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9:43 p.m. - February 10, 2004
Giving it a shot
Were I to describe how Iím feeling, Iíd say itís like having swum into a madhouse. Surrounded by uncertainty: Is the water out of place, or the madhouse? Or, Iíd say I feel like a pinecone arranged under a bonsai tree: Something is not quite right. Or, Iíd say I pulled over on 880 and furiously scribbled a poem that materialized in an instant on the back of an envelope, then merged back into traffic feeling energized and triumphant that again I can write, bothered by the rashness though secretly I smile.

Tomorrow before or after class Iím going to the psych building and will ask Mean Therapist not to give up on me. Iíve thought of little else all day. I wonít actually do it Ė too awkward, quite likely he wouldnít be in his office, or the door would be shut Ė but in response to the question of what do I want from group therapy, I want to test assumptions that bad things happen from opening - - I am tired of fighting, of drawing in then pushing away. There is power in keeping things in but itís illusory, a potemkin village, and rain on cardboard becomes a mess. Maybe itís possible there is power in being open, a sense of determination like turning on an electric current. If I cannot talk about things in there, with that group of people, it is unlikely I will ever do so on my own in an unstructured environment. That fear of losing control competes with the clock: Time is running out on too many levels and that scares me more than crying in front of people or talking about the bogeyman.


Had lunch with Ryan II today and I shared with him how scared I am of being in another relationship with a man, how I worry about Relationship II being like Relationship I, how it is easier for me to keep the exit in front of me rather than pursuing glimmers peeking around the corner. He listened, asked pertinent questions and so I took a chance: I kissed him in public and said I will try.

The first time I kissed a man in public was at the airport and it was quick, fleeting, I drove off before it could register. The second time was over a table in the sun on Jack London Square with blue sky overhead and warm sun and I blushed not because people watched but because he thinks Iím beautiful. Iím not, but for a minute I believed him and it felt great.

Ups, downs: Bipolar? Better perspective? A thriving desire to act now rather than look back next year, five years from now, twenty, and be in the same position? Regardless, I took some big steps today and I am glad. Worried, uncertain, sad, but glad.


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