Sometimes I can smell the hospital smell. I don't know why...certain kinds of sanitizer, I guess, or the clothes that I'm wearing, the combination of the fabric smell and whatever detergent I've been using, or psychological assocations. I could smell it a minute ago, and it gave me the shivers. Not the good ones. I hate hospitals and I've spent much more time in them than people should have to. Most of the time before I was even six years old, so I don't remember much, but it's still in there. Along with the two seizures I had as a three-month-old, I had constant respiratory infections as a kid. Croup, pneumonia, bronchitis. It was hardest on my brother, I think. My parents were old enough to understand and I was too young to understand, but he was just the right (wrong?) age for it to be kind of traumatic. He's much more squeamish about hospitals than I am, actually.

And, you know, I try to joke around about the health stuff because it makes it easier (humor is my primary defense mechanism about everything, anyway), and it's the best way to deal with it, and it puts other people at ease at the same time, which then makes me feel a little better. But I do get scared sometimes. I know that the psychogenic explanation for my seizures is the most likely one at this point, but it's not the only thing that's wrong with my body. I have constant aches and pains and fatigues and it's gotten so much worse in the last couple of years. My energy level has decreased so much. I can't live the same way I used to. I need to rest so much more often. I'm more sensitive to temperature and my joints ache all the time. I'm always dizzy and my stomach is always getting fucked up (it always has, but that's been getting worse, too.) And, you know, all this plus the seizures...I am just not convinced that the answers have been found yet. And I hate admitting it, really I do, but it does get seriously scary sometimes. Like when I couldn't see for two hours after my last one. And having the history of such an utter lack of fucking compassion with the way people dealt with it in high school - it all makes it harder to deal with now because of that in my past.

And, you know, fuck. I miss someone from the past today, really badly. I have been lately, in general, but it's worse today. Our relationship was never a healthy one and I know, intellectually, that it's probably better off for me to be apart from him. We both brought out things in one another that we probably shouldn't have been pulling out. Some things need to stay underneath, sometimes. But, God, I had never felt more extraordinary or creative or utterly understood. There was soulmate - fucking soulmate! - potential there and sometimes I really thought he had been created for me and me for him. And I don't go for shit like that. But he made me believe it, or at least want to.

I remember when I used to go to dark places just to devastate myself, just so that I could have him comforting me. I needed him all the time, not just when I was breaking down, but every day, on my ordinary everyday levels of misery, but I couldn't tell him that because I was too afraid of losing what little I had. Our relationship had already utterly fallen apart once by that point, and I couldn't lose him so completely again by pushing it too hard, getting too intense. So I let myself crumble just so that I could have him put me back together again. One of the most fucked-up, self-destructive things I've ever done. I'm lucky I didn't push it farther than I did.

And yet right now I'm feeling like I want to do it again, like I would if he were here. Push it again. Is that even love? I don't know what it is, how it qualifies, but I know that I want him in my life again, as ill-advised as that probably is. We were so perfect for each other and so terrible for each other at the same time. I have never needed anybody so much, nor ever felt so needed, but maybe that's not something I should keep pushing for. Like I said, is that even love? It's a pretty fucked up love if it is, but right now I kind of wouldn't have it any other way.

Whatever it is, I want it back. Whatever he is, I want him back.

This is basically "Why Cassie shouldn't listen to the Counting Crows when already in a melancholy mood."

"A Murder of One," to be specific. Beautiful song. One of my favorites, ever. And depressing as all hell.

I was thinking about things that cannot be forced, partially in connection with my own creativity. I used to write all the time. I started writing stories when I was four and could not yet even physically write, but dictated stories to my mom. From the ages of, I don't know, four until about eighteen I have notebooks upon notebooks upon notebooks filled with stories, attempted novels, poems, songs, even an aborted screenplay. And of course the vast majority of it looks obviously like it was written by a child/teenager/young adult, there's definitely some profound stuff in there and I truly don't know where that creativity went. All of those urges. I thought that once I was in college, with my creativity and intellect nourished, it would flourish more than ever, but instead it's gone downhill.

I was also inevitably thinking about love, in terms of things that can't be forced. You can wish all you like. You can manipulate, cajole, trap, seduce, rape, intimidate, demand, cripple and brainwash, you can kill someone with kindness and be selfless or appallingly selfish and in the end it will not matter, because all the yearning in the world simply will not make someone love you. It's something that can only be willingly given.

I've been in love with the same person for so long that I start to wonder sometimes if it's even him I'm still holding on to, or just the idea itself of the love. If it's just stubbornness and an unwillingness to let go of something that I've wanted for so long. I haven't seen him in so long now and there are no new memories to make. Nothing new to go over. And it'll seem like more of a longing for the past than a longing for him.

And then I'll get a sudden flash of a memory, something so sharp and potent that I can actually almost feel him next to me and I'm left gasping and reeling from it, suddenly missing him so much it's like a physical ache in my chest.

I didn't grow up dreaming of getting married. I never envisioned myself in a wedding dress, even as a little girl. I dreamed of true love, but getting married was never something I particularly cared about. I never even really understood the point of getting married. It never even seemed necessary until I met him. And then I understood why people do it. Because I wanted so much to stand up in front of all the people I cared about and profess my love, and tell the world that he was mine and I was his, and - it just all clicked into place for me then.

