Everything is loosely (and not so loosely) associated & related of course I know this. It took me about 45 minutes longer than usual this afternoon to get home (before the thunderstorm struck the sky) because 1/3 onto the Queensboro bridge, the path was cordoned off with CAUTION tape, and there were many police/emt/fire dept. vehicles. And police boats in the East River below.
I didn't take any pictures or express much curiosity--or speculation about what had obviously recently happened (probably within minutes of my reaching that point on the bridge). I think someone had jumped--but not sure if it was fatal, etc. I think there was some relief from the authorities; the air didn't have a tragic sense of urgency.
Of course I thought about how it would feel to fall into water. Last week a 3rd year fiction student committed suicide in her apartment near Columbia. There's been memorial gatherings for her, and because I work in the Program offices during the week, I see a bit of what goes on from this end.
Part of me feels monstrous and typical for using this suicide to convince myself to not do self-harm--I wouldn't want my possible death to be categorized as part of a phenomenon (death comes in threes?) or to be considered a copycat, or etc. Which then got me thinking that suicide or the committment to it, or the obsession or reliance on the thought of it perhaps was just a misguided notice for attention. That's what they say, don't they?
That in the attempt, perhaps I could find absolution in being reminded that the world didn't want me to disappear. I felt worse than ashamed upon realizing this. I hope I can always remember to feel this way.
And then another part of me took note--that if I wanted to die quietly, now would be the time to do it--the grief or shock would already be prepared/primed in others around me (who are associated with school at least), and perhaps my leaving would be lessened by this. And paired/forgotten. I would like that. I did take note.
I'm very okay right now; I've localized what creates my desires for self-harm (the emotional situations, etc.) In that way, I'm trying to make things better for myself. I did come to the conclusion that I don't know what to do with the knowledge I've acquired/inferred for myself, but a step closer . . . to something.
My therapist brought it to my attention that I seem to only have immense separation anxiety in the presence of JB. As in, only when we are together do I feel abandoned, unloved, etc. Feelings which sometimes fever me into a terrible place where I am alone.
He is away for his close friend's birthday--they're in Vegas; they're/ve going climbing, etc. I'm glad he's doing this for himself. I know how much the mountain means.
I also realize that I am more than fine and great when we are apart. I do not pine or yearn for this person whom I love. I've always done that with all those previous, so this is a good sign, I think. That somehow I managed to conduct a relationship that is remotely healthy for me. So what goes wrong?
Sometimes I want very much to be somewhere else, in another city, with no prior background, to live my days and nights with just myself. I want Greece everywhere. Of course I cannot sacrifice the things in my life--that would be another suicide. I'm committed to staying in place, alive.
It's peculiar that when I got to the Pulaski bridge that takes me right to my doorstep, the drawbridge was up, so I had to wait another 15 minutes for the long vessel to pass, for the bridge to realign.
I was accompanied by thunder but no rain. It took me a while to get home. & strangely so.
I love Thursdays.
My (extra) class schedule + work + work has been ravaging me this week, but it's temporary, and even though I barely slept all week--I feel nourished, gratified. I wouldn't give this feeling up. I'm grateful I can have this. I wish I had more hours, always.
I wish I could see my growth. The progress marked in pencil on the molding around a doorframe. My timeline hugged by Janus. My insignificant existence graffitied by a young child.
Yesterday on my late late journey home after thesis finally let, I took a strong look at the Manhattan skyline from the Pulaski bridge and felt a fraction of what I used to feel coming home to SF on the Bay Bridge. I'll never love this place in the same way, but it's irretrievably an important part of me. There is something comforting knowing the time it's invested and spent with me. In the way I cannot forsake my mother, ever.
I don't think I could ever escape myself, and the patterns I've learned or was born with. I struggle too much.
I'm swimming again--at the real pool/gym, and it is more than exhilarating. Speaking of pools, the most recent episode of Mad Men, "The Summer Man"--struck so many chords in me. I haven't been deeply stirred by an episode of anything (usually only Mad Men does this for me) in such a long time. I think I'll watch it again before bed.
Something about Draper swimming--the heavy VO. There were so many distinctive noir/hard-boiled moments that I was so very excited to witness/be a part of. For the first time, the show appeared cinematic to me, and tragic in a different way. The canvas widening, and growing more personal. I'm not sure how that works, but I felt this.
Somehow I managed to fool everyone, to assimilate and adopt behavioral patterns (I joke that I "learned from puppies" but really it's not funny at all). I think Darwism isn't winning for me.
I am trying to understand my preferences and needs--not to accommodate them as though to let them run tyrant, but to know them, and live with them. In all that that means.
I do not know how to live with you because I do not see my place in this home. Is that the truth?
I wrote E over a week ago to update him on school, going-ons of my daily quotidian, and didn't get a response (until literally just now). Up until I got the response, I figured that after the Great Reveal I probably wouldn't have a friendship with him anymore. That he would subsume the usual pattern of apathy and let connections fall into disrepair out of . . . fear/sadness/loneliness/thwarting. That I of course couldn't/wouldn't be able to have the friendship I desperately miss.
I can live with this. It didn't make me so sad--nor did it give me an expected moment. It was just a possible fact. Nothing more/less, really. It is what it is; I have to live my life--however hesitant and difficult. I've learned to let go of things which are not important: mosquito bites, annoying colleagues, my job at TC.
You call(ed) me a hedonist or something, once (maybe more often than that), and it's true especially now because I feel like all I'm focusing on is how to feel comfort. So maybe not a hedonist, since I'm not looking for pleasure. Something in the middle. Run-of-the-mill. My mediocrity. My misaligned drawbridge, my own.
Signed up for boxing lessons for 6 Saturdays, starting this Saturday. I'm pretty excited--Power of One motivated/excited.
There's a 4-day weekend at the end of Oct/early Nov., and I earnestly wish I could go somewhere. Immediately I thought of SF, but then I think, it was just a residual desire from how I felt a year go--constantly checking flights to see when I could return to E next. I second guess my SF want, now.
I want to return to Beacon--it was so cold last year--November was it? The train ride; your back gave you trouble and I'll never forget those pictures taken. The exhibit was lackluster, a disappointment, but the space was just right.
It's almost time for apple pie season. Cheddar top & lattice work.
Sometimes I evening-dream while I am awake about how it would feel to fall in love (again). Not that I'm not in love or that I'm lacking something in my love.
I just miss the feeling of electricity--the uncertainty, the little unknown. I suppose I had it, this time--all season last year.
I did tell my therapist that I think I need to stop searching for someone to help me help me. To stop expecting that those who love me to ward off the bad thing, to bear comfort always, long after I let the reins go slack.
It's not fair to anyone, and I need to stop. TD said something that struck me in class this week--something about how Stevens must have had such great interiority (in reference to Stevens' problematic marriage). I need to let go of the idea that my union will bring me some kind of release, relief from my carriage. I need to live with what I am, alone, and to still bear the face with others, especially the ones who love me very much. I have that responsibility.
I can deal with obligation and responsibility, but I lay myself aside, and forget where I leave it.
I do miss myself, all the time, and do not know the remedy.
I want my Wong Kar Wai moment. That Kind of Night.
