The Post Ooozing With Mass Quantities of Self Pity and Self Loathing...A Synge Specialty
I can't figure out why at all, but lately a couple of my oldest and dearest friends have been saying incredibly beautiful things about me in their blogs involving my sense of self awareness and crediting me with knowing, unapologetically, who I am. I feel incredibly selfish that I have yet to devote an entry to waxing poetic about my amazing friends, but alas, it will have to wait yet again because I have some wallowing in self pity to do. Before commencing with the aforementioned wallowing, however, let me briefly address the eloquent sob-inducing posts twofold. First, I want to say that I am wholly undeserving of having the wonderful friends that I do. I still feel at heart that perhaps there's been some sort of identity mix-up and they think I'm someone I'm not. Regardless, I am indebted to my oldest friends in ways they cannot even fathom; they remain some of the most incredible individuals I have ever and will ever meet. Secondly, I regret to inform you that this month's bribe money to write really sweet things about me online will not be forthcoming as I'm beyond broke. I'll understand if you feel the need to retract the posts, again, I apologize. That's just what happens when you take friendship bribes from starving actors.
Here's the rub, though, in case you were looking for it. I don't feel like I know myself anywhere near the extent to which I'm credited. In fact, I feel completely lost at present. I feel like the only thing I know unequivocably is that I am self destructive and self sabotaging, and I'm not particularly endeared to that fact. Were I truly as self-aware and far along in terms of personal growth as you claim I am, I would not be so fucked up in terms of intimacy as I'm discovering myself to be. I charge Mr. Emotionally Unavailable with crimes that I am finding myself quite guilty of as well, and I don't know why (read that as I'm not willing to admit to myself). I don't like it though.
I used to close myself off at the drop of a hat, especially where sex was concerned. It's been a long time since I've closed myself off to the extent that I did this morning, and what I discovered was that its incredibly damaging now. It's no longer the self-protective mechanism it once was; instead it makes me feel unbelievably alone, frighteningly empty, and wholly unworthy of any connection to anyone. And instead of rectifying the situation and being open to attempts at closing the gap, I tried to close off even more and pretend I didn't really care about anything....an old trademark of the ghosts of Synges past. It worked...for a very brief time, or at least I pretended like it did.
Now I feel nauseous. I mean genuinely physically ill.
And hollow, like all the weight of my insides was scooped out by some giant ice cream scoop. I don't know where they went though. Maybe my insides are looking for me. Maybe they're in the ice cream dish of some giant like in Jack and the beanstalk, and I'm deaf to their cries for help. I think I cut them out myself though in an effort not to have any guts anymore. I was probably tired of them screaming passionately all the time. The shitty thing is I feel the hole just as much as the guts, if not more. Damn negative spaces attract more attention than the filled ones.
Juliette Binoche's character in the movie Damage (which my parents should never have sent me in whatever crack induced fit they were in when they thought it a good idea) says at one point something along the lines of damaged people being the most dangerous kind of people because they know they will always survive. That scares the shit out of me. I'm always holding a hell of a lot in reserve, even when it seems like I'm not. I do this so that when people suddenly decide I am no longer worth it, or perhaps when the ever anticipated tragedy or hurt arrives, I will have my secret cache that is all me, that I can exist off of.
So there you have it folks. don't give me anything good...not a single inch, because I'll inevitably fuck it up across the board, not to mention be an asshole to you in the process. I'm just self destructive like that. And certainly don't applaud me for a self awareness that I clearly don't posess, because I'm sorry but I can't pay you. And I can't accept or handle anything nice said about me right now (so please don't bother commenting), because I feel like the most I deserve is a bath in a pig-shit filled trough; that's the self-loathing raw truth of this moment.
And I think sometimes I really am a huge fucking lost overly fearful child asshole.
Here's the rub, though, in case you were looking for it. I don't feel like I know myself anywhere near the extent to which I'm credited. In fact, I feel completely lost at present. I feel like the only thing I know unequivocably is that I am self destructive and self sabotaging, and I'm not particularly endeared to that fact. Were I truly as self-aware and far along in terms of personal growth as you claim I am, I would not be so fucked up in terms of intimacy as I'm discovering myself to be. I charge Mr. Emotionally Unavailable with crimes that I am finding myself quite guilty of as well, and I don't know why (read that as I'm not willing to admit to myself). I don't like it though.
