So I was home last week. What a heavy time to be home. Last Wednesday I was in St. Luke's hospital in the city all day long while my dad had his aneurysm surgery, and thankfully it worked out really well. There were a few poetic moments, like when the nurses had to have some really thorough questionnaire sessions with him and they asked him in detail about his alcohol habit. I was watching what answers they would put into their computers for his file, and he was listed as a "dependent heavy drinker." I also spent the 5 hours during the surgery obviously thinking about how life might be without him, and for the first time I felt truly afraid of the prospect of having to take care of my mom, or how we would even get by. It was cold there and every time a nurse or doctor walked by they looked so serious and concerned that i couldn't help but have my heart lodged permanently in my throat. After the surgery was done and he was in his room in the ICU, I kissed him on the forehead before we left, and a part of me still can't believe I actually did that. It feels so foreign.
The following night was the wake. Funerals are never too naturalistic feeling, but going to one for a 23 year old guy feels especially perverted and completely wrong. I feel so numb to it in a way because it feel like it never happened, but sometimes there's a spark and I realize it did happen, and I am so overcome with sadness and anger and frustration that I don't know how I can really live my life feeling relaxed or any feeling other than uncertainty. This is too pathetic and it shouldn't even be mentioned, but I was also blatantly reminded of how truly inappropriate and disgusting people can be, and how in the grand scheme of things, very few things matter aside from the people you've known and the truest moments you've ever had with them.
Do you ever feel the need to constantly remind people of things that you love or that are your favorite, because you feel like no one really cares to ever remember? You feel the need to constantly spout things about yourself to be heard and understood, finally.
I used to write about how I felt like I complained all the time. Now I am fully aware that I truly do complain all the time. Although I don't really see it is complaining, as much as trying to process and understand why my life works the way it does. Events happen in startling sequences for me, and I am still blindsided by many of them. Things pile up before I can actually be aware of what's there, and I feel like I am constantly in a period of reconstruction and picking up the pieces. If my skin could reflect this I think it would be red, and raw, and pulsating nervously, almost as if the skin was inside out. It feels inside out. I still feel such an unsatisfiable need to just be taken care of and literally to just be taken. I'm noticing how I write most of my entries in a fashion that seems to be calling to someone. There really is no one that I would realistically be writing this to, as history goes to show that my potentials have been either too afraid, too crazy, too distant, too absent, not able to really see me for what I was. Obviously I was not perfect in these unions either, so I know I added to it in some way. I just don't know what it is about me that makes me unable to be someone to somebody. To be that person of significance.
I made a mistake the other day, a huge one. I went on Youtube and watched the first 2 minutes and last five of Love Actually. I literally cried with such an intensity that I scared myself. Was I literally becoming unglued? I've been feeling more and more unstable concerning my emotions. It just made me so sad, so jealous, so aware that I was not partaking in these feelings of being something unreal and unbelievable to someone else. All I've done is create this unbelievably hard and dense invisible walls around me with songs and stories and certain movies that make me feel an ounce of what i truly want to feel. I really accomplished it. I receive more pleasure from a song than the actual events that take place. I actually isolated myself.
Desperation is the most unattractive thing in a person, according to many, many people. And I finally offically accomplished it. Only my desperation is completely invisible. Why am I falling apart at the seams.