3amDiary

Thursday 3/13/03

I am not in a good mood. I have been so depressed this past week; consequently, I have been drinking too much, which only serves to make it all worse. I have been reading all my old diaries, from the end of 1994 to 1998. I have been overwhelmed by the total desperation and despair, especially in ‘94 & ‘95. My ex-Love, Simon, committed suicide in mid ‘94, and everything I have been reading is the fall out. I wish I had my previous journals, the ones we had made together. (All my diaries from 1984 to mid 1994 were destroyed by me; I am now realizing that that was a sad mistake. ) I have so little of him in remembrance; a few rings–my engagement ring, and 2 of his rings--and a book given to me by his best friend.

***

Sometimes I am amazed with myself; how I can walk around as a sleepwalker, numb and oblivious, and then be overwhelmed with such depth of feelings and dark imaginings. Sometimes my heart stops. Sometimes I can hardly breathe; my chest constricts and my stomach roils.

I am sick. Sick in the body. Sick in the heart. Sick in the soul.

What I have cannot be cured, merely replaced by another ill. I can find such ecstasy in abusing myself. It is something I can control.

I feel things slipping away, and I want to hold on; either to pull it all back, or follow wherever it will go, I don't care which. I am afraid. What if it pulls me into the unknown–the unknowable–then just leaves me. Alone. In the dark. Without sails or anchor. It has happened once, twice will be unbearable.

***

No, I don't believe I will totally get over his death; the hurt, now, still feels as fresh as when it first happened.

A few nights ago I definitely drank too much and had a total melt down. Unfortunately, Lothias had to spend all night dealing with the fall out. At one point I got it into my head that I was suffocating and had to get outside...at 3:30 in the morning. The winds have been really strong this past week, blowing down trees and knocking out power lines, and that night was no exception; I stood outside, half naked, in high winds, shaking and crying while Lothias tried to coax me back inside. Sometimes I am amazed by his patience and tolerance; patience and tolerance that, perhaps, I don't truly deserve. He is a fool for loving me.

Thursday 3/13/03

My sanity is surely slipping away; little bits of rationality is slowly leaking out of my head; I can feel it, SEE it, as these pictures–pictures of what I had perceived as lucidity–persist in staying; close enough to tease and torture, yet far enough to be just out of reach.

What is the Real? At times I have lost my grasp of it, and it has been happening again; or, in elaboration, perhaps I never had a hold at all, and the only focus I actually have is a concentrated effort to search.

My brain is on fire.

It is Real. The sour taste of sweaty skin, the salty taste of blood; it has been in my mouth, and is once again. He cut himself then pressed me to his chest, at a point when I was most hysterical. I am soothed by the familiarity, the closeness, the passion. I want more.

I am afraid.

Tuesday 3/11/03

I am so sorry for my behavior as of late, and I don't even know how to explain; nor can I even rationalize why I feel such shame over my behavior. And I don't even think it is the 'good' type of shame; the type that lends spice to an activity when the epitaph of TABOO is attached; like guilt. I shouldn't be feeling this way. I have not changed that much, my wants and needs are the same as before; they have just been long dormant.

Sense of shame? Embarrassment? Perhaps. Perhaps this has all built up during my long period of dormancy.

Hunger? Definitely.

I remember a time of incredible hunger, I was a walking, wanting, craving, needing--but satisfied--pit of hunger; and I was definitely not ashamed or embarrassed. That all was forcibly shed--taken from me--a long time ago. I still feel some shame, and, perhaps, a bit of guilt, but it was the good kind; the kind that made me feel like I had something 'special' over other people; that I had gone beyond--and enjoyed--what others could not even begin to comprehend. Yes, there is guilt and shame attached to that. Because if, and when, they knew where I had been, and what I had done, they would be revulsed, repulsed, and undoubtably condemn me as a perversion. I used to wear that epitaph proudly, while still enjoying the stigma of shame; it made it all the more sweet. It is the passion of the moment, and the surrender, and the ultimate joy.

Like when I would break Simon down, as far to the bottom as we could go; let him--make him--wallow in his catholic guilt over his 'Sins of the Flesh'; even though he no longer truly believed, the seeds of the dogma which he had been force fed through childhood had taken strong enough root to leave an indelible imprint upon his psyche.

