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monolid-monologues · 5 years

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detox,

#11.

Putting words to it, when i have no idea what is happening. when i feel consumed but can't look in that direction. avoiding? waiting? sinking.

i feel like i haven't been home in a month. (truth is, it's actually monthS). i wake up, leave, come back, leave, come back, sleep. one weekend here, there, somewhere else, spend my day in the office, live my life in weekends...

this has been my home for half a year now.

Home is my mom's. home is where i stay to pay student loans instead of rent. it's the station where i shower, and....eat, sometimes.. (not as much as i'd like). it's the address for all my paperwork. home is where i make a mess, clean, then make another mess. Home is where i get ready to go out. This home feels un-lived by me who lives there. My relatives are in town for 2 months, and my house comes alive. and 'How to be at home" - it's like learning how to walk.

My visiting grandma will say, "none of us get to see you much" -- and it sounds like a grandma kind of thing to say. -- so i didn’t think too much of it. i haven't seen my grandma, aunt, and cousin in over ten years. and now they're here for two months, now i see my grandma every morning before i leave for work, all of us have dinner once a week, i get to detangle the mythos i've construed all this time spun by my childhood traumas (and it's time to reckon with the way my problems lie within/inside Me). their visit is a critical light between me and them -- and, she’s onto something. We might have spent more time together in 1 month than in 10+ years combined but i am mostly slipping in & out week after week. My absence from home is second nature.

i wonder what home means to me.

i'm not home much. i haven't been home much. i've never been the type to be home much. this isn't to say that i don't spend time at home. on the contrary, i love the safety. and, most of all, i love the privacy. home is a sacred place. and in it, is my private space. But, that’s why even when i'm home, i've never been "home" lol, you know, like Being Around the House, like out in the open, at home like it’s a community space.

When i was younger, only under very particular circumstances did my parents or my brother come into my room. and they never stayed too long (i don't think i made them feel too welcome, either).

And needless to say, it was not a house with a lot of people comfortably, casually coming and going. With all our secrets, having people over was always a formalized occasion. Nothing too casual about it. So that nothing could ever be too real. Unless everyone else was gone.

i preferred being home alone. being left alone in my room. or leaving the house altogether. escape whenever possible.

i found solace in the privacy of my room. i loved the familiarity, freedom, fantasy that a personal space could hold. my room could be full of my dreams, desires, inner truths. my room could let me live. as well, getting out of the house let me live. but being around the house like a willing participant in this home? didn’t happen.

the common spaces in my home were first and foremost:empty. and full of sadness. the kitchen, angry. the living room, stiff. the staircase and hallways, lonely. i chose to disengage and lived my life leaving the house or hiding in the house.

so a home, as a genuine community space, was foreign to me. to be “at home” escapes me now.

ever since i could leave, to live, i left.

* * *

this weekend, i went to Davis. I saw the play my friends produced, The Bachelorette. it left me with a pounding migraine. this story sat me down, and i watched a group of people fester in their toxic habits. i witnessed the loop of damaged people damaging themselves further, all these hurt ass people summoning their addictions to ward off the change. i realized that this loop will take all of them to their grave unless someone snaps out of it. the violence of forsaking better choices. the addiction to self-denigration, and those who will self-harm with us.

i saw myself and my track record i saw myself and a part of my identity i've had trouble growing out of. i know i am growing out of it, but, it's ridiculously slow, and i'm frightened that there does exist something inside me that desires self-destruction. Self-harm.

Honesty, honesty, honesty What am i feeling, what am i doing, what am i feeding myself.. What am i sabotaging? Where am i stuck? The stakes….my dreams..my goals..my integrity. my character. my work ethic. Postgrad transitioning feelin sooooo fkng vulnerable to EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW. Everything i do, everyone i share time with, every decision i make or don’t make. it all feels so fking formative. i feel like an open wound

(-- from Oct 7, 2018)

A bout of insane nausea jumps me at an inconspicuously mundane hour yesterday. Everything in this moment feels so uncomfortable. my own bones. i think a dark hole found me. i feel rudely stretched. twisting just before the ripping point. and i'm afraid i won't snap back.

into the person i was. the person i've been. the version of me i know and have loved very well. It's this uninvited change vacating the parts i don't need, but may want.

Raw, pink flesh peeks through the crust. i am frantic for what anchors me, holds me down.

i want to vomit. i feel so sick. both in awe of my transforming and reviled by the inertia. if i could put my fingers down my throat, induce my own yack, beat my own intoxication, force myself sober. eject, like, spiritual barf... What's the way to do that IRL?

* * *

me: "did you see my thirst trap"

robin: *cringe*

me: (on instagram) look

robin: *nope*

me: except it's not for anyone, so it's not really a trap

robin: *changes topic*

kkkkkkeekekekekekekkekkekeke

I'm referencing a photo i took of myself during my bath. relaxed, alone, and in my vibes. when i'm loathe to disrupt my interior, but am in the mood to be seen. Like, literally sending a message to no one in particular. Because in such a moment, it's not so much about who sees you, but that you are decidedly visible. But only through your phone, with a photo, because the distance is nice. i can't be touched i can't be accessed in that dangerous puncturing way i'm much less vulnerable i am kind of hiding, kind of not? i am simulatenously revealing and concealing, in what seems to me a guarded celebration of this side of me that desires, performs, instigates. wishes to poke, prod, excite, stimulate.

I take and post plenty of selfies, Reveal myself My desire My signaling that I care to show this side of me, that I don’t care to be shy about certain sides of me, But with guard -- an arm's length distance that i could drop, or extend, in one second.

As you are protected too, you know, as we are when we gaze at the other through a lens. we get to brush past the other, and even really SEE THEM, without the level of consequence, and the weight of responsibility that exists in real life.

Kind of a dangerous practice isn’t it. Lol.

here's a picture of me for you to look at. not that you have to. not that you might. but if you will......

here's a picture of you i am looking at. not that i must. not that i will again. but since i am.........

* * *

i feel weak. and raw. funny enough, this may be the strongest i have ever been. i don't know what to do with myself. this is wilderness tempered by patience and injury. Lately my interior energy is feeling harsh, torrid, tempestuous. even for me. maybe that's why the nausea, the headaches.

maybe it’s the kicking of a spoiled spirit. i hate denying myself familiar pleasures. i am uncomfortable because i am treating myself as fragile.

when we can feel how tender we are, the fresh cuts in our hearts, this must be the sign to protect ourselves. to be wary of yourself. especially if you have a history of self-harm.

it is necessary that we heighten our watchfulness over our actions and reactions and carry ourselves delicately, because we're in delicate times. Precarious.

What keeps me from what hurts me is my faith in my future.

It's honestly so disturbing, it rocks and writhes underneath my skin, my voracity for Chaos and Mess, my rabid latent aching for trouble.............

Fuck-ing-shit, i am trying to allow the fragility to lead. So what is small is empowered. To be small, and to take small steps, and to healthfully inch forward, when all you want to do is leap and crashhhhh a mile away from the nauseating place you're at right now.

There’s some relation here between my home life, healing, and resisting recklessness. i know i didn’t quite get there... If there’s anything you’re stuck on: http://monolid-monologues.tumblr.com/submit

* * *

i’ve committed to being vulnerable in writing every week.

previous letter: #10.) What’s so scary?

drop me a line

http://monolid-monologues.tumblr.com/ask

#tinyletter #detox

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