He's long gone and I don't know what to do with all this. I've often frightened myself a little with how deeply and quickly I fall in love. I can imagine myself with someone else, but I can't imagine how I could ever let this one go. I'm not even sure that I want to.

I miss him every day.

There was a friend I had for many years. Self-destructive, angry, careless. He treated me badly and I treated him with a ridiculous amount of kindness. And he's been through so much in the last couple of years, and I've been wondering lately if I even still care about him all that much - and even if I ever really did, or if it became about stubbornness once again. Like if I admitted that he just wasn't worth it, that there wasn't much in my heart for him anymore, it would void all the time I spent trying to help him, all the tears I shed when I didn't even know if he would live out the week.

I don't know how to answer that question, and I worry that it was just stubbornness. Because I don't know what that says about me - that I would hold on to something for so long, not to mention giving that person hope that I cared more than I really did, simply because I was unable to admit to myself that I was wrong, that my affection was misplaced.

I don't know. Things are really strange right now and I really don't know how to answer these questions. And I'm afraid of what I might see in myself if I do.

Well...

The epilepsy clinic I went to on Monday was quite a good and helpful appointment - the doctor seemed really great and was really thoughtful and thorough. He recommended I do a long-term evaluation which they ended up setting up for August 4. Basically, for about 5-10 days (unless they can induce a seizure earlier) I'll be in a wee room, with a little bathroom, only able to move within said room and not allowed to shower, with electrodes on my head. While they stress my body. Probably by depriving me of sleep and food.

JOY!

The good news is, though, that if they induce a seizure they'll be able to tell, pretty conclusively, what is is: if there's something abnormal in my brain waves and, if so, where it is; and if not, they'll know pretty conclusively that it's psychogenic (or part of a metabolic disorder or something.)

Also on Monday, the hammock collapsed under me, which led to me screwing up my back and getting a bump on the back of my head. Also fun. Also joyful.

Also, strangely, for the last two nights in a row I've had dreams about people from my past - exes of a certain sort, people I haven't thought about in quite a while. It was rather unsettling...probably doesn't mean much of anything other than that I'm really, really lonely, and definitely in a romantic capacity. That's been a void that I've been longing to fill for awhile now and there are so many things that I've left unfinished, and all these people with whom I feel like I have unfinished words, unfinished actions. It's hard to let go when a clean break hasn't been made and my life doesn't really seem to lend itself to clean breaks.

In any case, on Wednesday I will officially leave my teenage years behind and THAT, my friends, is something to celebrate, to be sure. 20s, here I come.

I'm hotsick and so this is what I'm putting here.

My friend assures me, "It's all or nothing."
I am not worried
I am not overly concerned
My friend implores me, "For one time only,
make an exception." I am not worried
Wrap her up in a package of lies
Send her off to a coconut island
I am not worried I am not overly concerned
with the status of my emotions
"Oh," she says, "you're changing."
But we're always changing

It does not bother me to say this isn't love
Because if you don't want to talk about it then it isn't love
And I guess I'm going to have to live with that
But I'm sure there's something in a shade of grey,
Something in between,
And I can always change my name
If that's what you mean

My friend assures me, "It's all or nothing."
But I am not really worried I am not overly concerned
You try to tell yourself the things you try to tell yourself
To make yourself forget I am not worried
"If it's love," she said, "then we're going to have to think about the consequences."
She can't stop shaking
I can't stop touching her and...

This time when kindness falls like rain
It washes her away and Anna begins to change her mind
"These seconds when I'm shaking leave me shuddering for days," she says
And I'm not ready for this sort of thing

But I'm not going to break and I'm not going to worry about it anymore
I'm not going to bend, and I'm not going to break and I'm not going to worry about it anymore
It seems like I should say, "As long as this is love..."
But it's not all that easy so maybe I should
Snap her up in a butterfly net Pin her down on a photograph album
I am not worried I've done this sort of thing before
But then I start to think about the consequences
Because I don't get no sleep in a quiet room and...

The time when k indness falls like rain
It washes me away and Anna begin s to change my mind
And eve rytime she sneezes I believe it's love and
Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing

She's talking in her sleep
It's keeping me awake and Anna begins to toss and turn
And every word is nonsense but I understand and
Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing

Her kindness bangs a gong
It's moving me along and Anna begins to fade away
It's chasing me away
She disappears and
Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing

(That's "Anna Begins" by the Counting Crows. I didn't write it. I wish I had.)

Aubrey Beardsley drew this for the cover of Oscar Wilde's play Salome. I'm putting it here because I like it.



I also like this. The Nightmare, by Henry Fuseli:



Not much of a blog post, really, but hey, it's things that give me pleasure and inspiration and those things are important. And noteworthy, especially for this particular blog. Whatever that might be.

It's really hot and although I hate hot weather, it makes me sick in a way that gives me so much closer access to thoughts and memories that would otherwise be inaccessible. It tends to put me in a more not-asleep, not-awake state than usual and it makes the world seem more mystical and it makes my memories collapse in a strange way that makes time and place seem immaterial and difficult to differentiate. Reality feels far away, but everything else feels close, and it's a moment of transcendence that I can hold onto for a little while longer than usual.

It's also putting me in a place where I miss him so much that it's making me feel sicker. But maybe I want that too, just a little. To be able to tap into it. Torture myself in order to make my existence a little more interesting. Not healthy, but it's something I do.