|
24 Dec 05: In The Between Spaces This Christmas, I am so much in the middle of a step, in between portals - in the halls of possibility, yes, but not yet through, and therefore there's pretty much just blankness beyond the doors - that I can't find words of my own. Now that my mouth is no longer full of ashes, there is so much that needs to be said to so many people that I choke on it all right now. I have to get it all in line and get it out in order, one by one. I wanted to be more... ready, I guess, by now - at once - but that was not possible. Yet. And Eliot already said it much better, and with a lesson I still struggle to learn: -- These things have served their purpose: let them be. Last night, when listening to the choir in the church in Lahti, all I could feel was, "If this is possible; if we can produce things like this, something greater than ever alone, something that when finished and presented, becomes magic, then we do have worth. We do have hope. We may botch the hope, but it is there." However it came to be, it is more than mechanical movement and mindless drive, and I believe in it. Perhaps what we call God is only the common experience of that rare exaltation - I am willing to accept that premise, but to me it seems it forms something real, Becomes something, some shared deeper and greater consciousness. That, I believe undoubtedly. I wish there was a church that didn't mess that up with intolerance and rigidity. I wish I was the sort to found one. 23 Dec 05: ...And Sometimes, A Bit Easier After fifteen hours of sleep at the proper time for such activity, and after surprising family members rose to the occasion and made things simpler, I was able to take a calm look at this Christmas and decide to try and manage it. Lovely, relaxing break where I didn't have to do anything or think of anything: the trip to hear the choir at Lahti that Anni was singing in, very late tonight. I got a ride, I got a ticket (as a present), the concert was interesting and mostly wonderful, and there was mulled wine afterwards at Anni's parents' place, which was good, too. Now there's stuff I still need to handle in the morning, but it doesn't seem like an impossible task. We'll see. 22 Dec 05: Unfair! I'm so tired I can only be still and quiet in one place and not move, not think of anything, not get up to try and do anything, or I just burst into tears. It's so fucking unfair that after all the plans I had for Christmas presents, and all the exhaustion and frustration caused by that male Renaissance ensemble, I just get the flu and can't get anything done. Not a single Christmas present. I wanted to give so many things to so many people who deserved it... and I didn't finish even the old stuff, far less get anything new started. And I have nothing to give to anyone, not even family. And I'm just so tired I want to sleep through all these days. I don't want to go there. I don't want to have to show that I still have nothing, am nothing, not even a considerate human being. I mean, I could have made at least something, couldn't I? It wouldn't have been such a big job? At least for Mom, and Olli, and S&C's baby, if nothing else, so Mom would be happy. And for P&P, because they deserve so much. And, well, all the friends I really really really wanted to remember. And had I finished Tomi's costume, I could at least have had some money for token presents, if nothing else. But even that was too much for me. I hate myself. I am so ashamed. I hate myself. (And seriously, I am so, so sorry that I still haven't got anything for all you my friends, or even the old things for those who are waiting for me to finish something. I had plans for so many, very specific plans, and I still failed, this year too. It didn't help that I'm generally, supposedly going upwards - I failed. I'm sorry. I don't want to be ungrateful and neglectful and selfish - I am grateful, and think of each of you a lot. I just was too slow, even now. I'm sorry.) 20 Dec 05: Nerves: Raw; Family Vacation: Well Done (Yes, I know it's a terrible pun, but I'm unapologetic. As well as emotionally saturated, newly optimistic, instrumentally frustrated, almost brave, and approaching on - dare I say it - opinionated. Also momentarily both sleep-deprived and contractually obligated to write a much-delayed game debrief, so analysis must wait.) The most important news: it is quite possible, in fact probable that I get one more extension of the grant for my therapy. I called about it on Friday, while already on the road, and it turns out that a) I don't need to go through another round with the overworked, dismissive psychiatrist at the Tikkurila office but simply have my therapist send a one-page report on how the therapy is progressing and why it must continue (which I'm sure she's already done since) b) the executive psychiatrist for the fund takes his responsibility seriously and believes in Not Cutting Therapy Off Prematurely (his exact words went something like, "it's not like were the KELA or something! No, we don't interrupt it halfway through, not unless the whole state of Finland bankrupts and dies!"). That there are still people like that is... an indescribable