Q: How do you feel? A: I don't.
May. 22nd, 2013 11:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bitchy_merlinI've been meaning to do a lot of things lately, but true to form, have gotten around to maaaaybe one or two of them. Maybe. On an exceptionally productive day.
Replying to emails - hell,reading emails; writing letters. postcards, facebook messages. Reading books. Letting people know I'm still around after the spectacular crash-and-burn that was second semester of fourth year. Researching grad schools. Applying somewhere, anywhere. Finding a job in Kingston. Something.
Welp, no. I'd much rather spend my days lazing about on tumblr, only leaving the kitchen to take naps on the nearest piece of furniture available, sleeping in until ungodly hours of the afternoon, refusing to get dressed (I'm scared of my clothes, I'm scared of putting them on, I get really anxious because my jeans are too tight and nothing fits and I keep expanding).
I feel so apathetic. I'm enthusiastic about fandom, but IRL I just feel... numb. I don't know what to say to people. I don't know how to talk to them anymore. I feel shame, I feel regret, I drown myself online to get away from everything. I don't care about anything; the closest I get to caring is anxiety.
I feel sometimes like there's a glass wall separating me from my emotions. I know - I vaguely remember - what I should be feeling, what I would be feeling, in other circumstances. But something's off. I feel these emotions - anger, sadness, joy - seething, bubbling beneath my skin - but they never surface. I acknowledge that they're there. But so what? Does it matter? I don't feel them. There's no vital edge there.
I eat now. Mostly in line with non-dieting. The behaviours may be latent but the thoughts are still there - and yet, not there, not with apathy turning everything into a dull fog. I haven't cried in so long because I haven't felt the overwhelming terror, the all-consuming sadness, regret and rage that come whenever I think about myself. But it's still not a good feeling. I know that the negative emotions are still there. I just don't have the ability to care about them right now. I cut myself the other day; usually this behaviour is a release of emotion, the result of too many feelings; however, this time it was the opposite: I cut because I wanted to know if I still could feel.
(There's never enough blood.)
The jury is still out.
* * *
And, you know, most of my life for the past month has been like that above, a whole bunch of nothing. But then there are the small things, little things in the bigger picture, that I refuse to let go of mentally because they're pinpricks of light through the fog. Random, weird, angry moments. Things that confuse me.
For example (and on a much lighter note that the first half of this entry), let me tell you about the "sex dream" I had last night. (Term in quotations because I was not asleep... I guess fantasy would be a better term). In this fantasy, I was back in Finland, in Hanna's parents' place in Lohja. I remembered the yellow light in Simo's room, the position of his bed against the wall. the chinup bar attached to his doorframe. I was in the purple sleeping shirt I stole from mom years ago, its colour faded to a limp grey with time. It was spring. I was wearing white socks, and if I'm honest, I'm pretty sure I hadn't shaved my legs. Anyway.
I guess - I don't know for sure what happened, but we were all watching something on tv in the living room (well, SImo was in his room, on the computer) and around 11 I excused myself to go to bed. I did just that, but woke up around 1am to use the washroom (conveniently right across from Simo's bedroom IRL). Exiting, I noticed his light was still on. His door was open. I peered in. "Are you still awake?" I asked with a small smile, to let him know I was only joking.
I don't know how, but we ended up with the lights dimmed, sitting side by side on his bed with our backs against the wall. We talked about... I have no idea what.... for a long time - maybe hours. Our shoulders were touching. And then we were kissing. And then we rolled down on his bed, our feet kicking his pillow out of the way, and still kissing. And then his pants were off and so were my shorts and underwear, and he was finding a condom, and I was breathing out that "I've never done this before". He stopped and gave me a quizzical look and I imagined how I must look to him, 22 and still a virgin, and my eyes wanted to skitter away in shame. "I want to," I whispered and kissed him again, searching for some sign of reassurance. He kissed me back and put the condom on - and then he was touching me, opening my lips, thumbing my clit; and then he pushed into me gently, slowly; and again, again, and I laughed quietly and moaned softly "Simo" and he replied with a broken "shh-shh" because it was 3 in the morning and the walls were thin. I felt so full - bordering on pain - but that was nothing, nothing compared to the joy of touching him, of his hands on me, of his mouth on mine, and in that instant I was so happy.
The first time didn't last long - he grunted and came and pulled out - did I come? I don't know; I was so blissed out by the joy of mere physical contact that I'm sure I didn't care. We lay there together and fell asleep like that, sweaty and tangled in his sheets. I fell asleep smiling.
I woke up true to habit at 7 in the morning (I tend to wake up early in other people's houses). Simo stirred as I extracted myself from the pile of limbs we made. I could see awareness returning to his eyes. "What are you doing?" he slurred, his breath on my cheek. "I'm going for a run," I whispered, smiling at him. I knew I needed some time to myself to process everything. "I'll be back." Inside, I worried silently that he would regret the night. But I told myself firmly to shut up, and I kissed him again, despite our morning breath and sleep-crusted eyes. I wanted to cement some part of myself in him.
"I really liked that," I whispered, caressing his body as I rolled over him to get off the bed. "Me too," he replied, pulling me in gently for another kiss. "I'll see you after your run." One more kiss - for the road - and I tiptoed out of his room to change, walking the narrow hallway cautiously to avoid waking anyone with the creaking floorboards.
Outside, elation overtook me and I bounded down the hill feeling like I could fly. I whipped out my cellphone to call Chloe, only to be befuddled by international call numbers. The sun was shining and the blue sky was boundless and I was so happy I could have cried.
