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28 Feb 06: Feeling Better Feels... Bad? This, this has to be something pathological: you come home from something that can be counted as a small accomplishment and therefore feel reasonably good about yourself... but suddenly freeze in fear, and avoid checking the mail, absolutely certain that something, anything, will happen to strike you low again simply because you dared to feel a bit good. And you realise this is how it always goes - you firmly expect to be punished for feeling good, or even slightly optimistic, slightly okay. Why? Why do I expect that? I don't know, seriously don't. But that is how it is. And that can't be normal, can it? Anyway, accomplishment: went to unemployment orientation lecture in time and also remembered to take along the papers still needed for the application (besides the psychiatrist's report, which I'll get on Friday). Employment plan interview next Wednesday. Nothing still about the therapy money, not even after my extra begging. I wonder if I have to start doing stupid things in order to be considered properly ill even now. I don't want to; I've managed not to, through almost everything. But I'm getting desperate. Why can't they believe my need? Got some milk, so can make those diet shakes again. Though why I ever thought strawberry would be a good taste for them I can't understand... Want to go to sleep, but need to get that social benefit application written and delivered before the month ends. May get too tired anyway (having woken at seven pm last night, after all). (Evening) Social benefit application: delivered. Also caved in and went the Mom route, as a result of which now have tummy full of Carelian Stew and a couple of necessities in the fridge. I guess it's better this way anyway, to stop her worrying. Still, it's funny how suddenly the lack of food turns from terrible loss and sense of cosmic injustice into something completely tolerable at the very moment one has some spare money in the purse and the secure knowledge that one could buy goodies if one wanted to... Going to bed now (seven pm), hoping to be up at a sensible hour tomorrow morning despite 24-hour stretch awake. (No, putting in the application does not yet mean that we're sailing yet. We're not even out of the rocky breakwater: I still have to figure out all my debts, including the too-long-unpaid student loans, for the basic social benefit to go through. And dealing with the people dealing with those will be really, really, really scary. And then there's the psychiatrist that needs a good metaphorical whack on the head about how badly she miscalculated with me, but who am I to claim that, even if I firmly believe so?) Bed. Now. 27 Feb 06: ...And Pitiful All this whining about lack of food would certainly be more credible if I had the strength of mind not to go and nick housemate's leftover crisps and cookies. Besides, there were some odds and ends in the cupboards that made for a meal or two, once I just got myself to try some creative cooking. The creamy curry-flavoured onion soup was even good, but I think by now I've had my fill of variations of ketchup and onion with anything. Slept the day; what else? Was planning on going to flamenco (the one thing I hadn't yet botched completely), but couldn't get moving. Need to fill social support application tomorrow, and there's some sort of an obligatory counseling session at the employment office. There's a questionnaire on the webpage of "Helsingin Sanomat" that counts your life expectancy. If I don't get myself together, I only have a 20% chance of living to 82, and I didn't even check what the actual predicted number was. If I do get things working, my life expectancy is 88 - by now, and I trust it'll just get longer with the new developments in health and medicine. I should keep focusing on that. I really really want to live long, if I am to live, to see as much as possible, as long as possible. It's just hard when the quick exit door is flashing again at the corners of vision. Finished Rats and Gargoyles - very enjoyable, challenging, great imagery, great story. However, neither of the sequels seems able to hold my interest, maybe because I like the main protagonist but can't bring myself to like her companion and counterpart. I'll give them a bit more of a try, but right now I'm having a break with The Telling by Ursula le Guin. More intellectual, and visual, sci fi, but at least I won't have to tolerate Mr. "larger-than-life" Lord- Architect Baltasar Casaubon for a while. (I do recognise my continuing fault of narrow-mindedness for caring about a person's physical appearance over brilliance of mind, honesty and goodwill, and am surprised that it extends to fiction. Though maybe I shouldn't: fiction is, after all, a pleasure I choose, so why could I not choose what I like even in its particulars? I do tend to find fat men unappealing in real life, even more so if they are untidy, which this character certainly is - but as I've often stated in private discussions, in real life brilliance of mind and word tends to override all concerns of appearance, and I could give you more than one examples if I wanted to, which I don't. And anyway, those examples aren't untidy, as far as I can tell. And no good looks can compensate for lack of honesty and goodwill, as we have amply seen demonstrated.) (I'm much more forgiving of flesh in women, funnily enough, considering that I feel less drawn to women in general. A woman can quite well be nicely rounded, and her physical appeal is no less in my eyes. That generalisation does not include myself personally, of course, but that much we all knew.) (And all this was completely besides the point, which was that Rats and Gargoyles by Mary Gentle lives up to its hype, and I can heartily recommend it to any lover of intelligent fantasy.) 