5:00 AM; Logan Blvd—bed
Woke up from a nightmare but then reviewed the photos from last night’s Nightside and now I’m too awake! Another spirit-reviving success—the first one without Bryant, and I’m so glad it went down without a hitch. In fact, the crowd was perhaps the best yet—so many good friends, and Molly. :) Damn, that woman! We’re moving right along—every time I see her, I’m convinced I’m in love. Not in the overwhelming-addicted way that I sometimes succumb to in the days in between (left over bad habits and mis-directed anxiety hijacking)—but an intentional this-is-a-wonderful-human-being-who-I’m-very-attracted-to-and-makes-me-feel-good-and-omg-she’s-such-a-good-fit. She’s a good fit because she has all the qualities I want in a partner—smart, funny, artistic, ambitious, affectionate, beautiful—and she’s good at boundaries, and she has flaws that jive with mine (we’re on the same mental health page, she’s a workaholic, which evens out my procrastination), and she treats me the way I treat her—which is to say my touch needs are actually satisfied and we treat each other to things and we’re excited to see each other. I feel too lucky, but I’m trying to feel lucky… then again, I’m not feeling overly lucky thanks to the fact that she’s certainly moving to LA in 6 months. We joke about it. She seems optimistically playful, and so I try not to freak out.
With all the family pain, moving away from here—or at least getting away regularly—increasingly appeals to me. Mom and I went to therapy with Chris the other day and I could barely stand it. I feel locked in by words. I can’t express myself, and at the same time I can’t bear to listen. I’m not feeling good—I’m a paranoid mute. And then I nightmare constantly.
Tomorrow will be three years since Abuela died. I talk about her all the time. I wish so badly to conjure her for Molly. For anyone. I try to conjure her in my writing. I have her ashes… I need to go to Cuba. I need to go so many places. I need to go see the Northern Lights. Bring Abuela with me.
I’m supposed to write with Tanner in a few hours and then I need to once again head to therapy. Mom wants me to pay for it, but I don’t think I will… I would prefer to save up for plane tickets. And that makes me feel horrible. I don’t know what to think anymore, maybe because I don’t know how to feel anymore. I’m numbing out. I’m tired of feeling misunderstood. I’m tired of feeling like I need to fix things. I just want to move on with my life. I don’t feel like Carlos is that important to me right now, and I don’t think Mom and Dad will understand me anytime soon, so what gives? What I need is time to heal, to sort through my memories and feelings of the past, and that means finding an affordable practitioner of EMDR. As Maia and Molly both pointed out, Chris is not the best fit.
Work is stressful. I’m always worried about pissing Tiffany off. I need to stop worrying about her mood and focus on the work itself. But there’s so much to do, it’s incredibly difficult to manage my time.
I don’t know what to write about the world. Everything continues to go to shit, and I’m letting it. I try to convince myself that my art is my best contribution to the fight, but I’m not feeling convinced. At the same time, I’m at full capacity, like Kellie. I’m barely able to hold my mind together.