Main » February 2005

February 28, 2005

Like a puzzle ball.

Have you ever played with those cheap plastic puzzle balls? You know, the ones you can get out of a candy machine for 50 cents. I could figure out how to construct them just fine, but even after I constructed them they always fell apart. I convinced myself every time that it was just a bad or cheaply made one, and I'd get another. But infallibly, every time I tried to play with or in any way use the toy, it collapsed on me.

I wonder what my life would be like if I weren't constantly reconstructing.

I love school, and for some god-forsaken reason I love myself as well. I had a breakdown a couple weeks ago and cut myself further down my arm and deeper than ever before. A few of my friends at college knew about the cutting and found out about the breakdown. They got me to see the school shrink, which didn't help at all, but they tried. They're the first people to want to do something for me.

I've been having deep conversations with boys recently, and I'm not sure why. I'm worried that I'm trying to do some romantic thing, but really I think I just want to feel connected to people. Yes, only I can manage to have those all-night, deep, pour-your-soul-out-on-a-table-and-pity-it conversations without any subtext.

It's all good though. I've lost some weight, kept up with all this crazy schoolwork. I feel good about myself even though I'm alone. Of course, I'm lonely, but I do feel good about myself.

I passed out two weeks ago, had a headache, upset stomach, double vision and worse back pain than ever before. I went to the nurse and she wouldn't believe that I wasn't pregnant (If I'd had sex, then I might have wondered), but she told me that barring pregnancy, I either had an aneurysm or a brain tumor. Since I'm not dead now, two weeks later, the only option left is brain tumor. The nurse is pretty much regarded as a quack (she took my blood pressure wrong), but I'm worried anyway.

No matter what I do, no matter how much I tell myself that I love myself, that I am loved and that I love, the criticism digs itself deeper into my mind. What does it matter if I love if no one loves me back? What does it matter if I write something here, if I express myself perfectly, transpose precisely my self to the page, not only if nobody reads it, but if no one would care if they did?

One person could make the difference. I know I have to believe in myself -- I truly know that -- but once I do, I can't just keep it up on my own. People validate one another.

And dear God I need someone to love. I could just explode with affection right now, so much so that my friends are getting umprompted hugs multiple times a day. What do you do with yourself when you're going to sleep in a dark, cold room, and all the imaginings in the world can't distract you?

Posted by Maya at 10:34 PM | Comments (2)