OK, I rewrote the damned post that got erased. I got to develop it a bit more, adding details I had origionally left out, so perhaps it is all for the best.
Here we go...
I had a dream...
There was 5 people staying at this rustic European style lodge/farm. Perhaps it was in Ireland as the grass was deep green and there was a white grey fog. A rectangular yard area sloped slightly higher in one corner. A old unpanted wood barn with dark shingles. A low stacked stone wall runs around the yard stopping at one side of the barn and starting at the opposite side. A wooden table.
One of the people, a man who looks like George Castanza from Sienfield is working by the table. He is stabbing, then cutting up a woman. He is dismembering her and individualy wrapping the parts in 4-mil sheet plastic and duct tape. I enter his head as he is taping up the upper torso, about the size and shape of a sleevless collered shirt. I can't get the tape to hold around the (formerly) neck. I try to lift up the piece of meat to wrap the tape around the back of the neck but the piece is heavier the I expected. A woman comes up behind me on my 4 o'clock shouting. She has discovered what I have done. I turn slightly to face her and step back. She stabs me in the stomach.
I dont feel the wound.
I fall back onto the wooden table where I watched George do his dirty work. The woman stabs be a handfull of times in the guts. I try to feel the wounds, assess the damage, but I cant feel anything. I find that my hands are clenched into fists and I am pressing them fingers and palms aginst my temples. Because of my cowering all I can see of the woman is her knit red sweater from the swell of her average sized breasts down to where she is obscured my slightly raised leg, about her waist.
She stabs me one final time through my right fist into my temple. I can feel the split bones and the tension in my head and in the skin of my hands as I shift my hand slightly to test my injury. Still no pain. Still no sounds, though I know they are there somewhere.
As I awoke I could still feel the knife running through my hand, the split metacarpal bones, the tension in the skin on both sides of my hand. I had to check my head and hand for an actual cut.
In other news...
Tonight is Twin Peaks night! I have episodes 5 and 6. Im gonna watch them without my roomate if she doesnt get her when I get back from the licquer store. I am out of Gin. I have tomarrow and the next day off so I can do bad things on thoes days, or at least the previous nights. I'm really considering going dancing on my own, despite all the people that SAY they want to go but never call me.
Guess I should give them my number...
In conclusion...
I have a question for you. A self-centered question, but I am thinking your viewpoint can help me test mine.
Which of the following is most likely?:
a) I am looking for things that hurt me - checking her livejournal, thinking about her, avoiding any real exchange with others - as an excuse to do bad things like drinking and drugs because I want an excuse to do the drugs - I am subconsciously dependant but need a conscious excuse.
b) I am doing the bad things as a means of supressing dealing with my thoughts of her, and I am hanging on to my pain and doing drugs because I am afriad of loosing my pain as it has become part of who I am.
c) I am doing drugs, drinking, hurting myself, and dressing intimidatingly so that nobody will approach me saving me from both not being able to interact with said person or possibly liking someone and letting them in, exposing myself to the possability of more pain.
d) I am doing drungs and drinking in the hopes that my defenses will fall and I will be more open to interactions with others, possibly forming friendships (shudder).
(edit 2:53 AM) Later that night...
I just drove a saftypin through my lip. It didnt hurt that bad really.
Perhaps its just the gin.
I will now endevor to go to bed.
Good night.
Here we go...
I had a dream...
There was 5 people staying at this rustic European style lodge/farm. Perhaps it was in Ireland as the grass was deep green and there was a white grey fog. A rectangular yard area sloped slightly higher in one corner. A old unpanted wood barn with dark shingles. A low stacked stone wall runs around the yard stopping at one side of the barn and starting at the opposite side. A wooden table.
One of the people, a man who looks like George Castanza from Sienfield is working by the table. He is stabbing, then cutting up a woman. He is dismembering her and individualy wrapping the parts in 4-mil sheet plastic and duct tape. I enter his head as he is taping up the upper torso, about the size and shape of a sleevless collered shirt. I can't get the tape to hold around the (formerly) neck. I try to lift up the piece of meat to wrap the tape around the back of the neck but the piece is heavier the I expected. A woman comes up behind me on my 4 o'clock shouting. She has discovered what I have done. I turn slightly to face her and step back. She stabs me in the stomach.
I dont feel the wound.
I fall back onto the wooden table where I watched George do his dirty work. The woman stabs be a handfull of times in the guts. I try to feel the wounds, assess the damage, but I cant feel anything. I find that my hands are clenched into fists and I am pressing them fingers and palms aginst my temples. Because of my cowering all I can see of the woman is her knit red sweater from the swell of her average sized breasts down to where she is obscured my slightly raised leg, about her waist.
She stabs me one final time through my right fist into my temple. I can feel the split bones and the tension in my head and in the skin of my hands as I shift my hand slightly to test my injury. Still no pain. Still no sounds, though I know they are there somewhere.
As I awoke I could still feel the knife running through my hand, the split metacarpal bones, the tension in the skin on both sides of my hand. I had to check my head and hand for an actual cut.
In other news...
Tonight is Twin Peaks night! I have episodes 5 and 6. Im gonna watch them without my roomate if she doesnt get her when I get back from the licquer store. I am out of Gin. I have tomarrow and the next day off so I can do bad things on thoes days, or at least the previous nights. I'm really considering going dancing on my own, despite all the people that SAY they want to go but never call me.
Guess I should give them my number...
In conclusion...
I have a question for you. A self-centered question, but I am thinking your viewpoint can help me test mine.
Which of the following is most likely?:
a) I am looking for things that hurt me - checking her livejournal, thinking about her, avoiding any real exchange with others - as an excuse to do bad things like drinking and drugs because I want an excuse to do the drugs - I am subconsciously dependant but need a conscious excuse.
b) I am doing the bad things as a means of supressing dealing with my thoughts of her, and I am hanging on to my pain and doing drugs because I am afriad of loosing my pain as it has become part of who I am.
c) I am doing drugs, drinking, hurting myself, and dressing intimidatingly so that nobody will approach me saving me from both not being able to interact with said person or possibly liking someone and letting them in, exposing myself to the possability of more pain.
d) I am doing drungs and drinking in the hopes that my defenses will fall and I will be more open to interactions with others, possibly forming friendships (shudder).
(edit 2:53 AM) Later that night...
I just drove a saftypin through my lip. It didnt hurt that bad really.
Perhaps its just the gin.
I will now endevor to go to bed.
Good night.
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
severus:
man i'm so glad i got gooood grades. puh. this weekend is going to be sweeet! no more stress. what are you going to do?
synapse:
Drugs keep getting done to kill the pain, until they wear down your ego enough so that the id spills over, and you can't stop it. The pain will then come in such rushes that your body will take its own actions to stop it - involuntary numbness, spotty memory/memory loss, inability to focus, and etceteras. It's a round-about path, but still leads to the same place - resolution. I speak not of you, but of myself - trying to get over him, or so I thought. I was trying to get over myself. I was the one that carried the pain, the one who perpetuated it. He could have been anybody - this particular muse just happened to come along at the right/wrong time. The relationship that took years for me to get over was the bond that I'd had with my adolescent self (which was a stage in my, as well as anyone else's life that isn't based on age, but psychological/emotional development). Am I rambling? Yes, I think that I must be. Break it up, people - nothing to see here!