Hi. You know, having such a personal blog is an emergent thing. I don't know what I'm doing with this blog. Sometimes it energizes my 'real' writing. Sometimes it feels like my 'real' writing. Sometimes it feels like I'm having a dialogue with a few readers. I don't have many regular readers but, amazingly, some folks keep reading. Sometimes I have gotten calls and emails from friends who read something that caused them to worry about me, whatever that means.
Folks, I'm living my life. I am in quite a lot of emotional pain right now but this is, well, normal for me. I been under pressure my whole life to hide who I really am and now I'm trying to just show up however I am and that's what I use the blog for, to normalize, for myself my emotional lability. Being emotionally labile IS normal for a borderline. I'm just being me and I am experimenting with losing the veneer. I'm tired of vague social pressure to conform to norms that don't really apply to me: I'm not normal so why try to be? Why not engage in this experiment? It's not like I have any responsbilities to anyone. I know that at least a couple people read this who care about me so I have been putting up poems to signal that I'm okay. I have to be okay to cut and paste a poem, alive and breathing, right?
I am in a tough, painful hole right now. It's about as ugly as my emotional pain gets, too. It will pass, right? I won't be miserable forever.
In the meantime, I have no experience being with people when I am like this. I've been experimenting, over the past year, with being open about the deep pain I sometimes stumble into. I am finding that this weirds people out and they want to do something. I don't know what people want from me when it hurts to breathe. From my perspective, it takes every bit of energy I've got just to keep breathing and I am not accustomed to solicitous phone calls or emails and I'm used to coping on my own and hey I'm fine. I'm here doing my best to get through this snag and I get people calling or writing. Calling or writing for what? There's nothing anyone else can do, unless you can get my kid to come back to me . . . well, I had to toss that in but, to tell you the truth, having Katie would not help me tonight. Something other than Katie is breaking my heart.
So.
I don't want anyone worrying about me. I'm not suicidal, that's about as good as I'm gonna be for awhile, not suicidal.
I know this is a goofy post and I probably won't leave it up. But if you are someone who's emailing me (I have not read any emails for several weeks) or calling me (I have not answered my phone since before my last trip to Seattle in early May), well, get back to your lives.
I think it's going to take me a long time to dig myself out of this whole. Please don't worry about me. Leave me be. In the end, I have to figure it out on my own so leave me alone and maybe I'll get better quicker.
I'm swimming. I swam two hours this morning. I love swimming more each day. I actually went a little longer this morning. Somehow, I manage to feel numb while I'm swimming and I hardly have any thoughts and I am just a being moving through the dazzling, diffused light, breathing rhythmically, almost blank. I can't keep the two-hours daily up, it's too much exercise. I walk to and from the pool, too, and I can't keep up this pace, my body is getting pushed too hard. Still, it's so great, the swimming. I would like to swim less and still enjoy myself but right now, I am compelled to do the full two hours. And I can't stop and chat like many of the regulars: I have to keep moving no matter what.
Kay returned from her latest trip to Bangkok this morning. After ninety minutes, as she wrapped up her swim, she said to me, "Are you finished now?" I said "Oh, no, I've got a long way to go," and for the next lap, I felt discouraged. I have learned, with all this swimming, that very tiny things can cause my motivation to slip. For several weeks, Giuseppi has been taunting me, telling me as I complete each lap, "Stop now, stop now, you are swimming too long today" and I know he's just a thoughtless dope who thinks he's being cute but, gosh, his words sometimes make me want to cry. A few days ago, and I am very ashamed of this, I pulled up next to Giuseppi and, huffing to catch my breath, I said, "Giuseppi, I am in this pool working on my personal goals. When you talk to me like this, I feel discouraged. I feel bad. I keep trying to assume you mean well but, gee, do you think you could stop talking to me like this?" I felt really bad afterwards, rebuking myself, thinking I had been too harsh on Giusuppi. He's been taunting me for many weeks, maybe as long as two months. Who knows what is going on with him? I don't know him, except he swims in the lane next to me on MWF. I don't see him in the locker room and he always comes after I'm in the pool so IN the pool is the only place I can communicate with him. I know it's been indicative of my unhappy state that Giuseppi's goofing has been wearing me down. I have considered apologizing to Giuseppi but what did I do wrong? I've probably been too hard on myself.
I was, like, pathetically happy to see Kay this morning because Kay is always positive, cheerful and supportive. She makes a big deal of my lengthy workouts and she steadily admires my steady weight loss. I don't really know her but her support means a lot to me. I have missed her, hard, these past two weeks. She got to the pool a little late this morning so I was in 'her' spot. As soon as I saw her, I shifted over, yielding her spot to her, which was completely nice of me and it made me feel pretty good, to do that little thing to welcome her back. Then, when she said, after 'only' ninety minutes, "are you stopping now?' well, I felt a tinge of despair. I looked at the clock and I started to convince myself to stop. Kay didn't mean anything, she was just being friendly, but for the next lap I allowed her words to discourage me. How could she have forgotten that I do two hours now? Was she suggesting that I couldn't do more than ninety minutes? I am proud to report that I shook this negativity off. I resolved to finish my two hours. I paused at the end of my next lap to massage my face. My goggles cut into my face after ninety minutes. I have to stop and massage my face in order to reach my two hour goal. As I stood at the end of the pool, massaging my face, Kay stopped next to me again. "You do two hours? Very good for you, very good." It was such a tiny thing. I don't know this woman. But I am pretty sure that between the time she first spoke to me and the second time, when she encouraged me to finish my two hour session, that she had, simply, remembered that I do two hours now. I am pretty sure she was mending the tiny tear in my motivation. Maybe it was my imagination but I choose to believe that Kay was intentionally being supportive, that she had realized that she had forgotten this tiny detail about me, the two hour detail. I'm so glad Kay is back from Bangkok. This was a very, very small event in my life but, for a few moments, I was near tears and then Kay said something different and I felt better.
