Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Cat scans are fun.

A newborn baby puking; an old lady with 2 black and blue eyes; a young man in a room with a large glass pane looking out at me, half-naked, smirking at me as his hospital gown lies around his hips, after escaping his room he sits next to me, smiling, they tell him to get back in his room; a woman with her finger cut off; an old man's urine on the floor of the bathroom. I try to pee in a cup but I always get it on my hands. My female anatomy mocks me with the inaccuracy of it's aim. It knows I suffer of penis envy. In five hours at the ER the only pleasurable experience was the one minute when they gave me a cat scan. Cat scans are fun. I like lasers and moving tables and round things I can be inside.

I never want to acknowledge pain. I see it as weakness and failure. My head has been throbbing for 4 days now. Pulsing hard and continuously. Like my heart is beating in my head. I told myself that it would go away. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't feel like a headache. It's just pulsing, pulsing, pulsing ... I feel so weird. So disoriented. I know my name. I know what day it is. I just don't understand why it won't stop.

I had been ignoring it. I went out and partied. I hosted a comedy show. I went out and entertained at a business dinner. I just can't, I just don't want to stop. I can do anything. I can do everything. I am becoming my mother. I must work hard. I want to be amazing. I can't be amazing if I don't work hard. I can't stress out. That's for wusses. I cannot have a little hard work break me down. It's stupid. The throbbing will go away. I haven't seen a doctor in two years aside from the teeth guy, the eye lady, and the man who checks my beautiful flower. The doctor said he can't see me. He said I need to go to the ER. So scary on TV. I never went there before. How can my problem possibly be important enough for them?

Why won't it stop. I don't have time for this.

I am sick. I am tired. I am plain fucking exhausted. Over-whelmed. Stressed out.

I don't deserve to be. Everyone has it hard. My mother slaves away at her job and has been for years. I see the tired waitress in the busy New York restaurant. I've seen the P.A.s working what seems to be 20 hour days. I see everyone around me. They work so hard. It isn't fair to the world for me to be bothered by whatever it is. I am just some dumb little 24 year old girl with pretty hair. I am not supposed to have any reason to complain. Think about the uglies. How hard it must be for them. I don't deserve self-pity. I have it good. I am lucky. There are so many unique benefits to being where I am.

I don't want to say the explicit materials I view at work disgust me. I don't want to disrespect someone else's idea of awesome. I want to suck it up and take it like a man. I don't mean like that, just ... don't want to let it get to me. Grow up. Be strong. Deal with it. What's the big deal anyway?

Surely, everytime I stop to imagine why my mind is beating, thumping, screaming in madness as though something wants to leap out of my head- all I can think about is- my god, I have so many things I have to get done. My god, I feel so unloved. My friends love me, my family loves me. I do not deserve to feel unloved. I should stop being stupid. Stop being a baby. "You have to learn to be happy being alone." I am independent. I am a loner, a wanderer. I don't depend on anyone or expect anything from anyone else because I don't believe that anything rewarding will ever come from someone doing something for me that I could have done myself. Doesn't play well with others. Well then why does she have such an active social life? It's nothing. It's just a play, a charade. Nothing meaningful. But what is meaningful anyway.

Two heartbreaks now. It's taking its toll. I am sad. I do feel alone. One heartbreak so intense I lost everything I knew about myself. I fell in love again and it was great. I just lost love two months ago. I tell myself everything is fine. I am not willing to feel sad again. I am not going to accept being broken. I just want to find my own peace of mind.

But I do want love. I do want to be loved. And everything in the world tells me that's just so stupid to want. But I believe people need each other. I believe we are meant to love and meant to care. We are the first generation that falls in love over and over again because marriage is for chumps and celebrities. Or at least that's what all the cool kids say. I don't want a baby inside me. I don't want a joint bank account or a three car garage. I don't want the neighbor kids peeing in my goddamn pool. Please oh please I don't want to be referred to as "the wife".

I saw a montage of all the hospital moments in my mind: I pictured the pain of someone who told me about his father dying in a hospital, there's Edie Falco with Tony Soprano, my tonsils being taken out, babies crying, this one time when my grandmother was admitted to a hospital the nurses said she sang all the time and they couldn't keep her with everyone else because she kept singing. I remember she used to dance the Peabody and sing some song or another "ta-dum ta-da tee dee dee" which always sounds pretty crazy but she knew the songs well.

My grandmother was paranoid schidzophrenic. She lived with us for 10 years. It always looms over me. If you are prone to schidzophrenia, it will onset in your 20s. I am still in my 20s. I think about this all the time.

I was obsessing over the idea of suicide on Sunday. The line between life and death is so thin it's incredible. A person can die by a silly accident. Death happens all the time. The will to live is so powerful that it's active even when you don't want it to be. But no matter how peaceful the idea of death seems, or how deep a hole I've dug for myself, no matter how deep and murky and invisible, the thread of will to live was never too murky or too invisible to cease to be. I never gave up even when I had given up. I think about the idea that "the existential absurdity" is to continue to live in spite of everything we know and realize about existence- that choosing life over death is absurd in the face of logic.

The book V for Vendetta spoke about the last inch of yourself you get to keep- integrity. That the world can whitewash a person into fitting its mold. That Fight Club line I always quote "It's only until you've lost everything that you can truly be free" or however it goes cause I am too tired to look it up. V for Vendetta talks about killing that part of yourself that hangs onto what you know so you can experience what is real. I don't think people need to breakdown like in Fight Club or V for Vendetta in order to be aware of truth, especially because any one person is naive to think they ever know a truer conception of reality over any one other person.

This is where it becomes crazy.

I am driving myself crazy. I'll beat genetics to the task. I have thought everything through to such detailed extremes. Everything seems so clear, it's honestly disgusting to understand the world so well, seeing all of it's vulgarity as reality lies spread eagle before me. To me, right now, the world is a pussy. Part sexual, exquisite, life-giving, miraculous, beautiful. Part vulgar, dirty, explicit, monstrous, intimidating.

I understand that the world is filled with pain. I understand that I am but a speck of dust within the desert. Kierkegaard talked about Angst as the feeling you get when you consider the enormity of existence. The vastness of the universe. I feel that. Despair in the face of the awareness of others.

I am worried about others.

Why do I suck so bad? Is it because I never forward those emails? Is this the hell that has been promised to befall upon me?

I have an unusually severe tension headache. They say it is a kind that if you don't treat it in the first hour, it can last 2 to 3 weeks. Supposedly it's due to stress and exhaustion.

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