relief. That some people still believe in helping others all the way through and not just for show. That they still believe in the potential in others... God, I hope I get it. (a la Chorus Line, and maybe I do feel as if for the first time in my adult life I dare to dream of anything that I'm not sure of yet, like most people do when half my age...) In other news, and in wait for those emotional conclusions and public opinions, I seem to have achieved at least one of the necessary requirements for a Marvel heroine. This would be acceptable if my limbs (including neck) were twice the length they are, so Steps must clearly be Taken. (For the record, I think the picture - Ariadwen, Duchess of Bath in Avalon - is quite nice as such, and taking a nice picture of me is no mean feat, so thank you, Nino! The other pictures in the gallery seem particularly droolworthy this time around, though I may of course be biased. Go see, and be prepared to fall over for Benedict, Prince of Amber, Protector of Avalon.) 16 Dec 05: ...But That's About It Graah, again fiddling with things far too slowly... Will be absent from email and diary until Tuesday afternoon. 15 Dec 05: Much Energy For Talking Tomi was here yesterday evening, and I worked on the garb; will hopefully get it finished now (or at least, in a few days all in all). Must have talked ten times faster than any sewing, with all these unravellings of twists I've had lately. Today, no problem making it to therapy, continued to talk ten miles a minute (and even so, Liisa managed to slip some uncomfortable logical connections in between my words... I'm still thinking on whether I agree with her in certain things). Ran home, found a new, promising fleamarket on the way, then skipped back to town to have supper with Lissu and talk even more. Good times. Unfortunately, I'm leaving for a prolonged weekend in Tohmajärvi in bro's car early tomorrow morning, and it seems I can't possibly get everything done that I planned to do (at least not the game reports - though I did write the first half of the Calbourne III one). Well, then, have to grovel and promise to be better and deliver next week. I can no longer pretend I have no interest in the world around me. I still have to come up with ways to put that interest into action, so any ways to talk about it must wait as well. 14 Dec 05: Substitute Actions Lead To Reflection, Or: The Phoenix Will Fly I suddenly have a need to fiddle with my pages; it prickles in several separate spots simultaneously, and I really want to get into it. Them. Them changes. I want to replace all the defensive introductions with something else; anything else. I want to add some important links on the welcome page (I decided I can just as well stop pretending I don't care about anything that happens in the real world). I want to rewrite several poems (this is worth italicising!). Typically enough, this should happen right when I must be busy with sewing. Seriously busy. All the lack of sleep resulted in aches and misery last night, so again I've slept most of the day. I had lots of things to do, but... I'll see what I can. ...And now, when I could not resist delaying a little more, checking through those old songs of imperfect, impatient longing and loss and other things, I cannot be but glad. I... Only now, for the first time... I saw, I believed what Liisa keeps saying, that things have changed so much for the better. I had forgot the proof of my own words. They are there, set records... that no longer apply. I am no longer completely the Straw Woman, the broken doll with nothing but desert inside: I am no longer sightless of roads onwards. I no longer gasp for breath in wait of gasping for words: I have found my ways to the burning centres of pain, I have eaten them, and I have passed through. I no longer feel that I am in the middle of dying with every second unless reflecting someone else who is alive: I rarely feel either alive or dead, but I am here; I function, I read and form opinions and prattle about them to people around me; I want things, even if just small things like the next SCA party or a visit to Nanne in Paris, and feel no shame for wanting them; I can sometimes feel the thankfulness of loving my friends - of considering their particular, marvelous existence in itself (not in relation to me) - as stronger than the constant pathological need for them to love me... If all that is not being alive, what is? I notice that my beliefs, my ethics and my never-ceasing hunger to find some way to be useful have stayed mostly the same - that the core of them was in my sight even in the desert of the shadowed valley. The creature, the one that could have wings of flame but was drowning in ash, was there - naked and ugly, uncomfortable to look at, as plucked birds tend to be, but even so. It shook off the ash, endured the looks, and has grown the feathers back, finally. And if they do not yet flame, at least it is now a bird among others. And the flame... may some day come. Funny, that. It was easy to lay claim to a mythological heartbeast when it was clearly a sad sample of one; it is much harder now that is no longer the case. But I will try to