26 Feb 06: Paused Nothing to tell. I'm spending my time mostly sleeping, hoping I can gather up enough courage to beg some money from someone for the next two-and-a-half weeks. No, this is not a hint! Had I anyone left that I could honourably ask, I would. But I owe so many people already that it has. to. stop. somewhere. Sleeping is easy; it makes you forget that there's nothing to eat, which is too much on my mind anyway - no, there isn't anything to eat, but if I was someone who forgets to eat anyway, I might not make such a fuss out of it. Perhaps this is even good for me: at least when there's no temptations to be had, there's no chance to succumb. It may even be that this state only goes on till Thursday - it's vaguely possible that I get some money then from one of the two people who actually owe me a bit. So it's not really that serious. Really. But I admit I don't have the strength of mind to actually do much except press pause and sleep while this state lasts. (Besides, I lie: there's porridge. And I do eat it. It just doesn't really cover all the basic food groups, and with no protein, ballet is straight out. But maybe it's only till Thursday.) (And sleeping is good in keeping all the noise of guilt out, since of course the endless merry-go-round of how-can-I-be-in-this-state goes on and on.) 25 Feb 06: Unexpected Delight & Apprehension (Arbitrary date division, again. Sleep later.) Hum. Interesting news in the sewing diary. It's nothing huge in the general sense, but in the sewing sense I'm quite proud. Apprehensive, too, but also proud. 24 Feb 06: Wandering In Dream So, since one simply had to watch figure skating last night (and how extraordinary and wonderful for YLE to show the ladies' free in its entirety!), sleep debt had to be paid by missing today as thoroughly as ever. And the dreams weren't even memorable. The bright spot of the evening was a long phone chat with Lin; the work of tonight has consisted of putting up more dress pictures, both of me and of others in costumes by me. I suppose that counts as some sort of small accomplishment. Actual work on costumes would be even better, of course. Rats and Gargoyles by Mary Gentle seems worth all its fame: wildly original, vivid, confusing, engaging. 23 Feb 06: And Remember...? ...How you thought these places behind you (Very rough day. Rent did was musicals always do: broke me, and I wouldn't change it back even so, because I loved it to breaking anyway. Yet now it would be lovely not to have used up all care and all caring, and to be able to lay down and be honestly ill, for a while. Not to be had, but it would be so lovely.) (And even so: all thanks to Lissu, I got the studies-interrupted paper from the University student counseling, and half the thanks again to Mirka, I now have a new appointment for the psychiatrist - who again was unencouraging, but at least I have an appointment - and a distant-but-existing appointment at the basic social support counselor. I wish I could feel any accomplishment for these, but today I can't.) 22 Feb 06 (Night): Weary, But Grateful I thought I could stay awake better, having awoken at three in the morning, but I fell asleep again around nine am, and slept until four in the afternoon. Hopeless. Luckily, Antti agreed to take the trouble to come and cheer me up, and I managed to spend some pleasant moments on the phone with just the right people, too. We watched the director's cut of Sin City, my having never seen any of it before. It was - naturally - very stylish and faithful to the graphic novels, but I, having only glanced at the printed version, was surprised at how it was even more brutal than I had thought. I must say I was taken aback, and now I'm again feeling that there's something wrong with either me - too meek, too weak - or the rest of the world - how can they enjoy such nauseating, inhuman gore? I don't know which, and it doesn't matter: I just want to cry simply because this difference is there. How? How can you like it? How? It's ugly and disgusting and terrifying and I don't want to see or hear or know, and when such intelligent people find it fine, then the fault is surely mine, but I don't want to know. And it drives me to despair that I am childish and stupid even in this. And even so, I don't want to learn different. In any case, the friendly company and support was much needed. I received a surprising apology today, but no more of that for now. The page of game pictures got a few additions, and I finally started a page of pictures from other events ('con and such), but it's not up yet. 21/22 Feb 06: The Folly of Mankind Sometimes - not often, but sometimes - I get these absurd moments where I would really, really love to write about something that happened, if for nothing else then because I wish to remember the absurdity myself, and let's face it, because for once I would have an amusing anecdote to share with friends & interested acquaintances... And then I realise I still care about the consequences. That some things would simply be too much trouble (not big trouble, but more than one little troubles combined) to be worth a middling-amusing anecdote. And the regret - that this can't be a true diary, after all; that complete honesty is an illusion - tastes unpleasantly sour. So, not that. Something else. That is, my continuing adventures to trick my better intentions: yesterday morning I managed to stay awake to call about basic social support, but lo and behold, when my phonecall was directed to the appropriate person, their phoning times on Tue and Thurs are at a completely different hour from the stated phoning hours given for these people; likewise with the consultation hours of the social support office in general. And so I dug out my last pennies, went to the grocery store to get comfort food, came home and fell asleep over Galactica before the appointed hour. And again, one more (well, two: the psychiatrist's phone hour as well) terrifying confrontation avoided. One more day for failing. And yes, of course I regret it now, and am ashamed. But when the moment comes again, how probable is it that I manage to avoid it one more endless time? Very. I dreamed of being in a LARP where the players were hugely powerful wizards. All the magic was done by simply announcing it, and we were all cheating on our hit points (both defensive and offensive). At least I know I was, and I'm pretty sure the others were as well. There was lots of climbing trees (on roadside park strips) and throwing flames from there. And adventuring through a dark wood on a small hill, as I needed to take a shortcut to the final confrontation spot (and since the milieu was a combination of the two small towns I spent my childhood in, I knew the ins and outs, except that the wood was completely black, and I ran into some teenage bandits, but my cool demeanor saved me from a fight, and losing the last of my euros). And then the final fight, where it suddenly was winter, and even with my surprise attack from an unexpected direction, I was soon in trouble, because by then it was all swordfights, and I ended up with two very light latex weapons against much heavier boffer swords - and unlike real weapons, light weight is not exactly a help. It just means you can't parry with them at all effectively. Luckily, the dream ended before I needed to admit my defeat. 