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2002:February:25
Hi. I am going to go ahead and get some things out in the open about myself. Usually mother tends to bottle these things up. But I was looking through one of my writing notebooks that quickly turns into notes of obsessive compulsive lists of things to do that keep me from writing and I realized, by scanning the few drunken entries that I had made in the books, that I tend to neglect myself. I deny myself of the truth in these analysis paralysis entries. To punish myself and for your entertainment I shall include the entry of entries from just a few months ago when mother was feeling low. Here we go! I know the following is filth, but please bear with me for a moment because there is more truth in store for you and yours...............................................

"I do not know where it is that I wish to escape to as of late. Perhaps it is the analysis paralysis of myself. I do not know what is appropriate to say about what I'm feeling anymore. I guess I wish I had some new material that I was happy about that would keep people's interest and interaction would be more stimulating. I must have more self control and be more disciplined. I have to do all the things I need to get done so I can have no more excuses not to do whatever it is I am supposed to be doing. Sigh, I'm just in such a rut as of late." Oh dear, that was painful. Even the piece itself is a prose list of things to do. Nothing. No heart. No honesty. Well, I think I shall continue to kick myself smack in the teeth and expose what I am really saying to myself. I do not know. I wish. Perhaps. Jeez, no wonder.

First, the escape. Every time I feel the bends, I think to myself, self, what the hell are you doing in Wilmington? Denial of self evolves into moving pangs. I can give up on working on the things that make me want to move that are my own fault and could be fixed if I was harder on myself on a daily basis i.e. look for a different soul sucking job with a future, fix body hangups, read the paper, be more aggressive in group discussions, etc. etc. Translation, again, uuugh! Screw the job. Manage your money better. Write constantly because I really cannot stand not to get it all out. Exercise so I can take my shirt off in the summer somewhere other than at Carolina beach on a wednesday in the summer hopped up on pancakes and mother's little helper. I never feel confident enough to bring up the politics because I am still a bit fuzzy as to what is the most impartial source of information. And, honestly, I am so lazy, I am very interested but again, I have always allowed myself to obssess on myself and bow out and spend my news time preping and recovering from work. Anxiety attacks and blood pressure problems as of late as a result of faking it so much at work. Other health problems too that I may mention after more wine, the truth serum. But I also know that it is not going to change today or tommorow with work.

So, to some extent, I guess I must just take it for now. I do not have the nerve or the bank account to leave at the moment. So I must change myself for sanity's sake. I tried the real thing at work once before for about two weeks. This was after a most excellent and then depressing Xcellent time in Virginia in the woods at a Radiohead concert that I never happened due to weather. Pisser. I really was starting to sink down, down, down, halfway through because I knew it was going to go away. This feeling of being uninhibited for once in all of my 30 years. Even while it was good, I was sad because I knew it was leaving. What was I terrified of you ask? Why was I sinking? Well, what I was able to verbalize was " It really gets to me that I don't have anything to say", translation: I am so ashamed of how I feel about so many things and about myself that I could not begin to tell you unless I was absolutely certain that I could count on everyone in the world still loving me the same and,even more so, not giving up on me forever. Scared to death to be myself. Disgusting. So I self medicate, of course, cigarettes and smiles, laughing boy..rich refers to me as...., that sly dog, he gets it, I am afraid, well, ok, probably everyone does too but maybe they are too nice to say. I get that reaction from what I present I am sure. I know the hats are off now. Of course, I affect this effect, it is the reason I leave most group events a bit empty and sad. Selfish. I know. Niceities, and an overdeveloped emotional quotient, kept me from letting this proverbial basket of kittens free. Selfish, again, I know blaming others for my hangups that are, for the last 30 years anyway, a great part of my nature and my parents, and all that hoora, that I have somehow convinced myself that no one would ever want to hear about now that my parents are both dead. Buzzkill, sorry, I know. I passed the hospital where both my parents died in Savannah. Ten years apart on the same day. A million things were running through my head, of course, and, (I hope you are still reading gentle reader, I will try not to bring this up for a while but I have to get this out), I wanted so badly for someone to talk about something other than the hospital because I knew the questions were on their way and I would not be able to sleep that night. The images that flash over and over in my head never seem to leave, change, get better, or feel nice when I think about the death of my parents. I watched both of them die miserably over a period of about 8 months for each. The last few months were really some of the most horrifing times of my life. She did not keep any food down for the last two months of her life and I fed her when I came home on weekends when I came home from college. She made me promise to finish college and to go right back after she died. She made me promise all this before the dementia started. I was usually Aunt Dovie to her after that.

My mother was a bagger at the commisary on Ft. Stewart




›post #5
›bio: michael
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›2/25/2002
›22:47

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