We would start with the breaking of resistance: Confronting him with his desires, reinforcing the 'inappropriateness', the 'sin' of his desires; then the 'completion', bringing his desires into actuality, total fruition, pleasuring him beyond his imaginings; all the while continuing to humiliate him for needing such things. This brings a catharsis, an intensity that surpasses mere orgasm; although, I know from experience, that coupled with the physical orgasm, the sheer ecstasy is indescribable. In truth, guilt was a means to an end; in truth, he had little to no guilt. None of this stopped him from feeding his wants or needs; it only served as an intensifier.

I miss him.

Saturday 2/15/03

My thoughts are of marriage. I have come to the conclusion that I am currently in 2 distinct marriages with Lothias; one from the past to the present, the other in the present to the future; they, somehow, overlap in the present. I am straddling both, as the first one, with the ‘old' Lothias, before he worked through all the psychic dross he had been carrying, has no ‘official' end; no (And I hate this word, but it is the only one that seems appropriate) closure before the new and improved Lothias stepped in. So, I, somehow, must find a way to turn my back on 4 years of the prior and totally embrace what is to be. A difficult task at best. But impossible? Not if embarked upon with blind trust. But, again, do I have that?

I had it once–and did it once–when I was enticed into a strange house to ‘get clean'. And I stayed, without question, or reservation, and got clean. Once I stepped over that edge and allowed myself to be totally taken care of, the rest--the trust, the bonding, the love–came oh so easy.

Friday 2/14/03

It is still so hard to acknowledge and feed my desires–it has been so long since I have been to that reality; or welcomed it. "I need" and "I want" have become alien concepts within this reality of the mundane that has (inadvertently) become my life.

Suppression has become my Mother, and Denial my Father. So, what about the Son and the Holy Ghost? The Son is deviancy, and the Holy Ghost Perversion, at war with the Mother and Father. This so parallels catholic guilt, something which I don't come by naturally, me being a (former) convert, only coming by it through design; Simon using catholic psychodrama in our little pleasure rituals of Priest and penitent (sinner). Even so, guilt still seems to be an alien concept to me; something I can turn on and off to suit the mood, or my purpose. Just the thought of Simon playing Priest to my sinner still makes me tremble. Or with the roles reversed, I felt such power at breaking him down; even though I was not as good at biblical rhetoric as he. But, then again, he was born into such abuse, so, of course, he could dish it out with a flourish. The boy had talent.

Thursday 2/13/03

How do I finally feel about finally finding out the truth? Even though the stark revelation is not as bad as I had imagined; or, more appropriately, the melodrama that I had constructed (overblown) in my mind. I don't know how I feel. First there was relief that, yes, the divorce was legal and final; and the additional relief (somewhat) that it was the 2nd (1988-89) filing that made it to the final decree. If I had discovered that the first filing--that obviously made it to the courthouse, and not lost, as I was initially told--had made it to the final decree, I'm afraid I would have had a melt down of major proportions, because that would mean that I would have been tied to, and stayed with, him (Robert) a lot longer (3 years) than necessary. Not to mention the amounts of his debts I had to pay!

Yet, I am still depressed; very, very depressed. The facts--of which I had been avoiding all these years--press down on me like stones on a drowning man. (Strange analogy?)

I want to cry.

I want to scream.

Why did I put up with these indignities? Why did I allow myself to be degraded? And for so long?!? I allowed myself to be used and manipulated far beyond what my rational mind could, or should, accept. Why? Did I really, truly love him? If I truly did, why did I have such thoughts about him: Disinterested, disassociative, uncaring and hateful to full blown, murderous hatred. Did I really need to hear those endearments that he was, at times, capable of? Was I that desperate for love? Or, what someone else deemed as such? I am truly angry at myself for being so weak and needy. So much of my life has been wasted through my inaction.

And yet, I recognize it as my nature; to only care about and live for the immediate, to not look any further than sunrise of the next day. And, sometimes, not even that far. How many times have I experienced those (seemingly) nights without end? Where time is held, contained, within those dark hours while I pursued whatever pleasures I had available. I always hoped the sun would not rise, so I could remain in perfect candle lit darkness for as long as I wished.

Actually, I enjoy the first light, from hazy grey to rosy pink; it is when the sun is beyond the horizon, well on the way to it's rightful place in the daytime sky, that my mood fails; then I start to think about my obligations and responsibilities within the waking world, and worry and fretfulness sets in.

Yes, there have been times when I could just cancel out the misery and just turn away and sleep through the day; and I dearly treasured those moments of blessed ignorance. I could believe that time was at my beck and call; that I could stop and start it at my whim. Rituals of Pleasure; that is all I cared about.