I hate that I cannot ever hide how I feel (or not feel). That I can't slap on a "face" so that others won't notice that I'm out of sorts.
This part doesn't make my angry: Krystall, one of the other CFs who work in the program offices with me on Mondays/Thursday noticed yesterday that I was quieter than usual. That's all she said, and it was nice that she wasn't impose herself inappropriately, that it was merely just a kind way of saying that is aware that she does care.
But I hate that it's so visible when I'm sad. I feel like I'm supposed to contain it, hide it. JB told me it's selfish of me to have it so latently available for everyone to notice. I think that's because it's as though I'm asking for people to notice and am denying everyone the right to do anything about it by (1) not talking about it and (2) wallowing about it. I guess this is true. My instant excuse is always "But I'm not trying to"--it must be a lie. I am a big liar in the sickest way. Ignorant.
God, I cannot cannot cannot stand myself. Unbearable. I want a new suit. Selkie skin.
Work is the same but just also unbearable for me today. I feel not able to communicate/interact with others--volatile, agitated, depressed. Except I do not have the luxury to call out. I can't call out from my life. I wish I could. To only choose the days I "appear"--it'd be like weekends and weekdays, except sporadic & never even.
I'm ragged right now. Interaction with my mother the past 3 days has me as tissue-paper translucency, and that, with all my usual failures is too much right now. I felt like someone beat me up while I was sleeping last night. My boss told me I looked like that had happened.
And now angry students are calling me at work because I had to send out these emails saying they had to finish their portfolios in order to graduate in October. They're asking me to do things for them that aren't my responsibility. I'm not picking up the phone for the rest of the day.
Also, I pathetically noticed that my pants' zipper was unzipped for 2 hours this morning (during morning commute on the bridge and crowded subways). Embarassing.
At least a student mailed me a card with lunch-giftcard, thanking me for my help. The one great spot of color in my day.
Sharif commented in class about my poems, saying it seemed as though they were written with in such a way that they were pieces, life pieces of flesh barely hanging from a body--that the force, the emotion was so wrought in them that everything was urgent and there was only this single thread holding things together. He didn't say it exactly like that, but the essence is the same. He said it over a week ago, so my memory is shoddy now. But I do remember trying not to cry because he was accurate in naming something that I don't say aloud to myself. Something I try not to acknowledge.
I feel near a collapse, except I know I'm not permitted such a thing, and all I am is pathetically sad. I want nothing. I need to remember that.
I fail constantly and no one grants absolution.
So I'm not picking up my work phone, and all fucking day I keep checking my mobile phone. Each time, I want to stab myself. I want to be phoneless. Lifeless. I want a new story.