dare - I will learn to dare that claim and struggle to be worthy of it. I will live, and learn, and struggle to find a way to make a difference instead of despairing of it, so that one day, my phoenix might flame, and fly, and sing. I will remember that sometimes dying in parts and being reborn without those parts must be endured, no matter how painful. And it is painful: change is never easy for me, so dead and useless emotions tend to stick on and not fall, and stop the growth of new, healthier feathers. And the hardest part of all, the biggest pyre of all: I will strive to learn to dive into my fear and endure the flames to burn it away. It will be often, and it will be terrible, and it is necessary for flight to ever happen. I will learn. So perhaps this year does not fall down into the same darkness, as I feared a few days ago. Perhaps I have finally got out of the prison wheel, no matter who made it originally, and changed into the bigger circle. God, United Consciousness, Wellspring of Lifeforce, Whoever you are... thank you. I am alive, in all the meanings of the word. Thank you. 13 Dec 05: Excuses Due to a certain five-hour phone conversation on Sunday night, had to sleep most of Monday to clear off a splitting headache (which seems to be the inevitable result of any prolonged expositions of my innards these days). (And yes, I used that word on purpose. I don't think the actual contents of most people's minds can be displayed without a certain amount of nausea - mine included.) Went to Kerava to finally sew the zipper in place on Paula's coat. Had to do it twice, so had to stay overnight, so didn't get to sleep more than an hour. But at least it's done, I'm up and moving, and have a few more missing bits of culture patched (namely, Casablanca, and Tosca). More later. Have to run now. (Night) Good therapy. Bustled around in town, met Tomi, dropped off Paula's coat, bustled some more. Shopped a bit, but was strict and did not buy anything. Materialism is in no way vanquished for today, however: there are severe symptoms of Perfect Fabric Withdrawal. Now so tired it must be outlawed somewhere, and if it isn't, should be. So long analyses on this, that and various must wait one more night. 11 Dec 05: But Happy Great game. Worked really well, left most players in a great high of accomplishment, and that is rare. Wonderful afterparty in a pub (table thoughtfully reserved by the GM beforehand). Will write more, but too tired today. (And too badly dizzy. Yeah, yeah, will see to it as soon as enough money is in sight, which should be in a couple of days.) Had solemnly sworn to write debrief today, but simply not able to do anything requiring thought or coordination. Hopefully tomorrow will be better in that regard. Even managed to fiddle a dress into shape for the game; see the sewing diary for details. 09 Dec 05: Just... Tired Didn't sleep at night, slept the day - so nothing new. A bit brighter after some time on the phone. Took a quick trip to Kerava to drop off a necklace I promised to loan Mom for a Christmas party - also gave me much-needed exercise and fresh air (there's a fifteen- minute walk at both ends). Other results: sauna, healthy food and calcium+vitamin tablets Mom didn't need. So, not so bad. But now it's past midnight, I have no idea what to wear to Avalon V tomorrow (and must have solved that problem and be there before 11am), and I had planned to whip myself into writing my Calbourne III debrief tonight, so it would be done before going to another, different fantasy game. It's not very probable I can put together both the debrief and the dress in this time, in this state of general exhaustion (not to mention that skipping sleep is absolutely not an option - I'd look like a zombie and feel like a horde of them: ready to eat anyone that came my way). Why can't I ever get to that funtional level of normality where things happen, and if need be, strength can be stretched to make a couple of them happen simultaneously? 08 Dec 05: Hope Is A Slippery Fish I was thinking about faith and its particulars, after the note from the day before yesterday, and it came to me that there is a lot to be said for the belief in prayer: it keeps one's outlook on life optimistic, and that is useful. Hope is difficult enough as it is, effort without hope even more so. As the days dwindle and the year pushes you into the inevitable summing-up process, I feel lost and weak again, too weak to believe I could ever be good or productive or even non-evil. Everything is so dark and I feel so alone and rejected and purposeless (which is so easy to read as further rejection, from the part of God, or universe, itself) that it makes me angry and unreasonable and I want to lash out, and do. And since people don't want to be lashed out at, no-one will come and hug me and say that I'm not bad and that it'll all be okay. I don't want to be a self-pitying idiot. I just don't know what to do, as therapy is ending and I still don't know what I could be or how to be that, or anything; how to dare even the smallest paperwork or other official business, far less how to get beyond that and make an actual place for myself. I feel too