People Pleasing

Plummeting on the LIRR back towards home. I have to pick up the car today to go to Washington. And although I haven't finished my old journal, I feel such a break in myself that i Had to start a new one. (I went in on Wednesday).

And the sky is streaked with the colors of my afternoon at the seaport; and my guilt sits at the bottom of my stomach like a rock.

VJ is in the hospital and I feel so terrible for her... nobody deserves that... but there is nothing I can do. I don't know...

And this whole thing with ChoirMan is really getting to me... PhysicsGuy is right and KSing is right, and I know that, but God, how I don't want them to be... And why should I subject myself to more disappointment? Isn't anything constant or unconditional? It's just so easy for me to fool myself and swim in hope.

And AIR7 told me: "this is where it stops! and that he's "coming down hard on me." But that is so foolish! I am drowning and desperately grasping at straws to keep my head above the water and he thinks that if he says to me "okay-- this time swim to shore; enough is enough," that I can say "okay" and just be better! I CAN'T do any better than I am doing at this moment, and try to understand why.

I think I know why about ChoirMan though; and I think that it holds true for everyone-- I want to please people so desperately and to be the person that everyone wants me to be... I can't tell my mom any of this because I want to be the best daughter possible...

And I hate myself for what I do to GoldenFinch because I want to be the best friend possible... And staying up for B until 6:00 AM when I had a fever... and taking Schiesser that angel food cake... and now this with ChoirMan...

It's like, if he couldn't deal with me before because I wasn't on his level, I have conformed to everything he could ask for and I have become what I had disdained... And it's not fair that he's that way... And that I am so easy to twist... And then I wonder where this comes from and I think maybe it comes from my dad...

He would come home drunk and we would pretend to be sleeping. Or he would ask "Who loves Daddy the best?" and I would should "Me! Me! ME!" whether I felt like it or not. I learned not to interrupt or ask questions. He was too drunk to make sense. And I learned when and how to play along with the whole game... And life became a series of situations that I had to respond to appropriately. And "appropriately" came to mean how others wanted me to be. (That day cleaning up after school with Mr. S.)

I don't know... I am so pissed at myself for just eating all that shit, but I have to put all of that aside for the weekend... Ia m just so grateful that KSing wasn't mad at me and that she understands... she is so smart about all of this... much smarter than I ma...

So, it will be weird now with AIR7 and Scheisser. I know that they can't understand that I really am okay and that what happened on Wednesday was normal... But the old me has now officially died and all that anyone can see is her charred remains wrapped in ribbons of lunacy (Don Quixote broken)... but the drive into the city will be nice, left with cigarettes, cassettes and the wind.

I ma so sorry that I missed B's birthday (well, it's tomorrow). I want to write him something beautiful so that he knows how much he means to me, but it is something that I can't articulate and besides, I would never even know where to begin.

And I wonder if ChoirMan will ever call me back about lunch this week and if he ever did read those letters.... The one from my journal might scare him and I wonder if he is already scared. I think in terms of that kind of fear, he is already more afraid of me than I am of him. But it's weird... I'm not scared of anyone anymore...

If this were last year, I suppose I would be worried that I called E-the-R on Wednesday, but I'm not... He doesn't worry me at all and I wonder what has changed about me... (Oh God, but I can see myself allowing it to happen again and again!) I must convince everyone that I ma fine and then fix this on my own... (and the trees tangle in colors of death outside the window-- ripping across the sky to the pumping of the railroad).

It's as if the world is a painting today,w ashed across with the muddied brown of spilled paintbrush water. The whole thing looks violently peaceful-- like the rainfall scene in Sense and Sensibility (GoldenFinch's favorite!)

Alright. I will pause for now...