I used to close myself off at the drop of a hat, especially where sex was concerned. It's been a long time since I've closed myself off to the extent that I did this morning, and what I discovered was that its incredibly damaging now. It's no longer the self-protective mechanism it once was; instead it makes me feel unbelievably alone, frighteningly empty, and wholly unworthy of any connection to anyone. And instead of rectifying the situation and being open to attempts at closing the gap, I tried to close off even more and pretend I didn't really care about anything....an old trademark of the ghosts of Synges past. It worked...for a very brief time, or at least I pretended like it did.
Now I feel nauseous. I mean genuinely physically ill.
And hollow, like all the weight of my insides was scooped out by some giant ice cream scoop. I don't know where they went though. Maybe my insides are looking for me. Maybe they're in the ice cream dish of some giant like in Jack and the beanstalk, and I'm deaf to their cries for help. I think I cut them out myself though in an effort not to have any guts anymore. I was probably tired of them screaming passionately all the time. The shitty thing is I feel the hole just as much as the guts, if not more. Damn negative spaces attract more attention than the filled ones.
Juliette Binoche's character in the movie Damage (which my parents should never have sent me in whatever crack induced fit they were in when they thought it a good idea) says at one point something along the lines of damaged people being the most dangerous kind of people because they know they will always survive. That scares the shit out of me. I'm always holding a hell of a lot in reserve, even when it seems like I'm not. I do this so that when people suddenly decide I am no longer worth it, or perhaps when the ever anticipated tragedy or hurt arrives, I will have my secret cache that is all me, that I can exist off of.
So there you have it folks. don't give me anything good...not a single inch, because I'll inevitably fuck it up across the board, not to mention be an asshole to you in the process. I'm just self destructive like that. And certainly don't applaud me for a self awareness that I clearly don't posess, because I'm sorry but I can't pay you. And I can't accept or handle anything nice said about me right now (so please don't bother commenting), because I feel like the most I deserve is a bath in a pig-shit filled trough; that's the self-loathing raw truth of this moment.
And I think sometimes I really am a huge fucking lost overly fearful child asshole.
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 8:20 PM
4 Comments:
I have to comment on your post, especially the last sentence: "And I think sometimes I really am a huge fucking lost overly fearful child asshole."
First this is an aesthetically pleasing phrase in 2 ways: it lacks in punctuation and it uses a form of the word fuck. I admire these things in a writer.
And while when you wrote this you were in no mood for a compliment, I'm hoping today you are ready.
I'm not going to talk about that exterior beauty you so amazingly possess. You do not know what you are. As your friends, we must tell you this.
Secondly, thanks for the post on my Christmas poem. I was aiming for that Baudelaire poésie en prose; you looked beyond that borrowed filter to the heart of the matter. Yesterday I was low. Today, I am raised up by your comments. See your power? This is not the first time you saved me. Can you link that post to this one?
Thirdly, and now I'm getting to the heart of the matter, your final sentence is a delicious conclusion. It is the kind of conclusion that every English teacher everywhere hopes to teach their students to write.
As writers, some of what we write is shit. Some of it is golden. But as it is ours, we cannot always be a fair judge of it. That is what friends are for. Our true friends let us know when to run with it and when to put it in file 13.
Know this: you are not alone in the universe. Other creative people face the battles you face. You bring a variety of talents to the table. Accept compliments gracefully. When you don't know what to say, just say thanks. Later when you've had a moment to think about it, you'll think of a better answer. Then when you hear that comment again (and you will), you will be ready. Adoringly, P
Hi Synge,
I mean this in the nicest possible way, but I totally disagree with the people (MAH and Chanteuse) who are saying that you are really self aware. I find you to be pretty self destructive...at least when it comes to relationships. But I rarely see you, so I probably don't know anything. Anyway, it doesn't make me like you any less. Everybody has their weird things about them that make them less than emotionally healthy.
vix, you may rarely see me, but you still know me well.
Synge-
I stand by my post. Good, bad, indifferent, you know exactly who you are. You might not like what you see, but you know and understand what you see.
mah
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