10:09 a.m. - May 28, 2003
What I must remind myself of, however, is that unlike most times when I would wake up before, I do not get up out of bed and find something to do; I do not become frightened or panicky and neither do I have what I call an episode. I suppose that in itself is progress, getting better at putting things behind me, but I derive little comfort in that. Dr. Indy asked about my thoughts on pursuing another relationship with a man and I mentioned that itís unlikely because I do not want to be vulnerable again the way I was with Spec. Grandiose and sweeping projections of being alone are purposefully exaggerative but they do capture whatís going on underneath and for me, itís the certainty that until or unless I am normal I will put an immediate stop to anything that threatens my self-imposed social and emotional sequestration. Juvenile and immature but very real. I like imagetical cloistering, picturing myself turning inwards, turning my back to the rest of the world, until Ė see, this is a dilemma. I donít know what follows until. Dr. Indy doesnít understand where Iím coming from Ė of course she does, but itís her job to make sure I see the contradictions and illogicality of my statements which I do see and affirm yet wholeheartedly ignore Ė when she urges me to develop friendships with gay men and to see what happens, that by getting to know the Other the Self may be better understood and its interactions better handled. Solipsism, that.
I struggle to maintain control over the need that pushes people away. The one glimmer of hope demonstrating that I may yet avoid permanent misanthropy is that stubborn urge or compulsion to be open to people, and like most venial urges, this one is dangerous. The episode involving R. in Texas is a good example; I was attracted to him, I will admit, and I felt I could trust him Ė surprise Ė and he was open with me yet my instincts betrayed my desires and dealt the Time To Go card. And thatís that. And if that interaction was ideal Ė better phrased as less hostile - what makes me think I can function normally in less than ideal circumstances? I want to trust people, I do, yet am averse to the subsequent complications Ė feeling vulnerable, weak, porous. I go in circles gaining little headway, oblivious to ground already covered.
This journal sucks. I once thought journaling was illuminative in nature, sheds light on ones thinking and consequent decisions and way of life. Thatís bullshit. Itís a never-ending whine-and-sob fÍte.
It's getting out of the pool because even the shallow end is fraught with danger.