Back from El Victoir. Damaged as usual. Everything to say, no way to say it. I'm so tired of being misread. I'm tired of people's assumption that I haven't tried optimism.
Lately I've been repeating myself when I answer a question or tell a story. It's this bizarre tic-like thing that I only notice sometimes, and sometimes other people bring it to my attention with their frustration. Even as I do it I feel ashamed, childish, like I'm trying to force the words into other people's ears in some violent, violating act. If I just say it AGAIN you have to HEAR it you have to HEAR it you have to HEAR it. It's most disturbing because it's an audible proof of some of the weirdness in my brain. I hate letting people have access to that part of me.
Just one more strike against me in the battle for control.
1 comment:
Victor? My mommy used to work there ages ago, when we lived in West Irondequoit.
You know, when life hands you lemons:
* chuck them back at life
* create meaningless bulleted lists
* post stupid comments in others' blogs.
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