Maybe it would help me to talk to friends when I am in the kind of irrational pain I am in right now but I have never had friends who bothered. I literally have no idea how to be around other people when I hurt this bad. I am so glad Kay is back.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Saturday, May 12, 2007
we no have fun
My aquageezer buddy, Kay, often speaks with choppy, broken English. I think she does it because she knows it is adorable because she is also an amazing, brilliant English speaker. When we anointed ourselves the 'aquageezers', she had me write down the word geezer. Then she googled it and came back the next day to discuss the word some more. A few months ago, she was all het up about the word 'lameduck'. If you ask me, any foreigner that researches the meaning of words like lameduck and geezer knows plenty good English.
"Oh, Tree," said China girl, aka Kay, "You back early. This very good. Very good." She holds her arms out to indicate she wants a hug. As we embrace, she explains to Whitey, a swimmer we only see on the weekends, that the weekday aquageezers missed me all week.
"Tree no come, we no have fun, not so much talk," she said, smiling, nodding, laughing. "Tree come, talk very good. Very much fun. Good Tree is back, yes?"
Whitey agrees pleasantly enough although he has never really drunk the pleasures of Tree. Whitey never talks to me. He always brings the current Time magazine and stands reading it intently, giving off the vibe, to me anyway, that he doesn't want anyone to approach him. So I don't. But when Kay comes (sometimes she comes late on the weekends so Whitey and I stand, silently, at the gate), Whitey puts away his magazine and chats about Asia. I think this is odd and, also, adorable. Whitey once had a job that took him to Bangkok many times each year. Whenever Kay shows up, he talks about Bangkok, sometimes veering into other parts of Asia, but mostly Bangkok. It amuses me that he seems crabby, taciturn but then he lights up with talk of Bangkok.
Thailand has been a little scary lately, as Kay herself declared this morning. "My country, it shame me sometime," she said. Then Whitey went down the list of Asian countries that oppress human rights even more than Thailand, like Burma or Cambodia. This conversation stream fascinates me. I note, at least I think I do, that Kay doesn't really like to talk about the politics of Thailand. I note, at least I think I do, that Whitey seems oblivious to Kay's discomfort. I note, I think, that Whitey just can't resist revisiting the time in his life when internaitonal travel was routine and that is probably why he is a bit insensitive to Kay's discomfort.
But enough about other people. Let's keep the focus on me.
Gosh golly, I am flying high over Kay's warm greeting. Tree no come, we no have fun. I love being loved by people much more than not being loved by them. How was it that I lived for so many years without this simple joy? I know why. I was very sick. And I have worked hard to be well. But I only really stepped into the sunlight, the joy of simple, routine love, when my friend Marc came along and saw me whole. I was ready to be seen. Someone would have sooner or later. But he's the one who came along at the right moment. I love him the most out of everybody these days. Keep in mind that the prize of being my favorite person is bestowed on a daily basis, it must be earned anew and I reserve the right to move on to another favorite person tomorrow. Today, my favorites are Marc and Kay.
I love everybody again today. For a week or so, I have been feeling really dark. I didn't go swimming five days in a row. In true borderline fashion, I thought, a day or two ago, that I was done swimming forever. We borderlines tend to see things in black and white, which is why we are so often suicidal. There is no ebb and flow in a borderline's inner horizon: there is a horizon or there isn't a horizon. There is no mid-distance view, no pause to wait for the tide to change. So, after I missed my swim for several days, I was a little depressed, telling myself my swimming was all over and now I would regain all the weight I have lost and woe-is-me, I lamented, I just gave away all my fattest clothes and now when I regain eighty pounds I will have to buy new ones and now no one is ever going to come along and date me and love me and when I regain the weight, I will get fatter than before and soon I will explode because I am so fat, which is, when you think about it, what fat people do: they do blow up with high blood pressure or a stroke, which is like blowing up, right? Anyway, that was yesterday.
I went to bed thinking, my good, new life is over and I'll never swim again. I didn't even set the alarm for swimming. I told myself that if I was going to get up and swim again, well, I'd have to wake up on my own, dammit.
And I did wake up on my own.
So grudgingly, very grudgingly, I put on my suit and packed my swim bag and trudged over to the pool. Harhumph. I was grouchy. I didn't listen to my iPod. I breathed fire at passing traffic. Snarl.