20 Feb 06: Well, Then: Medical Update I'm back to the stage where sleep and waking have twisted into the exact upside down from normal: I slept until six this evening (though that was not the plan, as I did go to bed sometime after three). So not good, so not ready for either ballet or flamenco. And getting even more un-ready, because insecurity's made the eating thing flare up in full power again: I'm constantly hungry. Yesterday, made and ate a complete pan of pancake, and went on feeling hungry after that. Am out of money, which makes me even more ravenous (knowing availability of food is diminished drives the panic up, of course). Also, I am beginning to lose any hope or sense of self-worth. I'm desperate for reassurance in any and all senses, no matter how pitifully I need to grovel for it. Just looking at beautiful people on TV having any sorts of romantic relations makes me feel unworthy and despairing of ever having anything even remotely like that - as it's only the province of the beautiful, which I'm not. And we know how worthy I turned out to be intellectually. And sewing feels like mountains of work that would never be finished, and even if it did, would be so imperfect it's better not to (so all I can do is take unsatisfactory things apart in preparation for repairs, and that I am doing, and luckily there are so many things in process I can quite well keep on avoiding any completion). I've even returned to being afraid of meeting my own thoughts - because they'd be so full of justified accusations - and so even though it would be good for me to try getting back to exercise by taking the dog out, I'm afraid. (Would be good for the poor dog as well - he's got a split nail and so has to wear one of those uncomfy plastic collars, and it's making him really miserable. Going for a walk would be just the thing - it's the nail that's higher up on the foot, so it doesn't hinder movement.) (Maybe I'll dare, in a moment. Maybe.) Paradoxically enough, I had one of those rare dreams of hope and self-confidence. I and a lot of other people were getting ready to go to a concert were, among other things, my brother was giving a piano recital for a degree on the instrument. The other people included my middle aunt and some of my cousins, but also many LARP friends or acquantainces, and a lot of us had stayed over in some temporary guest housing - a school or something. During all the preparations I had an opportunity for a conversation with an acquaintance that I appreciate a lot and in whose games I'd like to be invited more often, and I took up the question of what I should do to correct their opinion of me (something that I probably wouldn't dare in real life - or wouldn't expect it to be of any use). There didn't seem to be anything more concrete, except that I should be less difficult and more agreeable in general. As a joking example, he said I might try offering sex for getting in. Now in reality, this would be a) something that person would never joke about, or ask me in any situation b) offensive to me as well, in principle (though I do find this person desirable at least in a friendly manner if not really romantically). However, in the dream there was nothing offensive about it, and so I asked if that actually was what he'd want, as I'd thought he wouldn't desire me in any circumstances, and if so, nothing would be simpler, and I kissed him. He said sure, of course he'd like to have sex with me, and so we ended up in an understanding that had nothing to do with getting into their games any more. And I was happy and feeling good about myself while we all got going to the concert and arrived there, at which point the dream ended. Isn't it pitiful how the best of my dreams are ones of unexpected, unhoped-for acceptance? 18 Feb 06: The Arms of Sleep and Family Slept for thirteen hours on Friday, made it to flamenco despite lack of shoes and was glad of persevering; then went to pour out sorrow and bewilderment to P&P (well, mostly to Paula, as my bro dropped like clockwork as usual). Slept on their guest mattress and paid for the comfortable numbness of wine by absolutely terrifying dreams (was victim of a serial torturer-killer), but more sleep, then coffee and breakfast, helped. Wandered back to Rajakylä, then again back to town to see Narnia with bro and unload some more. Narnia was... interesting. Parts of it were utterly charming and magical - I wept at unexpected moments, such as when we first see the lamppost and when the children sit at their thrones; I thought the beavers were very well done - so lovely that they were not people in suits, nor looked like such (which could have been); the artistic design was suitably original (and not a copy of LOTR, for example); and the young actors portraying the children were sincere and captivating. Lucy in particular had one of those faces that simply light up from the inside, with an everchanging radiance. The story was handled rather well. However, some parts were surprisingly disappointing - I thought Aslan suffered from overly mobile facial animation, a mistake so elementary one should think they'd know to avoid it by now, and I'm not sure Liam Neeson's lovely voice was the right choice for this, either. The attempt to build a character base for Edmund's mistake(s) still was not very successful - I think it would have been better as a simple fact. The sacrifice story arc was less impressively portrayed than I expected: I was not scared at the Witch's troops at the Stone Table (no, actually I found my thoughts wandering into thinking how unfair it is to equal ugly and evil, particularly with creatures that have no human model base anyway); I was not shocked at the killing strike; I was not moved to tears at the return. And as impeccably impressive as Tilda Swinton was, she wasn't my White Witch - though that, I suppose, is a matter of personal taste (I didn't like the look of the centaurs either). To me, Jadis is coloured like Snow White and is incredibly beautiful even in the conventional sense - until she reveals her true nature in actions and words. Even so, it was not a bad film, and it even corrected some dramatic weaknesses of the book. I'm satisfied to have seen it, and eager to see how they're going to continue (as it seems they are). Bored. Wanted to do something fun tonight, and to avoid the questions of identity and purpose - but mostly identity at its most basic - that have resurfaced at the latest. Dreamed of a friend, the second time in a short while. 