Showing posts with label dissociation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dissociation. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

1. I hate myself.
2. I self destruct with smokes and whisky. 
3. I have a problem with overdoing it. 
4. I get so gone that people are forced to take care of me. 
5. I'm lonely. I forget. 
6. I fall into the pattern of getting carried away. 
7. I hate myself. 

Sunday, October 25, 2009

would you believe we have a lot to let go?

how did two weeks go by without any activity on this sad little blog? i'll give you the easy answer: midterms and fall break.
so, not a lot of time for writing and reflecting lately. in fact i feel rather out of practice... part of me wants to write an extremely detailed post about what's been going on, but the other part of me wants to forget about it. in-between currently seems impossible.
i guess the weirdest thing is that i went to my first funeral. my great aunt ella died on the 13th, with no clue where she was, but surrounded by family nonetheless. the funeral was in north georgia, so mom drove in to asheville to pick us up last friday. i felt like a freak with my green hair, like no one but my grandparents really wanted to see me. the weirdest part was the bizarre division between the reality of death and the falseness of the whole thing: the slices of astro turf, blue fuzzy stuff covering the folding chairs, some preacher shaking my hand "bless you" that neither i nor ella even knew. before the service, they opened the coffin, even though they had had a viewing the day before.. i guess this was my first dead body too. i wasn't sure what i was supposed to do, other than look in there at all the pinkness they covered her in, and wonder if she was better off, and hope i never get that old and get covered in pink frills and stared at in a wooden box. i would have expected myself to just think that stuff and feel pretty disconnected from the whole weird experience -- the religion, and the guy talking like ella was a saint for billy graham, and the pinkness, and everything all fake. but my biggest impression was in her stillness, and how close i felt to it. and the wind was blowing the bible and the guestbook nearly off the little dinky podium. and there were only about a dozen chairs, and about 20 or so attendees, and no one would take the last five chairs. i wonder if that would be a sort of southern phenomenon, or if that happens at every funeral with too few chairs. and suddenly it was just over, some cousin or some such was shooing us youngins away, telling us that the funeral director wanted to lower the coffin, and could we kindly walk back to the cars. no one followed us, of course. we tread down that hill of bodies alone, trying to pick out the most unoffensive path with little success. there was no wake, no food, no alcohol, no commiseration. just naps in separate rooms in separate hotels, across a strange little town we hardly knew, that chanda swore was run by inbreds, or at least that's what she saw at the cvs. no one really talked about the funeral, or about ella, after that, except when grandma gave morgan one of her old coats, also pink and fluffy. and that was that. i didn't give my condolences to anyone. i didn't apologize or comfort or anything... who would i have chosen? who should i have felt sorry for? i think we all knew that she wasn't happy living anymore and secretly prayed that our lives wouldn't deteriorate like that, whether or not we believed she was ascending through the pearly gates. and that was my first funeral. today i put the coat in the free store.

listening to: karl blau - mockingbird diet