tired to sew, and too scared and small to move. I want to work with my brain, but I'm too stupid. And too scared. I'm so scared. I should have no need for all this moodiness, I know. Wasn't I feeling much more energetic and positive just a week ago? Well, at least I was trying to put a positive spin on things; to see proper closure with the impending accounting of the year... and I still don't know which is truer, and which is self-deception. A friend took me to dinner tonight, all of a sudden - they'd had a good day of happy news. Why doesn't that make me feel better and less rejected? Well, there are reasons. Not all of the reasons are nice and presentable, but they are there. In part, this may be simply the usual emotional aftereffects of a story: I watched the movie Weight of Water on TV (missed the beginning, but not too long to get into it) and then went to find out about the 1870's murder case it refers to. The film reinvents the solution and the motifs, but it was the true story that shocked me worst: that someone could murder people who have given him selfless charity and care. That a person who needed that charity and care was capable of paying it back like that. And this cursed instinctive empathy (which is not a good thing in itself, it just is) made me imagine how that might be possible for me, and that was enough to scare me into doubting my own humanity, again. Apropos empathy: there's something I've wanted to say about it for quite a while, but I'd better not, as it would be another disagreement with another friend. So I'll say something else about whether someone is a nice person or a not-nice one. A friend, in a phone conversation, referred to an acquaintance with the following description: "he may do slimy things sometimes, but he's a nice fellow". Now, I could not disagree more with this whole attitude. How else can people really be measured except by what they do; how they behave towards others? And if someone does slimy things (in this case, offensive bordering on sexual harassment), it makes me incredibly mad that anyone could just overlook them because the person is "a nice fellow". How can someone be overall okay if what they do is not okay?? This is what I do not get. I know, I know. "Judge not, lest ye be judged." I wish I could get to that, but at the moment I can't. Injustice bothers me too much. I know it's too much. I should learn to moderate this bothered-ness, or at least turn it productive. (I guess I still sometimes hope I could die fighting for a worthy cause - "find me a pyre", I wrote almost exactly two years ago. Simple and quick meaning, no endless trying, just one burst of it all, and down in flames. If only it were that easy.) 07 Dec 05: It Should Be Better By Now It isn't. (Much, much later) I just want to go back to that manor house I dreamed of last night, and all its gardens on its own island, and the beach in midnight sun. It was not the usual stone manor somewhere west of Helsinki for my family to live, but somewhere else, somewhere more in the country, and it was big and glamorous and all a big soap opera, and I want to go there again. Instead of this life where I flounder about, failing all true connection, too desperate for it to find solace in stories, which would be so much more productive. I must be a terrible person to always fail. 06 Dec 05: Surprising Ease, Familiar Pain Couldn't get much done towards the end of last week. Luckily, was helped in the dressing department by Clo's graceful loan of a costume for Saturday. Sielun/Messu much easier than feared. Weekend all good. Then spent evenings with Dad& at P&P's place. Ropecon programming meeting I visited also a nice surprise. Right now, however, hate the world, hate everyone because even now No-one Is On My Side, ever, I don't belong, I never get to belong, I never get an apology for anything, and I understand scarily well all those bad people who go on rampages because they've been rejected or put down or misunderstood, and that is Wrong and also, I don't WANT to be like those losers, and so I should just End It Now. I am hurting and furious and am not going to write more, because I just want to let it all out and accuse everyone that has ever hurt me and never apologised and everyone else who never saw fit to judge those in the first group, one by one, by name and it's always unwise online, no matter how many disclaimers of any sort. Why must it be this hard for me? Please, God, why? Not that God would answer: I'm not a stupid Christian, after all, and accept the proof of my own eyes, which is that God does not intercede; God does not do anything for my one single personal little suffering, because clearly He does no such thing for all those billions of other sufferers the world over. I don't matter, only the possible futures of the whole of humankind matter. So who gives a shit if some teeny personal things sting me? No-one. Who gives a shit about me anyway? And the answer is scarily close to the same. The terrible paradox is, self-pity just drives all potential caring even further. But what do you do when it hurts so much you can't cry, or scream, or any of the things you feel like? What do you do? |