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disjointed by insomnia
Nov. 14th, 2008 01:52 amI keep thinking that I'm going to wake up from the Capraesque dream of our country being under new management. But it keeps being real.
Can't sleep. It happens sometimes, and I don't know why. I need to pick a fight soon, spar with someone, get this restlessness out from under my skin.
It's good to periodically return to the parts of yourself you've been avoiding. I've always had more problems than I knew how to deal with and since I can't live in the shabby, brokedown parts of my head without getting horrible, I avoid that part of myself and go live in the intellectual and spiritual and occasionally physical parts of myself. I hold back my emotions and avoid them, while researching ways that other people deal and coming up with experimental solutions to test out the next time I'm here. And I'm here again; every once in a while I go on a mission to the Cambodia of my internal world, the Somalia and Nicaragua of my messy emotional poverty.
There are resources here. There are things worth having in the starving, untravelled parts of myself, and these resources are desperate to be used. But I don't want to strip mine myself or treat this like America treats a third world country. There's got to be some form of game theory that can be used as a blueprint for self-respect. There's got to be behavioral mapping from the external world that can guide me along the twisting mud tracks and dusty camel trails in my head. One world has to reflect the other, or what's a world for?
When my problems got worse than I knew how to cover for, bad things happened to me because nobody knew how to correctly interpret me. I'd been lying too much for too long. Eventually I learned to stop covering most of it up, and let people who were trying to get close to me know what they were really in for. Here's how that happened:
My peers gave me hell, unwanted gifts that I accepted because I didn't know how to refuse. A lot of kids that grew up the same way are concerned with paying their peers back for that treatment, which is not unusual for freaks in public schools. But I don't want to pay them back. I want to give them what they paid for, and let the buyer beware. That's my nature. I'm fair like that.
I transubstantiated that pain into something functional and beautiful and new. I made Hell part of myself and used its fire to forge the raw materials of myself into whatever I am now. And I want to share my smithied self with the world so the next generation of hell-givers and hell-takers will come to the table with a better understanding of the possibilities being offered there. Anger shows you what's important to you. Pain makes you grow. It's fertilizer, and like fertilizer it's pretty shitty. But if my peers had been better people then I wouldn't be one now. Thanks to the Tiffanies and Dominiques and Alexes of the world. I would say I owe you one, but I don't. :)
Gonna try to sleep now.
Can't sleep. It happens sometimes, and I don't know why. I need to pick a fight soon, spar with someone, get this restlessness out from under my skin.
It's good to periodically return to the parts of yourself you've been avoiding. I've always had more problems than I knew how to deal with and since I can't live in the shabby, brokedown parts of my head without getting horrible, I avoid that part of myself and go live in the intellectual and spiritual and occasionally physical parts of myself. I hold back my emotions and avoid them, while researching ways that other people deal and coming up with experimental solutions to test out the next time I'm here. And I'm here again; every once in a while I go on a mission to the Cambodia of my internal world, the Somalia and Nicaragua of my messy emotional poverty.
There are resources here. There are things worth having in the starving, untravelled parts of myself, and these resources are desperate to be used. But I don't want to strip mine myself or treat this like America treats a third world country. There's got to be some form of game theory that can be used as a blueprint for self-respect. There's got to be behavioral mapping from the external world that can guide me along the twisting mud tracks and dusty camel trails in my head. One world has to reflect the other, or what's a world for?
When my problems got worse than I knew how to cover for, bad things happened to me because nobody knew how to correctly interpret me. I'd been lying too much for too long. Eventually I learned to stop covering most of it up, and let people who were trying to get close to me know what they were really in for. Here's how that happened:
My peers gave me hell, unwanted gifts that I accepted because I didn't know how to refuse. A lot of kids that grew up the same way are concerned with paying their peers back for that treatment, which is not unusual for freaks in public schools. But I don't want to pay them back. I want to give them what they paid for, and let the buyer beware. That's my nature. I'm fair like that.
I transubstantiated that pain into something functional and beautiful and new. I made Hell part of myself and used its fire to forge the raw materials of myself into whatever I am now. And I want to share my smithied self with the world so the next generation of hell-givers and hell-takers will come to the table with a better understanding of the possibilities being offered there. Anger shows you what's important to you. Pain makes you grow. It's fertilizer, and like fertilizer it's pretty shitty. But if my peers had been better people then I wouldn't be one now. Thanks to the Tiffanies and Dominiques and Alexes of the world. I would say I owe you one, but I don't. :)
Gonna try to sleep now.