// i can't not.
| 12/21/2003 - 7:36 p.m. |

woah. actually updating.
i.e., just sent an 'email to c.'...

~~~~~

well...hi.

i had decided after my last email, over a month ago now,
that i wouldn't write again until i "done something"
and so had "something" to tell you,
and so might actually get a reply.

it is now Christmas week, and shamefully, according to the above, i still shouldn't be writing.
but it is now Christmas week, and i can't not write.
[[and i also never seem to be able to write *anything* if its not an email to you, and i have a lot of writing/journaling/whatever to catch up on...so this is conversely bound to be VERY long--so predictably all-or-nothing i am.]]

first, here is where things stand in terms of my fucking doing something.
for weeks on end, i would sit in my little corner of couch,
surreptitiously staring each night at my mom sitting in hers,
silently screaming at her--are you EVER going to say ANYTHING about ANYTHING?!?
why the fuck haven't you mentioned a DAMN thing?!? about the insurance? about treatment? ABOUT ANYTHING?!?!?--
and myself too--JUST SAY SOMETHING DAMMIT! ASK HER! fucking DO something!!

[[because yes i DO know that, her inexplicable silence aside, it's not an excuse for MY passivity, lack of initiative, irresponsibility, etc. etc. i KNOW...]]

[[re: 'her inexplicable silence' though, still, i truly don't get it. i mean, usually, i know her and how she is and i have a pretty good sense of what is driving her silence or inaction or behavior or whatever--i still have no clue on this one. she had been all in rush about the insurance and my having access to tx and then...sudden dead silence. WTF?!?]]

ANYWAYS...countless times i opened my mouth, trying to choke something out.
nothing. i'd sit there and go to myself, 'ok, on the count of 3. ok. 1-2-3...'
nothing.
again and again and again, i literally could not speak.

just a few nights ago, i sat in that spot, computer on my lap as always, everything as always.
and finally, somehow, managed to blurt out "can i ask you something?"

[[the somehow is that i made myself stare at the 'read receipt' from that last email i'd sent until i actually spoke outloud.
weird and random, i know, but i was grasping at straws.]]

and so i asked the basic question. why hadn't she given me the insurance info? why hadn't she said anything about anything in months?
and i never really did get any real answers.
i mean she blabbered about not having gotten the actual insurance CARD until just the other day, and jumped up to get it, and also dumped the big directory book in my lap (irrelevant *regardless*, it has literally 2 pages of addresses for MH/SA "facilities" and that's the extent of any MH-listings).
and that was literally the extent of the interaction.
like i said, i just don't get it. i am pretty well versed by now on her "stuff" and, i don't know how my attempted description comes across, but truly, this just is not in character.

SO. here i am.
my "plan" i *guess* is to call Renfrew and ask for referrals for a psychiatrist...and therapist.

i still have my little fantasy of working with you again.
i still believe, truly, in my heart, that you would be my best chance.
but i get it.
how i get it, so to speak, is in terms of a lot of internal self-hatred (likely the TRUTH...*sigh* and round and round i go).

anyways.
so i have to call.
and i DO.
i know i do.
and at least in part, i WANT to.
i've never not wanted help.
(you can believe that or not.)
and while my numerous and intense fears and doubts (and fears),
--that make it appear i suppose to other people, that i am 'unwilling'--
persist as staunchly, and as paralyzing of forces, as the depression, in those moments when the latter is "hitting" me with particular force, it is increasingly likely to evoke a vague sort of longing i guess, for having "someone" to "help".
so i have to call, i want to call, i need to call.
but it is now Christmas week??


...12+ or so hours later...
i'm 1/2 asleep, 1/2 watching the eagles.

i started writing this sometime in the early am hours--
one of my 'awake' nights.
i got stuck where i stopped above,
moved on to doing whatever it is i usually do in my endless hours on this computer.

i had wanted to actually move on from The Thing at some point,
babble about what it is I HAVE been doing, and other random shit, like for instance:
--if my computer activities weren't the entire extent of my so-called-life and my primary means of avoiding any "real" one...i could actually term myself quite productive...
(but in this case especially i am too ashamed by everything else to even allow myself to tell you about some of it, a few kinda cool things even, because...because i have no excuse.)
--my 'space' in the house slowing getting put together as the new rug finally got put in last week, which basically means all my unpacked shit that was all over elsewhere is now still unpacked but all downstairs in my new room, and i have also relocated there from my couch corner


but i also realize full well i got STUCK in the writing exactly where i am STUCK in the (NOT) DOING.
exactly in the inescapable reality of how much i flat-out suck.

ugh. this is so stupid.
i just full-speed ram my head into a concrete wall every time.
*erase, erase, erase*

*erase*


you know it all.
you know i'm in the mega-weepy, heart-one-big-ache stage by now...


happiest holidays to you...^^^you know^^^....

m.