowls of red wine. I had consumed probably over half a bottle, maybe even a bottle, by the time I had to leave for an interview with a graduate student on campus. I was late, half-drunk, and the interview was about my sexuality and gender identity development during my college career. I told him I had an eating disorder, and that, to be frank it had fucked up my expectations and actions as it relates to my gender identity and sexual orientation. Maybe I should have mentioned the pending "bipolar" or "borderline personality" labels, but I didn't. I just said generic "eating disorder."
He scribbled away as I told him about how I'd never been able to relate, truthfully to people in relationships. I said that I'd always felt like I had to present a kind of person my parents wanted me to be. As the interview came to a close, I had to fill out a kind of demographic form, that asked what my gender and sexual identity were. I hesitated, filling them out last and said: transgendered, bisexual. The interviewer told me that the LGBTQI life-center on campus was always available if I needed to talk about my eating disorder or...anything, I suppose. I nodded, and thanked him. I suppose the fact I volunteered for the interview might speak more about my "questioning" status, than not...meh.
I participated in a visual cognition study and fell asleep during it, like always. I got five dollars from the post-doc that I spent on beer later on that day. I ate lunch, regrettably...and went to my therapist session...and boy was that a fun experience.
We spent so much time talking about why I'd missed sessions, and my therapist suggested that it might be my desire to create "drama" in my relationships. As I thought about this proposition, I realised it was probably a correct assumption: all my friendships are glazed with my antithetical behaviors. At first, I want to be close to people and will spend a lot of time with them, but eventually, I consciously/unconsciously distance myself from these people, forcing them to concern about me, which makes me feel guilty, because I don't want to be a person who needs to be concerned about. I want to be someone who is reliable. Cases in point: closeness with my lab professor punctuated by consistent absences in my lab, close confessions with my therapist followed by distant, appocryphal descriptions of events, avoidance of friends who I know care about me, telling my parents I am not outside my bounds when I drink a lot because my brother smokes pot in our apartment. This tendency to create interpersonal drama, I wish I knew directly where it stemmed from, but I am lost in the present guilt and shame I have about my drinking habits and eating disorder.
Last night I had a huge argument with my room-mate/brother. I came back from the market, because I decided to: 1. buy more booze and 2. buy food to replace the stuff I'd eaten that belonged to my brother. When I came back, I noticed my box of Pinot Evil was gone. I was livid. Sat down on the floor in my brother's room, and was stubborn as hell. I was not going to leave until he talked with me. I was angry, wanted to really, really punch him, mangle him, mess him up good, but I sat there, in a seizan position on the floor. He told me he poured out the wine, and that didn't make me any happier. I threatened to destroy his computer. He pushed me, I shoved him back into his seat. He called my parents, told them I was drunk, crazy, etc...I went for a trump card I'd been holding, and yelled that he smoked pot in our apartment, which of course he denied. Eventually, I talked with my parents, after my brother had stormed out of his own room. I said it wasn't fair to have expectations, demands for my behavior, and not have any for him. I said that, "at least what I am doing is legal, and I'm not failing any classes..." My dad overlooked the pot-smoking, surprisingly, and I wanted to call him out, that he might think me really, biologically, fucked up, but I didn't. My mom was more sympathetic. I got my wine back, drank more, passed out, and felt guilty as fuck in the morning.
I'm at the point where I am really starting to be consumed by guilty. I am not suicidal, like I have been, just very, very, resentful of people telling me what to do. I feel as though I could snap, want to beat the shit out of someone, anyone...my thoughts are very, very aggressive at times. This might be a response to the guilt I have over "cutting." At least, if I fight someone else, I won't be purposefully inflicting harm. But I am obviously confused to want to get into a fight, want to harm someone else for my own problems. Maybe I figure now, if I'm going down, I'm taking you all with me. I am not "angry" per se, just lost in frustration. I want school to end, I want life to be tolerable. I want to be the loner I envision in my head. I want to be totally self-sufficient, cut off from every person. I wish I could be alone...but look at me, I seek out social interaction via playing a girl in an online game, what use am I to anyone? I am virtually (har, har) useless, and would be better off dead...I wish I knew what I wanted...I wish I could be the person I would be...*sigh*
-Mt
PS-I've not touched my meds in over two months...lithium can kiss my ass.