I wasn't going to swim two hours. I was just going to do thirty minutes. Fuck swimming. Fuck my health.
Then Kay said "Tree no come, we no have fun. Tree come, everything very good."
I am such a baby.
Seriously, I am grossly immature. But hear this, pay attention to me and read on. If I was reborn on the 5th of May last year, and those who love me will agree that I was, well, then, goodness, I am a toddler now. I am just beginning the terrible twos. Toddlers are often crabby for no good reason and they are often cajoled out of their distemper with a cooing chirp from a caring adult. Kay chirped happily at me this morning and poof! my distemper evaporated.
I am going to have to live in California forever, I see now. I need to swim outdoors. All the pools in Seattle seem dank and dreary to me. Well, they are dreary compared to Midwestern indoor pools, if you ask me.
"Oh, Tree," said China girl, aka Kay, "You back early. This very good. Very good." She holds her arms out to indicate she wants a hug. As we embrace, she explains to Whitey, a swimmer we only see on the weekends, that the weekday aquageezers missed me all week.
"Tree no come, we no have fun, not so much talk," she said, smiling, nodding, laughing. "Tree come, talk very good. Very much fun. Good Tree is back, yes?"
Whitey agrees pleasantly enough although he has never really drunk the pleasures of Tree. Whitey never talks to me. He always brings the current Time magazine and stands reading it intently, giving off the vibe, to me anyway, that he doesn't want anyone to approach him. So I don't. But when Kay comes (sometimes she comes late on the weekends so Whitey and I stand, silently, at the gate), Whitey puts away his magazine and chats about Asia. I think this is odd and, also, adorable. Whitey once had a job that took him to Bangkok many times each year. Whenever Kay shows up, he talks about Bangkok, sometimes veering into other parts of Asia, but mostly Bangkok. It amuses me that he seems crabby, taciturn but then he lights up with talk of Bangkok.
Thailand has been a little scary lately, as Kay herself declared this morning. "My country, it shame me sometime," she said. Then Whitey went down the list of Asian countries that oppress human rights even more than Thailand, like Burma or Cambodia. This conversation stream fascinates me. I note, at least I think I do, that Kay doesn't really like to talk about the politics of Thailand. I note, at least I think I do, that Whitey seems oblivious to Kay's discomfort. I note, I think, that Whitey just can't resist revisiting the time in his life when internaitonal travel was routine and that is probably why he is a bit insensitive to Kay's discomfort.
But enough about other people. Let's keep the focus on me.
Gosh golly, I am flying high over Kay's warm greeting. Tree no come, we no have fun. I love being loved by people much more than not being loved by them. How was it that I lived for so many years without this simple joy? I know why. I was very sick. And I have worked hard to be well. But I only really stepped into the sunlight, the joy of simple, routine love, when my friend Marc came along and saw me whole. I was ready to be seen. Someone would have sooner or later. But he's the one who came along at the right moment. I love him the most out of everybody these days. Keep in mind that the prize of being my favorite person is bestowed on a daily basis, it must be earned anew and I reserve the right to move on to another favorite person tomorrow. Today, my favorites are Marc and Kay.
I love everybody again today. For a week or so, I have been feeling really dark. I didn't go swimming five days in a row. In true borderline fashion, I thought, a day or two ago, that I was done swimming forever. We borderlines tend to see things in black and white, which is why we are so often suicidal. There is no ebb and flow in a borderline's inner horizon: there is a horizon or there isn't a horizon. There is no mid-distance view, no pause to wait for the tide to change. So, after I missed my swim for several days, I was a little depressed, telling myself my swimming was all over and now I would regain all the weight I have lost and woe-is-me, I lamented, I just gave away all my fattest clothes and now when I regain eighty pounds I will have to buy new ones and now no one is ever going to come along and date me and love me and when I regain the weight, I will get fatter than before and soon I will explode because I am so fat, which is, when you think about it, what fat people do: they do blow up with high blood pressure or a stroke, which is like blowing up, right? Anyway, that was yesterday.
I went to bed thinking, my good, new life is over and I'll never swim again. I didn't even set the alarm for swimming. I told myself that if I was going to get up and swim again, well, I'd have to wake up on my own, dammit.
And I did wake up on my own.
So grudgingly, very grudgingly, I put on my suit and packed my swim bag and trudged over to the pool. Harhumph. I was grouchy. I didn't listen to my iPod. I breathed fire at passing traffic. Snarl.
I wasn't going to swim two hours. I was just going to do thirty minutes. Fuck swimming. Fuck my health.
Then Kay said "Tree no come, we no have fun. Tree come, everything very good."
I am such a baby.
Seriously, I am grossly immature. But hear this, pay attention to me and read on. If I was reborn on the 5th of May last year, and those who love me will agree that I was, well, then, goodness, I am a toddler now. I am just beginning the terrible twos. Toddlers are often crabby for no good reason and they are often cajoled out of their distemper with a cooing chirp from a caring adult. Kay chirped happily at me this morning and poof! my distemper evaporated.
I am going to have to live in California forever, I see now. I need to swim outdoors. All the pools in Seattle seem dank and dreary to me. Well, they are dreary compared to Midwestern indoor pools, if you ask me.
