What you need to know in order to know me

I had to ask someone yesterday what I need to know in order to know them. It's a hellish question. Came at the end of a series of extended, and rather harrowing interviews, but it had to be done. The irony of it was that someone else, who knew nothing of the previous situation, turned that same question on me less than an hour later. And I couldn't answer it. In fact, I sat up all last night thinking it over. Untill finally, I pulled out a bunch of old journals and scraps of writing from my early teens on, and read all the way through them. Not an entirely pleasant experience, but at long last, as I lay on my bed feeling a little dazed, and watching the first rays of sunlight slide across the window sill, I had a breakthrough. I am all about communication. I am absolutely motivated by a desire to communicate. I want to be heard and understood, but I also really want to hear, and understand. It makes me feel valued and valuable, and frustrated when it doesn't happen. I sing to communicate. I listen to music to be communicated with. I write to communicate, and in some ways, I write to be communicated with. I want you to read what I write, and recognize it, and feel like you know and are known by me. I want you to hear me sing, and understand what I can't say in words. I want to meet you on neutral territory through music. It's something you, dear reader, and I, both own.
I am still developing a voice, but I need to hear your voice in order to develop my own.
I am all about communication, and to know me, you need to understand that.

reciprocity

There are all these people in my life, around whom I circulate. All of them mean something to me. And there are moments I really want to share with them. And yet, when those moments arive, no one's there. Except the most undexpected people. Sometimes, exactly what you need comes from the last person you believed it would come from. two days ago, someone said, completely out of the blue, "you have a beautiful heart." It was exactly what I needed. I'd been feeling rather less than beautiful for a while. And just when I thought no one was around, I got a real hug from someone who's never touched me before, and I found a friend I barely knew. The thing about being with people is that when you're a part of a group, it's difficult to meet people who are on the outside

conversations

Is it just absolute naivete that allows me to believe that relationships can survive our personal faults? I want to believe that there is enough between you and I that we can deal with reality, but I just don’t know how to interact with you at the moment. Part of the problem with looking in the mirror is that at some point you stop seeing what’s really there, and only see the things that look different, or relevant. It becomes impossible to see the whole picture, because you know it too well. Or perhaps it’s because you don’t know it at all. How the hell am I supposed to interpret society at large, if I can’t even understand one solitary individual. I don’t know my place. I have no idea how I fit into the picture of the broader world, or even the insular one which I inhabit, and I sure as hell don’t know how I fit into your life. Perhaps I don’t. Perhaps that’s just the point. I went through a phase as a teenager when I believed that I had somehow been put into the wrong time. Then, it felt like I had been placed in temporal space several centuries too late. And so I went about carving a niche for myself in the time I was, and for a while it worked. But now I feel like the space is too small, and there isn’t anywhere for it to grow. And I hate that, because I like this space. It’s like when you take a bit of paper, and crush and twist it to fit into a particular gap. And for a while, it fits ok, but after a while, the more twisting and squashing you do, the weaker it becomes, until it starts to tear. And when that happens, you may as well toss it out.
Why are you so difficult to read? Are you as terrified as I am? I wish I could talk to you. I wish ours was a safe space again.

mood swings

I started off feeling really calm, this morning. In fact, it started on, I think, about tuesday, when everything just seemed to be coming right, for the first time in ages. And now, half an hour of other people, and for no reason at all, I'm feeling insecure and miserable. Where's that mirror when I really need it. I wish relationships had operating manuels. Or rather, I wish people had operating manuels. At least that way, when things go wrong, I could pinpoint something very particular, and hopefully fix it. What I hate is having no choice but to wait, and while I wait, things may get much better, or much worse, and I have little control. Oh stuff it all, I'm getting back to work. This self-reflection is just morbid fantasy, and it doesn't suit me.

on looking in my mirror

Wouldn't it be nice if just occasionally, when you're feeling really insecure, you could see just how insecure everyone around you is? It's usually only well after the event that you discover that you are not alone if feeling awkward about something in particular, and by then, its usually too late to do anything about it. The thing that I'm gradually realising is that really, I'm not that different from everyone else in the world. what sometimes feels like a creeping insanity often turns out to be just a phase that everyone goes through, or better yet, the result of a particular situation that is making everyone involved feel equally uncomfortable.

I guess I'm just learning that it's really alright to be vulnerable sometimes. especially where people are concerned. Sure, some may take advantage, but by and large, everyone is just too concerned with their own situations to even notice. and on occasion, when someone does notice, it's usually because they can identify.

Someone I trust said yesterday that I should never feel like I have a debt to pay for being on this earth. Well I do, sometimes. Why am I here if not for some purpose. I want to leave a legacy that is valuable to humanity as a whole, and I feel a responsibility to do "any good think I can do, or any kindness I can show." that whole long story that that last quotation is from was a part of my primary school motto. It's a burden I can't seem to excape. I'm a good, productive, hard-worker, with a gentle spirit and a loving heart. People who matter to me say I'm attractive, and sometimes I believe them. But I have a whole lot of stuff that's not so nice, or normal, or productive, and that is poisoning a whole lot of the good. Thing is, I don't know how to undo it. Good and bad are so closely entwined, its impossible to fully separate them.
The ironic thing is, that while I'm writing all this on my computer, I keep stopping to encourage an incredibly tallented, but self-doubting friend that I love dearly, and want so badly to help, and the longer I communicate with him, the more my advice makes sense for me. I guess what I was trying to tell him, in paraphrase, and without relaying the whole background necessary for understanding the present exchange, is that anything done thoughtfully has an intrinsic value that can't be replicated by someone with all the technical skill in the world, but not a sincere bone in their body. Still doesn't make sense? deal with it. I'm not writing to make sense to anyone but me.

Ever cared about and respected someone so much that care and respect get entangled with a desire to live through them? I do it all the time. I want the people I care about to be happy so badly, that my happiness becomes, to some extent, dependant on theirs, and I smother them, and completely freak them out. It all becomes so inappropriate, because the only one I should be quite that concerned about should be me, but I project it onto someone else, because caring about me feels narcissistic. I was raised so "well" I can't escape it. I swore really badly today, several times, and it felt so good for a while, and then suddenly, I couldn't do it any more. So I beat the hell out of a piano for a while, and that stopped the tears, and I could go back to being productive and efficient. But pianos are expensive things. the great vast void that I'm sending this into, on the other hand, isn't.