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February 8, 2006
Love and honesty
I may still
be changing since being back from Goddard, but what seems more
important is getting re-grounded. We were discouraged from wearing
scented body products, which was cool, because suddenly I became
incredibly sensitive to odors, like the wretched smell of my beloved
Sharpie pens. But being home and wearing my scents again is reassuring.
Little stuff, like listening to music without
worrying about my roommate. Being in my house and spending
time with my friends. Last night we celebrated Christian’s 50th birthday, and that felt normal again, but the last time we were all together, I was still too chopped up.
Madeline thinks the problem we had at Goddard
was that we were dumped without preamble into a strange world,
and just as we started feeling acclimated - we made friends,we
could figure out where things were, and we started to relax - we
were dumped back home again. But that doesn’t
explain why acclimation was so disorienting.
Being with Bill at his house was grounding.
I wish I didn’t feel so woo woo, lovey dovey
compared to him. I feel over the top in love, and
he feels more laid back about me. So sometimes I
feel ashamed of that. I wish I could be more low
key and logical about my feelings for him. Sunday
and Monday at his house, I HATED myself for what
translates from that need into weakness.
But I also
want to approach myself with more love and understanding,
because self-hatred simply compounds self-hatred. I realized I measure myself against his reactions
to me, and I keep coming up short. But I AM enthusiastic.
And I AM in love. I'm not terribly logical. Why do
I have to apologize?
I can’t be Bill, and I don’t think he’s asking for that, but when I love someone, I start trying to mirror them. I guess that’s kind of fucked up.
When I was a kid, my mother gave me harsh disapproval for being openly loving. She said to play hard to get with men, and never let them know how you feel. If you're honest and open, they’ll walk all over you. In the sixth grade, my mother becoming hysterical, and I was punished severely for calling a boy I liked in school. I love my mother, but she doesn't understand honesty, emotion and revelation. I think it's part of her upbringing and her culture, but I can’t be my mother, any more than I can be Bill.
I’m insanely open and honest, my mother’s the opposite, and Bill’s
somewhere in between.
Like it or not, I’m stuck with myself.
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