16 Feb 06: That's It, Then So I didn't get into the study program. State of studies not clear enough; no appeal possible. So I should have been able to take care of something that would take two months at least before I even begin? And no letter about the therapy funding, which means they haven't given any (they don't send out negative decisions). Do I now care if I get unemployment benefit or not? Fuck no. Fuck all. I wasn't good enough even for these basic requirements, so how could I now start working through all the extra hoops and loops for that? Or for the other stuff, like trying to clear the unpaid student loans? I don't give a shit anymore. I wasn't good enough to become a human being. And I'm not going to be able to face that, or face admitting that to my parents. Besides, now they can put me to work, and I am not yet well enough. I would have been well enough to begin studies, but not work. Not work. I don't have the confidence. No. And I won't get the therapy to get any better than this. Fuck, I'm only now getting it: this is over. This really is over. I don't think I really believed I wouldn't get in, once I just tried. (Night) The waning moon always looks so sad, much more so than the waxing one - lopsided and tattered; aging. And tonight, when the snow glitters again (as it didn't during the past week when the temperature was milder), it no longer looks wondrous and delightful, huge airy flakes of opalescent glimmer, like something dusted off the wings of angels - for after seeing these wisps of abalone I can't imagine that angel wings could possibly be made of feathers when they could be made of the same material as butterfly wings. Today, though, their slow dance in the air and in the ground no longer seems lovely and benevolent, but like tiny slivers of diamond and steel. And cold, oh so cold, the way of diamond and steel always. I still sit here, though for what, I do not know. I tried to find some outlet to my despair and need to find reassurance, and so I got myself to write that extra note for the therapy money application, about how even half a year would be fine, and that I haven't had more than two and a half anyway, and about how I still come apart pathologically far too easily, using the past week as an example (trying to give them some sense of the state of my illness now that my therapist failed to do what she promised and write her statement describing exactly that, from a professional standpoint - that I don't have, but at least I've tried to recount something). Then I tried calling several people to join me in the movies, to think of something else, but as that didn't work out, I went to pour my sorrows on Mirka's shoulder, and continued home (well, to Rajakylä) by the emotional support of Paula. Here, leftover food from yesterday's dinner with Lissu and men's Olympic figure skating served as moderately adequate distractions. I don't think I'll be able to make the 8am ballet tomorrow, either. Not that I really think what I will be able to manage from now on, anyway. Not right now. It all seems useless. Being robbed of the illusion of belonging among Respectable People (for those who are working towards it, ie. students, can be accepted into the classification) is... beyond words, beyond anything I can even want to encompass and squeeze into words. I think I have to start accepting that I need a completely different life. Completely. But it scares me. Possibly going away scares me. Not becoming a degreed person, which I seriously could be, scares me. But not becoming anything that has any lasting meaning scares me even more. And the moon is sad and aging, just like me, and the angel wings are shedding their dust on younger, more promising people. 15 Feb 06: ...This Really Isn't Working This is no longer panic; this is an actual crisis. I hesitate to use the word "crash", but it could be valid as well. I couldn't get up (well, I did wake up to hellishly irritable, irregular noise from outside: the park maintenance were sawing off branches from trees, but that was a great reason to move to the living-room and go on to sleep another six hours). I can't move. I don't want to go home and find rejection in the form of either letters or nothing. I'm not in any shape to go to my ballet class - I've still got this one teacher left to be terrified about, and it's a demanding class, and I still don't know if I have a cold or not. And friendship things really, really bother me right now. I think one misunderstanding/worry got cleared up yesterday, but the currently big one still lingers. I have lots of thoughts related to that one, or actually the thing that that one relates to, but I must say I don't dare to set them down in public. Self-analysis is mostly ugly, as we have seen, but if it connects to someone else, it suddenly becomes not just ugly but too easily seen as insulting, even if it was not meant so, but only as betterment to self-understanding. Dirty laundry is dirty laundry. I try to convince myself of the wisdom of this, but part of me keeps saying I'm just being a coward, trying to pretend to things that are no longer there, if they ever were. But on the other hand, even if I am feeling very hurt, is that a good reason to proclaim in public any difficulties there might be with someone, anyone? After all, that would only lead to people thinking I won't fit into the same space with the cause of the difficulties, and then they would choose the other person, as they always have done? So, yes, in the end, better to shut up and learn to swallow it, not risk becoming a pariah again. (Even if this is one thing that has always felt terribly, terribly unfair to me: that the person who hurt another person gets exactly what they wanted - public acceptance - while the person who was hurt gets to suffer the judgement of the group - being excluded. It's exactly the wrong way round, and I can't for the life of me figure why it goes so.) 14 Feb 06: Under the Pressure Front Slept long again, but had no refreshing dreams. Slow and quiet, trying to quell the panic or at least slip under it for a while, and the possibility of a cold is still there, so stayed here except for a short excursion to Itäkeskus. I mostly just wandered around, checked the new location for Eurokangas (good selection, quite impressed) and did some grocery shopping. Got back here, didn't do much except eat nearly everything I bought. The highlights were a long phone conversation with Tomi (and a slightly shorter one with Mili on the way home) and watching some figure skating. I have to get the courage to go back to ballet classes. This is simply ridiculous; I can't keep doing this every time I have to miss a week for something (and something always comes up). But all this eating... that's where the trouble lies. (Not that it helps any to