...And that was my dream/fantasy/thing that kept me awake for an ungodly amount f time last night because a) he is the same age as my younger brother and b) I barely even know him?!?! (Seriously, we met 3 times over the course of my exchange; he is Hanna's little bro; and sure we send each other postcards every once in a while but I should not want to bone him)
Replying to emails - hell,reading emails; writing letters. postcards, facebook messages. Reading books. Letting people know I'm still around after the spectacular crash-and-burn that was second semester of fourth year. Researching grad schools. Applying somewhere, anywhere. Finding a job in Kingston. Something.
Welp, no. I'd much rather spend my days lazing about on tumblr, only leaving the kitchen to take naps on the nearest piece of furniture available, sleeping in until ungodly hours of the afternoon, refusing to get dressed (I'm scared of my clothes, I'm scared of putting them on, I get really anxious because my jeans are too tight and nothing fits and I keep expanding).
I feel so apathetic. I'm enthusiastic about fandom, but IRL I just feel... numb. I don't know what to say to people. I don't know how to talk to them anymore. I feel shame, I feel regret, I drown myself online to get away from everything. I don't care about anything; the closest I get to caring is anxiety.
I feel sometimes like there's a glass wall separating me from my emotions. I know - I vaguely remember - what I should be feeling, what I would be feeling, in other circumstances. But something's off. I feel these emotions - anger, sadness, joy - seething, bubbling beneath my skin - but they never surface. I acknowledge that they're there. But so what? Does it matter? I don't feel them. There's no vital edge there.
I eat now. Mostly in line with non-dieting. The behaviours may be latent but the thoughts are still there - and yet, not there, not with apathy turning everything into a dull fog. I haven't cried in so long because I haven't felt the overwhelming terror, the all-consuming sadness, regret and rage that come whenever I think about myself. But it's still not a good feeling. I know that the negative emotions are still there. I just don't have the ability to care about them right now. I cut myself the other day; usually this behaviour is a release of emotion, the result of too many feelings; however, this time it was the opposite: I cut because I wanted to know if I still could feel.
(There's never enough blood.)
The jury is still out.
* * *
And, you know, most of my life for the past month has been like that above, a whole bunch of nothing. But then there are the small things, little things in the bigger picture, that I refuse to let go of mentally because they're pinpricks of light through the fog. Random, weird, angry moments. Things that confuse me.
For example (and on a much lighter note that the first half of this entry), let me tell you about the "sex dream" I had last night. (Term in quotations because I was not asleep... I guess fantasy would be a better term). In this fantasy, I was back in Finland, in Hanna's parents' place in Lohja. I remembered the yellow light in Simo's room, the position of his bed against the wall. the chinup bar attached to his doorframe. I was in the purple sleeping shirt I stole from mom years ago, its colour faded to a limp grey with time. It was spring. I was wearing white socks, and if I'm honest, I'm pretty sure I hadn't shaved my legs. Anyway.
I guess - I don't know for sure what happened, but we were all watching something on tv in the living room (well, SImo was in his room, on the computer) and around 11 I excused myself to go to bed. I did just that, but woke up around 1am to use the washroom (conveniently right across from Simo's bedroom IRL). Exiting, I noticed his light was still on. His door was open. I peered in. "Are you still awake?" I asked with a small smile, to let him know I was only joking.
I don't know how, but we ended up with the lights dimmed, sitting side by side on his bed with our backs against the wall. We talked about... I have no idea what.... for a long time - maybe hours. Our shoulders were touching. And then we were kissing. And then we rolled down on his bed, our feet kicking his pillow out of the way, and still kissing. And then his pants were off and so were my shorts and underwear, and he was finding a condom, and I was breathing out that "I've never done this before". He stopped and gave me a quizzical look and I imagined how I must look to him, 22 and still a virgin, and my eyes wanted to skitter away in shame. "I want to," I whispered and kissed him again, searching for some sign of reassurance. He kissed me back and put the condom on - and then he was touching me, opening my lips, thumbing my clit; and then he pushed into me gently, slowly; and again, again, and I laughed quietly and moaned softly "Simo" and he replied with a broken "shh-shh" because it was 3 in the morning and the walls were thin. I felt so full - bordering on pain - but that was nothing, nothing compared to the joy of touching him, of his hands on me, of his mouth on mine, and in that instant I was so happy.
The first time didn't last long - he grunted and came and pulled out - did I come? I don't know; I was so blissed out by the joy of mere physical contact that I'm sure I didn't care. We lay there together and fell asleep like that, sweaty and tangled in his sheets. I fell asleep smiling.
I woke up true to habit at 7 in the morning (I tend to wake up early in other people's houses). Simo stirred as I extracted myself from the pile of limbs we made. I could see awareness returning to his eyes. "What are you doing?" he slurred, his breath on my cheek. "I'm going for a run," I whispered, smiling at him. I knew I needed some time to myself to process everything. "I'll be back." Inside, I worried silently that he would regret the night. But I told myself firmly to shut up, and I kissed him again, despite our morning breath and sleep-crusted eyes. I wanted to cement some part of myself in him.
"I really liked that," I whispered, caressing his body as I rolled over him to get off the bed. "Me too," he replied, pulling me in gently for another kiss. "I'll see you after your run." One more kiss - for the road - and I tiptoed out of his room to change, walking the narrow hallway cautiously to avoid waking anyone with the creaking floorboards.
Outside, elation overtook me and I bounded down the hill feeling like I could fly. I whipped out my cellphone to call Chloe, only to be befuddled by international call numbers. The sun was shining and the blue sky was boundless and I was so happy I could have cried.
...And that was my dream/fantasy/thing that kept me awake for an ungodly amount f time last night because a) he is the same age as my younger brother and b) I barely even know him?!?! (Seriously, we met 3 times over the course of my exchange; he is Hanna's little bro; and sure we send each other postcards every once in a while but I should not want to bone him)
