Life as an Extreme Sport

You know, you’d think Bill O’Reilly would learn he can’t win against Jon Stewart, but he just keeps trying. And losing. Badly. Humour is always going to take down serious ass-clowns…

And speaking of the war on Christmas, and Christians, here’s an interesting page on Christian Privilege. They list 40 examples of ways in which Christianity is privileged in society, and while I admit that some of them seem very specifically focused as a “this is the way Muslims are persecuted” way, some of them are things that as a Buddhist, I’ve felt. Earlier in the site, one of the authors makes a comment that Christian Privilege is really the taboo subject in America; we spend an awful lot of time talking about racism and White (especially White Male) privilege. I’m still considering the idea, but it’s definitely an intriguing idea.

Happy birthday Sheldon, wherever you are. I miss you.
-Kiwi

I should clarify, I suppose, that this is not a new thing for me, this believing the worst and ignoring the best. It’s been ground into me over many years, and I’m not sure it will ever go away, no matter how many nice things people say about me. It simply seems to be how I am, despite my efforts to the contrary, and as a friend said earlier this night, it doesn’t matter how hard others try, we’re never going to believe we’re worth it.

So although I am letting one person get to me, it’s not like this is the only person to get to me like this. I can guarantee, it does not matter how many people say something good, the minute someone I at all have any attachment to says something bad, whomp – the rest might as well have never been said.

That said, I also realize that this is in part because I wear my heart on my sleeve, which means that it is going to get hurt on occasion. And yes, I’m hurt – I didn’t do anything to deserve the treatment I got, and I got the treatment from someone I was willing to trust, willing to be friendly to, willing to like and extend a hand of friendship. It hurts to get poked, “bitten”, proven wrong in your judgment. I can either deal with that (as badly as that might be going), or I can close up and keep people away.

I’m very good at keeping people away, but I’m trying very hard to get over that. I’m trying to wear my heart on my sleeve, because I genuinely think I’m a better person for it. It’s just that I have to learn how to deal with the hurt that’s going to inevitably occur from taking that stance. In this case, the hurt is just compounded by the cruelness that worked to undermine my already damaged self-regard. But I’ve moved beyond listless staring at walls and listening to morose country-blues. Now I’m listening to spunkier gothabilly/blues, and getting angry. Kubler-Ross would be so proud.

And maybe the end lesson in this is that the positive things do end up mattering more – or at least in this instance, the no-nonsense frankness of a certain Miss M~.

If you can’t fix it, you gotta stand it.

I hurt myself today
to see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that’s real

I am torn flesh, blood dripping raw; wounded and wary. Flailed skin wrapped in barbed wire, held together with duct tape and small ‘keep out, no trespassing’ signs. I don’t trust you, I don’t trust anyone. If I did, I would talk to you, could talk to you – tell you about the fear, the balance and the line I walk. The tension between flat out self-destruction and preservation, and how tightly wound I am between those two points. How very close I’ve come this quarter to slipping over, sliding down and just…breaking. It would be so easy to let go.

I wear this crown of thorns
upon my liar’s chair
full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

I can’t cry, you know. Oh, sure – a few tears might slip out, now and again. The silent and poetic kind that film so well; poignant ones. But full on, body wracking sobs – I haven’t been able to do that in a long time, since J~ passed, and the ability was waning before that. It’s a letting go that I can’t do, a loss of control that I fear will unbind me. And if I become unbound, I don’t think I’ll be able to pull myself back together, not again. I don’t think I have the strength, the will. Not anymore. Not this time.

So many people tell me how strong I am, how amazed they are at my strength. But it’s not really strength, it’s self-preservation. I hold on tightly to the one thing I can to keep from flying apart at the seams.

what have I become?
my sweetest friend
everyone I know
goes away in the end

My wall cracked last night, and I almost talked to someone about this. I almost vocalized what I hide behind a computer screen and scripted words. And I walked, feet following the split in the concrete sidewalk, and felt the air on raw cold skin, and I paniced and bolted. I hid behind laughter and self-deprecation, and shooed Adam off to homework, myself to home and silence and aloneness, to repair the breach that almost broke the dam.

How damned trite. This entire thing – trite. The words, the lyrics, the attempt to express what cannot be expressed.

Do you know the ultimate irony? Me, writing about affect and connectivity, when I hold myself as such an island. Come close enough to shout, but don’t you dare set foot upon the shore. My damned empire of dirt.

I will let you down
I will make you hurt

People keep telling me I have a beautiful soul. I wonder what they’d think if they saw all the tarnish that I keep hidden from view. People keep saying a lot of very nice things about me – so why does it not matter? Why is it the cruelty, the meanness and mockery, that stays with me? Why does the positive wash over and off me without impact, but the negative takes root and grows? Why can’t I believe the good? Why do I only believe the bad?

Why is it that one person can hurt me and undo anything good done to me by others? Why do I only focus on the pain? I don’t like this person I become when I feel this way, but the only way I know to never feel like this is to never give anyone the chance. Why can’t the good be stronger than the bad – why do I have to lose myself? Why does it have to hurt?

If I could, I would start again a million miles away, and I would keep myself. I would find a way.