have binges like this. Health? What health? Where? Is it edible?) Another dear friend emailed to note something else I'm good at, but unfortunately they included a truth that isn't that good: that I mean well. That doesn't mean anything if the intention doesn't lead to doing well. The best of intentions are just excuses not to act. The road to hell etc. Updated sewing diary a bit. 13 Feb 06: Aching All Over Still needed a lot of sleep; am now seriously hampered physically and can't decide if that's because of sleeping too long in a bed I'm not used to (it's rather hard, which I didn't notice last week when I didn't have time to oversleep here, and the pillows are special ones) or if some flu has finally caught up with me... Or even if I'm just psychosomatically reacting to the worry and fear over therapy funding and the degree completion program (as I've hear nothing from either, which I understand I should have). I want to just stay inside and put something on the DVD and maybe do a bit of easy handsewing - just to feel I'm doing something and am therefore not worthless and so don't need to drown under this worry of not making it after all... (And I might just do exactly that, except I need to get something to eat, and the downside to this most excellent abode is the lack of shops nearby. The bus goes often, I know, but right now even dragging oneself to the bus feels like an insurmountable ordeal...) To work against this rising panic, I'll try something nearly unthinkable. Lissu, the dear friend she is, wrote to me concerning my nice habits, or lack of same, and I think it might do me good to relate what she saw fit to list. For one, collectivity, or easy sharing of resources: loaning of clothes, jewellery, offering rides, offering a place to crash, or a place for meetings and stuff. In some senses I suppose this is true, but not unconditionally - I don't like to be expected to do this, I like to be asked. Particularly now that I've been so poor for the past couple of years, loaning things to strangers is not easy for me (except if I can do it with no trouble at all for myself, and it'll add to my own and everybody's fun, for example if I'm already at a larp site with all my jewellery and I notice others might benefit of the stuff I'm not going to use myself). Friends are another matter, and it's true that I'm willing to share pretty much everything I've got or can do with friends, but I don't see that as particularly admirable: after all, I get something out of it, don't I? (Agh. It was not supposed to be part of the exercise to list the objections I raised to her - but I want to be truthful.) Second, resilience up to obstinacy, or how much work I'm willing to do on things I feel strongly about. Yes, in some senses, but not consistently enough (just look at all the costumes I have unfinished for friends who've already paid for some or most of them!). Not at all consistently enough for it to count. One cannot forget that there's always the psychological tendency for me to set myself up to fail, and that I can only counter it if I feel I'm doing something completely selflessly, or on someone else's orders (and my greatest victories over my own self-hate have been only moderate successes to the outside world, and some even for people who did not deserve them at all). I suppose this is something I want to have or be - that the possibility is there - but I'm going to need to work a lot more for this to be actually of any good use. Third, ability to put my meager crafts skills into good use in building costumes and overall theatrical looks out of bits and pieces. Okay, I don't totally suck at this, but I see so many people around me who are just as good at this, or even better (such as Mari K., or Siri K., or Taika, or, well, many). But okay, this is one I can accept, and be moderately proud of (though "proud" is such a scarily absolute word...). Fourth, being able to analyse my own feelings and motives, and being good at helping others do the same, too. Yes, this I do, but is it really that rare these days? And besides... No, actually, no - there is no besides. Now I'm giving myself leave to be angry and say no. For years I've lived to prove a former friend's judgement of me being great at this self-analysis but the worst in the world at putting it to use, but no more. It was nine years ago, dammit! And therapy's proved I can put it to use, if more slowly than I would like. I will not carry this hurt and this label any longer. I will not. So: I am good at analysing my feelings, and those of others - not perfect, not always right, but comparably good - and no buts. Gosh. I think I need to go and have a bit of a cry now. (Later) Better. Wrote half of my C4 debrief, and updated the sewing diary. Now I'm finally going to settle down, watch Olympic figure skating and sew if and only if I feel like it. (Even later) ...Well, not better, really. I saw a picture of me in the game, and again it was a wet towel to the face: always, always when the exceptional happens and I go to a game under the illusion that I look good... I actually don't. I looked fat (as I half-feared because of the mid-high waist) and tired, and old, and just like my mother. Soft, squishy, wrinkled. Old. So: no more slacking with the exercise, not a single week, no matter what excuses of tiredness I manage to cook up! Fresh air and outdoors exercise every day, dammit! And no more hurried overnight sessions of sewing before games, no more, so things must be finished at least two days before!! Fuck it. I was kind of beginning to accept growing older - at least it brought some measure of if not wisdom then bitter learning - but this sucks, again. Right now. Fuck it. How can anyone find me attractive any more?? How can I possibly find anyone I could bear to watch and desire for the rest of my while, if I'm not able to attract such from my part? It's all gone anyway. I could just as well do what I always spoke of doing and go to a nunnery, or to Calcutta, or something. At least I would be of some use to someone who might maybe make a difference, or even be happy, or something. And I'm quite sure I didn't get either therapy money or accepted into the gradu completion program. I'm used up without ever being able to produce anything. It's over. ...I know, but I'm tired of fighting. It's clear my paradigm for an attempted return of life isn't working out after all. Isn't. I could take heart from my new hero, the Chinese pairs figure skater Dan Zhang, who fell abominably because of her pair's sloppy throw and clearly hurt herself badly, but who decided to continue, pulled herself together completely, and