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Demanding
the White Rabbit
I wonder why I live alone
here, I wonder why we spend these nights
together...
3-2
- I'm
running a search of our document servers for any files
containing the text string "ollw." I could probably try
to explain why, but it's not really that important -- and
the effort might reveal some of the banality involved in
my position, and since I am feeling pretty good about my
performance here lately, let's not spoil the mood,
eh?
-
- Let's just call it
cutting a corner while looking for information related
to what I'm working on.
Of all the problems that have swirled around me lately,
one of the smallest that has felt like a huge nag is the
fact that I don't have internet access at work. I can
send email through the office system (everyone else does
it) but as I'm sure you know it's not always the best
practice, so I don't make a habit of it.
-
- When I do have the
chance to check email every couple of days, there are
links to news articles that have been taken down, and
discussion threads that have run their course days before
I can get to them... In the end I feel disconnected and
without interesting things to say, so I've gotten into a
habit of just letting things go unanswered.
-
- After a while I
start to realize that answering even the smallest "how've
you been" message might involve summarizing weeks of
activity (or non-activity), or straining words carefully
to avoid any implication of how I have been doing. After
all of that consideration, the whole process seems like a
lot of work, and recently I have been opting to just
"huck it" and get around to it later.
-
- "Girlfriend in a
Coma; I know, I know, it's serious..."
- And yet,
here I am -- trying to explain
myself.
Always trying to explain....
-
- For about three
weeks now I've been seeing a therapist. She's a nice
woman with understanding eyes and a pen in her hand,
which she uses to scribble quick notes onto a pad
sometimes when I say things. Secretly I believe that she
is making little hashmarks on the paper next to my name,
and if she reaches a certain magic
number then
she will call the dudes with the butterfly nets to come
haul me away.
-
- Irrational fears
aside, it's nice to have someone to talk to. Even with my
recent avoidance of email, I still wish I could just
spill all of this somewhere, put it all in an email to
someone who would read it all and send back thoughtful
answers. I know that I have several dear friends who
would gladly volunteer for that task, but I can't help
feeling like sending that sort of correspondence would be
unfairly "dumping" on them, and lately I just can't bring
myself to burden anyone with these things that I can't
even understand myself. Maybe that's why I agreed to go
see someone about my troubles.
-
- She listens to
everything without preconceptions, doesn't mind that it's
only my side of the story, and she tells me to shut up
when an hour goes by. It's relaxed, consequence free, and
somehow I feel like I'm getting somewhere. I am not sure
where it is I am going, but moving forward is a nice
feeling.
-
- I have avoided the
journal lately like the plague. There are a lot of
reasons, starting with 9-12 hour days at the job, baby
watching duties at home, the fact that I have had so much
trouble verbalizing my feelings lately, this dispute with
a company that wanted to publish parts of it (I just got
out of the contract), and the fact that I suddenly
developed a fear of who was reading the webpage, who
would read into it, what they might see
there....
-
- I'm afraid of my
own words lately, afraid they will race off of me without
the proper control or restraint that I need to put them
under, afraid that their edges will be sharp, that their
aim will be truer than I want them to be.
-
- I don't trust my
emotions anymore.
-
- For longer than I
can remember something hasn't been right. But recently I
have found myself driven into pure rage by the smallest
things; a full body-shaking, scream at the top of your
lungs, get in the car and drive back roads as fast as you
can rage. I feel trapped, scared, blank, happy,
remorseful, responsible, helpless, caged, apathetic,
hungry, horny, scorned, spurned, undeserving,
underappreciated, taken for granted, overprotected,
smothered...
-
- Lately I have
wanted to be really really really drunk. Leaning against
a pole or a bar, shouting gibberish that makes some of
the people around me raise their hands and cheer and
others to slink away from me in terror. But I have been
in bars lately, and all I have ordered is bottled water
or coffee. The music in the air is loud, and the place
smells of cigarettes and false promises. The stage is set
for abandon, the runway cleared for me to set down and
lower the flaps until I can't see straight or feel the
texture of my teeth anymore...
-
- ...bottled
water.
-
- When you sit at a
full liquor bar alone and order a bottle of water, the
bartender looks at you funny and usually refuses to take
any money from you. When you get up to leave they don't
thank you, or ask you to come back soon and see them
again.
-
- And somewhere in
that scene is the problem.
-
- Somewhere
in-between wanting to get faced, going somewhere to get
faced, and then proceeding to double clutch right at the
brink.. somewhere in there is what's wrong.
-
- Because sitting at
that bar, listening to the music, and seeing the virtual
arsenal of bottles with their little black pour spouts
staring back at me, I have one thought running through my
mind:
-
- "Someone would
be horribly disappointed if I went through with this.
Someone would think less of me. I can't do this. This
whole thing is selfish."
-
- But be straight
about something -- this is not about booze. This is about
looking right at something I want, being in the right
place and time to have what I want, and not taking it
because louder than my desire to have what I want is the
nagging fear that I am putting my thirst before the
people who are connected to me, and the absolute feeling
that I cannot do that, mixed equally with the
sense that I only think that I want whatever it
is...
-
- Even though I was
in that bar for the express purpose of un-gluing myself,
I am not a drinker. I've had my days gathered around a
keg tap, sharing a bottle of something with friends,
passing out in places I don't remember and waking up with
a railroad spike through my brain headaches, but that was
a different time and place. A place where the sport was
proving that the legal drinking age was simply a legal
maneuver to keep young people from having
fun.
-
- Only once in my
life did I ever sit down at a bar and try to drink myself
into forgetting something that hurt me deep inside. And
the simple fact is I that still remember every last
stinking detail of it -- especially the part about trying
to flush it away with tequila. All I ever got from that
was a day's inability to wake up from the nightmares, and
cold sweats that smelled like Cuervo.
-
- All beside the
point anyways...
-
- I haven't answered
emails or phone calls lately because sometimes I feel
like I am falling apart, and I don't want you to see it
happening.
-
- I feel like I am
the last person who has the luxury to fall apart. I can't
let Kim down, I can't give the baby less than everything
I have. I can't let my parents, my family, my friends, my
employers know that I am not 100% in control. I can't get
fired again. I can't let myself get in debt again. I
can't screw up. Everyone sees me a certain way, or wants
to see me a certain way. I can't let them down. If I can
get these bills paid off, If I can just get free of all
these things I need to do then maybe I can take some time
for myself. But too many people are relying on me. Too
many things only I can do. Too many things I should be
doing more of.
-
- All the while I am
dying for a release. A place I can go where everything
feels right, where I can be myself, where I can feel
wanted. A place where people crave me.
-
- So I end up
obsessing over sex, or trying to plan events that must go
"exactly right" in order to match up to my expectations.
Events where everything is so right that I don't have to
worry about anyone being overlooked of not taken care of.
That's what I am looking for. But of course that's a
nearly impossible goal, and the frustration that comes
with things falling short has been eating me up inside
something fierce lately...
-
- That led me to a
bar. When I went inside, my goal was to get to a point
where I would not be able to remember anything that
happened in there that night. That led me to sitting
there with a tiny napkin in front of me with a small
circle soaked into it.
-
- I remember staring
at the water in the bottle.
-
-
- I remember
calling myself a chickenshit.
-
-
- I remember
everything.
-
-
My
next appointment is on the 14th.
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