l’appel du vide

I promised myself I wouldn't write in here until my thoughts could be summarized neatly and without all the angsty whining I've been doing. However, nothing about this life (any life, really) can be summarized neatly, so it's either get it out or let it fester. So...sorry for your bad luck.

Once again, I have displayed my usual unerring ability to get stuck in the same cycle, over and over. I find myself in the same position I have been for the past three years-wondering, worrying, hoping, reaching out and snatching air, and I can't take any more of it.

I can't do it anymore.

The Halloween party was Saturday, it went well. I dressed up in a schoolgirl skirt and a skeleton shirt, going as either Goth Slutty Chick or 2003 Rae, whichever you want to choose. My hair is bright bright red again (no more blonde, though I kind of miss looking in the mirror and being surprised by the stranger inside of it) and we drank a lot of liquor and ate a lot of food and people were playing Mario Kart and Werewolf and I got my ass spanked by Lucille (she really hurts) and there were a lot of people in the houses, so I started getting a bit hot, needed to go outside and clear my head, get some air.

Hadn't been in my car five minutes listening to Shallow when my damn phone goes off. Go back into the party, get dragged into the bathroom. Wasn't in there 5 minutes when my damn phone goes off. No rest for the wicked. It was fun, though. Got plenty of pictures. It was good to see my people again. On Sunday I had a minor hangover, but got up and uploaded to Satori, then sat on my ass all day and worried about shit I have no control over.

I am at the point where I don't even want to talk anymore. I don't want to ask, I don't want to demand, I don't want to wonder. I just want to do my job and come home. Keep my head down and expect nothing from anyone.

Of course, the absence of a dick between my legs means I get to do anything but.

It is amazing to think that in September, I was worried about someone who lived so very far away. It boggles my fucking mind how much time and energy I wasted over something that now seems so juvenile. I have made peace with my fucking stupidity during that time, and all the times before that. I was frustrated. Restless. Whatever you want to call it. Blame it on history. But at least I know what I am.

I am not a simple girl.

I am not a girl you get in halfway with.

I am not a girl you give samples to, and then deny me my main course.

I am not a girl satisfied by whatever time and energy you can barely give me. I am not one that's pleased with the backwash. Whatever I have inside of me, I give. If I give, I have an annoying habit of wanting that reciprocated. That's not working out so well for me, so I don't want to give. I don't really have anything left. Or, I say that, and then I chip off a little more anyway and squander it, waste it, see it dissolve into nothing, and then I wonder if whatever it is I'm giving away is not substantial enough to be taken.

I'm afraid that by the end of this, there won't be any Rae left. That she'll have disappeared, sucked dry by this terrified, insecure, indecisive mess who drags everyone into her wake and chews them up like a boat propeller. I keep on wanting to ask someone, anyone-if they see any of me in whoever is occupying my body, but I don't. Part of my reasoning behind dying my hair red again (besides going with my outfit) is some stupid attempt to feel like Rae, slip into her body, emulate her mind. I'm aware it's pretty futile...and pretty stupid, but hey.

I go home and I take off my clothes and I get in the bathtub and I try to read and mess around in chat but it always ends the same: me just staring at the faucet. Immobilized. Stupid. Wondering. Worrying. All that insecurity feeling like a gimlet in my stomach. And I tell myself: don't worry. Don't worry. It's all going to flesh out. It's all going to be okay. You just keep your fucking mouth shut. You don't reach out. You do not ask for things that people will not give willingly. You will not beg. That's what pillows and journals and stories and vibrators are for. You will take the rough edges of yourself and tuck them underneath you; you will be like a stone. You will be quiet and still until the storm passes.

Despite the pep talks, in the end, I might as well be trying to hold smoke together.

I need something steady to grab onto

I can't grab on to the things I want to because I'm afraid they won't (or can't) support my weight

I can't go back to the ship because the ship sank.

I can't do anything but tread water and hope that the sharks don't get me, or worse-

That I get tired of treading water.

In the end I feel

like if someone would just hug me

without my having to initiate it

and not ask me anything I can't answer

just hold me, that's all I want

so I might see my way to land.

-Rae