fought to the silver medal (and they could not have caught the champions even with a clear skate, and might well have lost to the sentimental favourite, the senior Chinese pair, but didn't). But I can't: she had hope, and a future. I don't have anything to fight for. ...And I see I'm setting myself up for more heartbreak, now that I got into the spiral. I just don't know how to stop. I want to scream, I want to be held and cry for two hours and hear someone say it's going to be okay. But I'm sure that's what everyone wants, so what am I to feel martyred when I have no-one to indulge that need? And I still haven't worked out several other things, like calling for another appointment for the psychiatrist's statement, and now that I had to cancel once, why would she indulge me any more? And I'm afraid even if I did, I couldn't make Liisa call her or anything. And I need to call for an appointment for basic social support, but how can I get any of that either, without the psychiatrist's statement? And then there's the old student loans, of which I should call Kela and whine and beg, and don't dare. Don't dare. I used up all my daring in the week before last, and no new daring gathers up if no encouragement brings it. That's just how it is with me. Why, fuck it, why am I still here? How did I ever think it could still be possible to catch up? 12 Feb 06: Recovering, And SCA Thoughts Dad and Satu-Tuutu dropped by in the morning - far too early to me, after yesterday's excitement - to sell me some more of the VLCD shake (yay for more drive to the diet!). I wheedled a ride to Lummetie to pick up all the stuff I left there before the game. Once there and once Laura had dropped the props back, I crawled into bed in full clothes, pulled the covers over my head and promptly fell asleep until evening. And, happily enough, feel no shame. I needed it. Back at Q-land, I had sauna and lots of thoughts on yesterday's game and games in general, and sounded them off Lissu, who phoned (too late for her to join me in the sauna). And now I'm all ready for bed again. I've been thinking on my present feelings about the SCA as well. We had a long conversation over this with Tofa on the way home from Midwinter, and I managed to pinpoint at least a couple of things that I've really missed in the events I've seen after I started again. They mostly relate to the same thing: that I dearly miss, and cannot reach, even occasional glimpses of the illusion of actually being somewhere completely different from the modern world. For one, personas mean very little these days, if anything, and I suppose I can't help that much, since the oldest and most respected members of the group want it so. Because such a big part of their lives is concerned with this hobby, they want to be involved as themselves, and I can understand that and sympathise somewhat, but it does sort of put a damper on a lot of the enchantment there might be of the idealised middle ages. To me, the most interesting part is, and has always been, the reenactment of culture - the arts and worldview, dreams and hopes and thoughts of an age. And I would sorely love more of it. I just don't know how to bring it in to the casual interaction and general hanging out at events (performing is a separate issue - and there I do have a plan). Partly related to this, I suppose, is that chivalry is not much in evidence either - maybe it's easier for us dour Northerners to be polite and flowery under the guise of persona, not so much when that guise is thinned to nonexistence. Chivalry, here, is meant in the larger sense: all politeness, courtesy and reference to formal manners, and only secondarily in the sense of courtly love or chivalry on the field. Though courtly love in any form, even just hints to it, would be altogether lovely to see again, in some form at least, it may be beyond any hope by now. But would chivalry be impossible to revive? As I said, we talked about this a lot and had some plans to that direction, but we'll see. One thing I could certainly do is to be actively more polite and in-persona myself - though what the specifics might be beyond curtsying and greeting everyone I meet, I don't know, and I dearly would like to, as greeting strangers or near-strangers is and has always been terrifying for me (what might they think? remember, I'm incredibly shy at heart). But I want to try at least. A practical note is that I think the sites could be decorated more carefully. We don't have very many nice sites available for events, but I think it still makes a difference to cover up all modern appliances and other eyesores as thoroughly as possible - no, it does not make everything perfect, but it does help. It really does. I noticed the difference while visiting the younger medieval society's party in the autumn: this is something about which they're pretty anal, and it does give a nicer effect to the surroundings. I hope someone more influential and longer active member might raise this issue and start seeing to it... I don't want to be the one to nag. (Which reminds me of my plans in this very same practical vein for SuoLi: need to move forward with that props weekend I want to organise!) 11 Feb 06: ...Other People's Problems, Replacing One's Own Calbourne IV was very intensive and exhausting, and also another rather satisfying example of a well-prepared negotiations-centered game. I must have got into it more than I've managed for a long time, as my immediate post-low was really bad (and therefore really loud, which it seems I still haven't learned to control). But I hope I managed to convince the GMs that it was a great game, and they'd done their job wonderfully well - my frustration was mostly caused by certain in-game events and by the fact that, once again, players had trouble portraying the proper mentality of a medieval-ish class society where king and state are absolute and treason is punishable by death. I tried to uphold the rigidity and as a result felt that I was extremely harsh and hard and irritating. And I got so into it I forgot to be cool and diplomatic even when I had something useful to contribute. (I did feel that I had things to contribute, but... well. I just seemed to slide too much into the same mode that I went into Avalon V, and that's not good. Those are two very separate characters, and they should be distinctive.) Right now, I feel so very, very small and tired and ashamed of having once again come off like someone forceful and dominating when I didn't even plan to, and feeling that it showed that it was too much my own reaction. Or, well, a non-prepared reaction. I'd dearly love