Maximillian Amadeus Banzai (banzai) wrote,
Maximillian Amadeus Banzai
banzai

  • Mood:

China in a bull shop

I have serious issues.

I'm bumming out about something silly: I've just been dropped from two LJ friends lists. Such things are rarely personal and have other good reasons (this was even stated in one case, which was truly very sweet). My head knows this and my heart hears something else instead: "You aren't worth getting to know."

It's not this silly thing that I'm writing about-- it just happened to crash into the tip of a large iceberg. My reactions to people feel strange. I get hurt a lot by things that aren't personal. I'm quite civilized about it, but it still happens and still hurts. My heart doesn't accept love when it's given (that includes God's, most of the time); it wants it so badly when it isn't.

I hear criticism constantly. I'm too much of this, not enough of that; not important, not significant, not interesting, not loveable. Never mind that people are rarely saying thse things. They're still in my head, still in the way I hear every sentence and interpret every action. And I hate myself for hearing it, for feeling it, and for writing about it. Narcissistic, insecure, wallowing bastard.

I feel on LiveJournal, too. In my own journal, I would write all this with no hesitation. Here, I have to decide private, public, or friends? Comments or not? Will people understand, misinterpret, dismiss, advise? And if anyone says anything, how will I feel that? Critically, probably: "too much of this, not enough of that." So be it...it's public and out there.

I'm thinking about moving away from LJ, just because it's hard enough having my skin on inside out in the real world. Now I put myself up for the same damnation in virtual relationships? Maybe that's just not fair to anyone. But I treasure a few friends I communicate this way. Not sure I'm ready to sacrifice that.

In any event, this isn't a plea for anything. I'm not feeling awful as much as I'm working something out. It's just my journal, and that means I get to write what I feel, wrestle with it. If I can't do that, even and especially when it's senseless and ugly, there's no point to a journal.

Someone I loved once said to me, "I liked you better before I got to know you." I've never stopped hearing that. Today it is thunder.
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