Letterblade

What do I even call my recent thingie? It's kind of beyond depression into complete avoidance of everything. I'm not sure I've read my email in a few days.

I've realized that a lot of it is probably the moving thing. Moving by itself I could supposedly cope with. Huge pain in the ass, seeing as I've actually mostly settled here (unlike the other 2938492834 places I moved out of), but. No, the problem is that I've come to think of this place as home. A lot of the time, it feels like I'm home in my parents' house, except without the messed-up mom. A lived-here-forever sort of thing. Dunno why. But.

Settling is not okay. Will always get kicked out. I thought I was over that paranoia. But.

They're looking for a replacement roommate who wants to be all family-like and have dinner together and shared activities. I highly recommend this place, really. Even if the fact that they're kicking me out and replacing me when they didn't even tell me what they wanted kind of stings.

Nope. Not over that paranoia. Which is another part of why I am avoiding the housing search. Why look through listing after listing, trying to find a place I can like to live, knowing that I'll be kicked out of it in a year or two?

And I probably need to go get another crappy job that eats my entire life, doesn't pay enough to live on, and gets me treated like crap and thrown away in three months. Not going to get another job as good as the last one. Not freaking possible with my resume and poor interview skills. Jewelry is fun, but sales are miserable.

Also, what does it mean when you're semi-consistently having slight blurry/double vision, things like the tops of doors doubled vertically (if that even makes sense), and it's in both eyes? Buh?

Also, I suck. Knowing why I'm avoiding real life doesn't help a damn bit towards fixing it. I'm getting my car worked on today. I can say that much for myself.

...I just heard back from the ex-Boy by email. (I'd emailed him asking if I could see him before I left.)

He's been in Germany since September 17th.

He didn't even tell me he was leaving.

I'm...not entirely sure what to think. He emailed me back saying that he'd love to hear from me. Love to hear from somebody who he didn't even bother saying goodbye to when he moved overseas?

I'd often wondered, after the breakup, how much I meant to him. Now I know.

I'm going to have to formulate an email back somehow. In the meantime, have to haul my carcass to work. Again. And not cry.

I GET IT, UNIVERSE. AND DOUBLE DUMB ASS ON YOU TOO.

Intellect and curiosity: shut down. Reason unknown, though it probably includes exhaustion and burnout.

Creativity: shut down. Reason unknown, though ditto above.

Desire to communicate with others: shut down. Reason is the usual wacky combination of self-protection and self-harm. (Being around people can be one of the healthier things for me, hence the latter.)

Sex drive: shut down. Reason is probably an extension of the above, mixed with sheer confusion.

It's ten on a Saturday night. I had an invitation to a play party, which I didn't follow up on partially because my phone and net connection both died when I went to contact people for more info, and partially because I was all meh. And instead I'm going to be showering and going to sleep, before my bedtime on a weekend, with Final Fantasy status condition symbols dancing behind my eyelids. My dazzling, fascinating life.

I. Um.

I miss being in a (healthy) relationship. I miss the interaction, the support. I miss Eric; I miss the person I was becoming when I was with him.

I miss not feeling like there's a huge, gaping, bloody hole in my chest.

I need my soul jump-started. It's kind of run out of energy and curled up under a rock somewhere.

1. Jesus fuck, I have to move in ten days, and I don't even know to where yet. I'm not panicking, precisely. Just about 100% sure that it isn't going to work out, that the people I'm currently waiting to hear back from will blow me off, and I won't be able to find other opportunities because I suck at this and am a general failure at housing stuff, and I'll have to leave illuminaut's and I'll be homeless again. Because that's how my life works.

2. Which is triggered by the moving and cleaning panic because I have to pack most of my stuff up this weekend, because somebody else needs to stay in the guest room. I...settled here. I got too comfortable, forgot it wasn't home. I forgot it was temporary, because my brain simply couldn't bear the thought that I'd be moving again in a month on top of everything else--moved in here just after E. dumped me. Which is hardly an excuse for settling in when I shouldn't have. But. It's why.

3. Nothing could have prepared me for moving my box of magic/altar gear; I nearly started crying just looking at it. The same damn box I packed back in Somerville, when I was first thrown it; it was the first thing I packed, and so carefully. The same box I left at E.'s when I was homeless, kept wishing I could use it more when I was suddenly drawn, so intensely, into magic. Unpacked it in Medford, in a temporary room that proved even more temporary than I thought. Packed it back up again to store at E.'s. Had to go get it when he dumped me. And I haven't touched it since. What's the use? I look at it, it's like any other box of odds and ends. Cryptic and dead.

4. Packed away my battered pocket paperback of the Book of the Law. Bought it in Westborough, when visiting family. It rode around in my pocket for weeks; I'd read it on the bus to work, when I was hurt, or lonely, or tired. It was--solace. I'm not sure that word had much meaning to me until then. And then, tonight, I found it at the bottom of the piles of stuff on my bedside table. There was that comfortable familiarity of having it in my hands; I opened it, read the first few verses, and. Cryptic, frightening, meaningless.

5. Because I'm not strong enough to keep going, in the magic, without someone to share it with. Because I'm not strong enough to keep looking for what is necessary when I have a warm bed and four walls and AC. Because I've managed to pretty much fritter away the summer. Because no matter how good I am, it'll never be good enough.

6. I have to move in ten days. See you all from the gutter, because I'm completely fucking incapable of taking care of myself.

Haaaaaates them.

Well, that and the fact that my back was screaming out in pain all day yesterday.