to be able to cuddle up next to someone right now and just be allowed to be small and worn out. Besides, I didn't even manage to reach the personal goals I had set myself this weekend: there was a big improvement in punctuality (I was at the site on time and my costume was as finished as I could get it by myself - I only needed help in sewing four short ribbons to the shoulders for tying the sleeves, because it needed to be done while I was wearing the dress), but I couldn't manage to finish Tomi's garb and get it to him in a car that came down for the game. There are too many parts to get much done at one time. It's even closer now, but... So I failed, again. Yet, again I found that I love, love, love portraying strong (and possibly conflicted) emotions, emotions with lots of history, lots of tension. This time, they were all in the background, yet still added just the right amount of spark to the whole experience. (It just occurred to me that I would love to see a recording of myself and the people sitting around me at the negotiations table, to read our body language through the evening, because it seemed to me we were rather comfortably settled inside the skins of our respective characters, and I personally was very conscious of the presences on both sides of me.) 10 Feb 06: Resistance It's still not working. Beh. A week or two ago Taika made another challenge to the same people as the earlier one: to list some of one's good or nice habits. I knew at once I could not do that, but for a while pretended I didn't have to admit it, at least not immediately. Now I do: I just can't brag about myself. And yes, I use a word of negative connotations very deliberately, because it still is that to me. One is not allowed to speak good things of oneself. It's hubris; it's impolite and highly suspect. I can't do it, and when anyone else does it, it makes me think worse of the person. I can downplay the immediate negative reaction by rationalising, and can then even admire people for their self-confidence, because I know it is healthier than my view on this. Yet deep inside, the suspicion still lingers, cold and sharp-clawed. Deep inside, the ticketeer at the back booth still proclaims that there is no greater crime than hubris (except for murder and violence, of course, but for ordinary people with no homicidal tendencies hubris is as bad as it gets). And yes, I see that this is a real problem. I just have absolutely no idea how to get at it. Yet. So I really, really hope I still get continuation of the therapy. I can't step into a fire if I can't even light it, and I can't light it if I can't see the tools for it. And just in case it wasn't clear: I have no nice habits to list. It's not that I just am too uptight to list any, it's that I can't for the life of me think of any. (And admitting this was bad. Possibly the really bad thing that I was trying to avoid by all that bluster above.) (Night) Once again, I'm staying up late before a game. What can I say anymore? Only that this time, I'm mostly finished with what I'm going to wear and actually have a hope of being at the site early... Still, there are other things I hoped to finish before it. Well, maybe some of them will be finished. We'll see. Figured out what to change to get the connection working, for which feeling almost smart (an unusual occurrence, and much needed). No news on either the therapy funding or the degree completion program; this is already worrisome in both cases. 09 Feb 06: ...With Interest Did some sewing (and ironing of fabric, which is good, as that tends to pile up); went to cat-sit. Had great plans of getting up properly, and Alvari proceeded to make sure I kept my promise in the morning, but after feeding the felines, I fell asleep on the sofa again. So, another day wasted, and another evening spent not catching up on sewing but on email and stuff (I couldn't connect to killeri.net from there, not knowing the setting change that Topsu did to allow it). Also panicking about ballet. See, last week I could still present myself as someone who was not really that clumsy and fat, just temporarily out of shape and working fast towards something half-pleasing in ballet class. But now I've spent a week out of classes eating everything in sight, including lots of sweets, and so I have gone backwards, and am therefore provably not that great actually and any week now. I'm working on changing this, but... it's hard. 08 Feb 06: ...But Always Paying For It Had to sleep through all daylight yesterday, then in the evening only managed to drag myself to the Q's (by car). Even that didn't help: today was both nauseous and in a cold. So no ballet even now. Gah. Jukka visited, for an informal study session on the Calbourne campaign for next weekend. I'm sure I know a few things better now, but there's an awful lot to learn (though it's of course good that the GMs have thought of the whys and wherefores), and awfully many issues to solve in the game. Phew! Still have to study a lot more... Politics. Why did I ever think I could do even fictional politics? (Well... I suppose because it hasn't seemed totally impossible in the last couple of games. I may be learning something, slow as it is...) Anyway. The cruise was nice: the buffet meal on Sunday far exceeded my expectations; the museums were interesting and rewarding; people were not as scary as I thought; there was a group of other good acquaintances on the ship as well; and I got to dance almost enough (on the way back I was so tired that I slept until ten and took two hours in getting myself up and moving, but that still left a few hours for partying). I still wish I had been tighter with money - since some (not even much) went into the little things, my tiny budget just withered away, and I couldn't buy anything that would last. That is my only regret. That, and the still inevitable recovery days... Should pack and go back to Q-land to feed and entertain the cats. Wonfer if I could manage some sewing before that... 07 Feb 06: Quite Fine, Thank You The cruise was good; am very glad I went. More later. 