Got home, slept, and curled up with laptop and cat because it was the only thing I was capable of doing. Furry purrbox in ear while I looked into PHP/MySQL sitebuilding and realized it won't be QUITE as insane as I thought to switch letterblade.net over to a database-driven site? Not as bad as the rest of the day.

asdfkjawoiefsdklf

First step is admitting you have a problem, sure. The thing after the first step, and probably before even the second step, is adjusting to the concept that you deserve to have it solved. That the pain and difficulty it causes you isn't your proper punishment.

Not as high-functioning depressive as I thought right now.

Tried to make an appointment with my last-seen doctor to get back on my meds, but she was on vacation. Doctor recs in the Boston area, pref. ones free with meds to those who have been on them before and know they work for them? Also a physical would be nice. And have a few TMI questions. Mergh.

Time to start using my health insurance and sick time.

My feet and ass are telling me, very loudly, that I stood stock-still for most of an hour during Mass yesterday. Which I know I did, I don't see why they need to remind me. Ow.

My ex livened the proceedings by telling me that his new girlfriend had proposed to him. So I stood stock-still for most of an hour, with my feet feeling like they were being slowly flayed, in a deep blue funk.

(I did notice, during all this, that I've been able to starve and squish and kill nearly all my feelings for him. There's just kind of a blank in me when I'm around him. Good, right? Hurts less. Makes it hard to make conversation. But I didn't even have to cry in the bathroom after he told me. No, I don't think this means I loved him any less, I think it means I'm good at cutting out pieces of myself.)

(His stunned bewilderment at my Crazy Natal Chart of Doom was oddly gratifying though. Even if it was in reaction to some of the nastier portions of same. Have I mentioned here yet that I've got both Mercury and Venus in retrograde? No? I've got both Mercury and Venus in retrograde. Fuckers. Need to post on my Crazy Natal Chart of Doom someday.)

I've noticed--perhaps as a result of not practicing, perhaps as a result of cutting off or shutting down so much of myself?--that I'm literally less sensitive to magic now. I used to feel the waves of light spread out from the altar when he was priesting. Now I...don't. The remaining bits of me that care are upset.

I'm exhausted and sore and my sleep cycle's fucked up, and I'm Not Really Dealing, and I didn't do nearly as much this weekend as I should've, because I don't fucking care about myself and what I need to do to take care of myself. I was finally starting to learn, to become responsible, but I noticed recently that my general mental state seems to have back-slid by about three or four years. I feel like I did, oh, about sophomore, maybe junior year in college. I'm having the same issues again. Jesus fuck do I hate living in retrograde.

This only worries me with respect to my job. I've got to keep things up there. I can't have a sudden down-turn in performance--if I lose this job, I'll lose any chance of making a living, nobody's going to hire me with that fucked-up a resume.

Well, my job and housing. Setting myself up with the basic, practical means to exist in this world. I don't care about the rest. Why would I want to spend all my time taking care of somebody I don't like?

Stop the world, I want to get off.

Off to work--and today's going to be hell on wheels--and eat and fandom and sleep. It's a good rhythm. There are even parts of it I enjoy--mostly the fact that Marvel-fic seems to be pouring out of my every orifice every time I open a word processor. Mostly finished something completely unexpected last night. But the magic's gone out of my life.

The more I write recent-canon Tony, the more he reminds me of me, and this scares me a little.

Oh, and spam LJ. Can't forget that part of the rhythm. Must spam LJ with whiney emo.

I think I need to get back on antidepressants, possibly into therapy, but that would involve actual effort. And taking more time off from work, which I kindof can't do this pay period, because I took Friday off and didn't do as much work on my take-home project as I should've.

Fuck. Off to work. Driving to the train station, kthanx, whiney ass.

"There is no bond that can unite the divided but love. All else is a curse. Accursed be it to the Aeons. Hell."

"...soul of infinite space, before whom time is ashamed, the mind bewildered, and the understanding dark, not unto thee may we attain, unless thine image be love."

It's a rather odd position, given how most mainstream institutionalized and negativized (it's a word if I say so, damn it) religion works, to find oneself being dragged, kicking and whining, by one's religion towards happiness. Or at least it's doing its best.

I feel like I should say that I'm trying, but I'm not. I don't even feel like I'm capable of it. Maybe I've forgotten how. Or maybe I'm simply too tired--utterly exhausted and drained, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually, and not knowing how to rest or heal. Stripped of both will and joy. Spending each moment killing time until the next one comes. Every time my heart gets broken, I go out and buy a new one, small and hard and pretty; I meant to toss the little lepidolite one I got when Cyn dumped me into Salem harbor and pick up a new one, but I haven't gotten around to either. I don't carry the old heart. I don't want a new one.

I should start seeing a therapist again, I suppose. I can't rescue myself from this, and I can't in good conscience let anyone else try unless I'm paying them. I'm utter poison when I'm in a bad way, and hurt everyone I touch; most everyone who gets near me winds up hating me, and those who can stand it still tire or lose interest. The other alternative is waiting it out, I suppose.

(Gratuitous Crowley of the day being from Book of the Law and the Gnostic Mass, respectively.)

Also--T.S., H.B., I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

It's not that I'm jealous, per se, that Boy and New Girl are doing Mass together before she leaves. (They're hustling her through the confirmation process just for that. I overheard all this during post-mass schmooz. Is that how one spells schmooz?) I don't want him to not do it with her. I just...wish he could share.

JUST SHOOT ME, DAMN IT.

There is no part of me that is not the gods' football.

Needless to say, will not be going to that mass. Will probably be curled in a little ball under my bed crying.