05 Feb 06: Baffled Exhaustion I went to Midwinter Feast, and suddenly I am completely worn out over trying to be social and to make nice and failing and feeling insecure and uncomfortable with people. And it's not even that the weekend was bad - it was quite good, everyone was perfectly nice ...but that's what makes it even worse: it makes me fear that the discomfort is because of me, because I made people not like me, or get tired of me. Because I could feel it there, acutely. And no, I didn't drink to excess or anything. I just... feel tired of not being able to give much. And of my reflex of talking (but if I am silent, then what use is my company, anyway?). And just people in general, and not knowing what to do to be certain of what they think, how they feel about me. And right now, I need to start packing for a cruise to Stockholm with ten people, of whom I know only maybe half, of which half some expressly don't like me. I do want to go because I do want to celebrate the person whose party it is - I like them dearly - but right now I am afraid of people, tired of people, and particularly tired and afraid of people of whom I'm uncertain. I don't feel I'm up to the task of worrying over how to be nice and friendly and make a favourable impression. I know if I don't specifically set out to do that, I'll make a negative impression, because I don't smile (due to fear of people), because of my mannerism of frowning (caused by the slight refractive error in my eyes - BTW, that's what all my frowning mostly is, and not dissatisfaction!!), and because I don't know how to small-talk to strangers, or even distant acquaintances. I was bitterly reminded of that fact this weekend again: when I try to small-talk to make everyone comfortable, I just end up talking far too much, so people end up believing I love my own voice and my own opinions, which is so far from the truth. I can tell friends to shut me up and take their own turn, but not strangers. I'm just so worn right now. I did get lots of ideas of what I want to do - lots of separate smaller things, and a couple of bigger ones - for the SCA hobby, and felt mostly excited about all that. I want to make nålbound mittens; shoes (which I hear from several different people is not difficult, just time-consuming work); a new tabletwoven band for my Finnish overdress; and of course, the Italian dress. I want to register my arms (and I want them to pass basically as is, dammit!). I want to start doing more stuff about deep-middle-ages performing dancers, and perform again. I want to do more poetry and drama. I want to be a better participant of the chivalric culture. I want to learn court and combat heraldry (proclaiming at court and/or tourneys). And I want to prepare and run a courtesan salon at some camp event. Not to mention all the Italian etc. Renaissance dancing that I gave up as being "other people's business" (silly, isn't it?) and that I still would love to do, if only it were done by both sexes and by real grown-ups (no, not because I want to find someone - though of course I can't deny that - but because social dancing should be just that: social! It doesn't really attract me otherwise. Performing's a separate issue, then.) And right now, even this list just makes me more exhausted. I won't be able to do all that anyway. There are other things I want more, after all, or need more. 02 Feb 06: Work Actually... Works?? Accomplished: emails to Uni to ask for the certificate of discontinuation of studies, and to employment office about not being a member of a union any more (found the relevant information on OAJ's pages); call to the Tikkurila psychiatrist and agreement on an appointment next week to get the doctor's certificate for long-time depression. So now I've done everything I can do for the unemployment benefit, so far (just have to wait for those papers to arrive and to go to the appointment). I'd feel more proud if I weren't deep in the swamp of trying to exercise my creative faculties, translating a short promotional text I promised Paula. It shouldn't be this hard to try and come up with something vaguely complimentary, even if it's not the exact same impression the original gives - but I want it to be good. Of course. I'm just getting my brain twisted in double knots, trying to think of a way to convey such things as "mehevä svengi ja konstailematon meininki" in English. Or "juureva", when you don't want it to imply "a backcountry hick"? Or even "kulttuurin sekatyöläinen" so it wouldn't become one of those newspeak words empty of meaning? I suck as a translator. I sometimes manage to fool myself into believing I don't, but I do. And it's a hard pill to swallow. Oh well, it's just a couple of sentences more. It can't be insurmountable. ...Just noticed I hadn't updated the diary frontpage with February yet. Wondering if I should switch to a journal program after all, now that I seem to be beginning to branch out of the depression progress report. I just feel great aversion to writing in small, easily digested pieces with ready-set categories. I know it's nice for one's readers, but I don't feel it's what I want - or need - to do. I still can't figure out "mehevä svengi". Gaaarghh!! The trusty Roget's Thesaurus is an irreplaceable help, but its genius does not extend to cases where the source language uses hard-to-define descriptive words. (Still, I wonder if there's a single translator that doesn't have their dearly beloved Roget's next to them all the time? I mean, I can't do without it even when writing this diary...) 01 Feb 06: A Cool-down Day Today, I didn't manage to accomplish as much as I hoped: I suppose it's still just as frightening to have to encounter new officials; to explain, to plead; as ever. Every time, every one. To be fair, I did need the sleep. Mustn't let the daily cycle drift any more, though. I did make it to ballet, this time even one I've signed up for. However, there was a substitute teacher, which means I never got to ask Jane about the Friday morning class... The teacher was good and suitably demanding, though, so otherwise it was fine. It was a bit intimidating, as this particular class had absolutely no-one that was even nearly as out of shape as I am, and most of them were rather advanced. I may feel more comfortable there once it's the regular teacher again, and once I manage to lose some more of the stomach roll. Haven't done much else, except further plans for lots of stuff to do. Started the translation I promised Paula and did maybe a third of it, then despaired over finding nice, expressive descriptions that would suitable convey the mellow, colourful tone that is so easy to do in Finnish simply by verb and phrase choice, and so hard in English... Oh well, will go and pamper my poor aging muscles in the sauna now, and attack the translation again in the morning. Naturally friends are inviting me to parties - multiple - right when I'm going to the Midwinter event. Again, I don't get to go, even if it's for different reasons than when I was simply too tired and self-hating to go... and so again, I will miss seeing people I see too seldom already. It bothers me, I can't help it bothering me. |