Y'know

[kiya]

I thought my week was improving.

But now it seems that I can't express a distinction that makes something make sense (and therefore need to be shouted at) and if I express pain and frustration about the actions of a third party (which third party understood why I was hurt already, damnit) I also need to be shouted at.

Here's to badly mangled trust, extreme frustration at my inability to communicate that has gotten to the level that it's seriously impairing my ability to communicate, and not knowing anymore if I have the strength to stay up here on the surface rather than just crawling into a hole and staying there until I rot.

On the bright side, this doesn't have me in the nausea-inducing state of breakdown; this is the more familiar severe depressive fit.

I really wanna take a mulligan on this fucking month.


I can't find my Hitchhikers' Guide scripts, which is a shame; there's a Marvin speech I want to quote.

Hah. Okay. And I found the book I was looking for earlier, too.

Googoogoogoogoo. Ddddddrrrrpp. Errrrrrrrrk. Zootlewurdlezootlewurdlezootlewurdle. Fringggggg.

F...f...f...f...Fact! I ache, therefore I am. Or in my case I am therefore I ache. Oh look - I appear to be lying at the bottom of a very deep dark hole. That seems a familiar concept. What does it remind me of? Ah, I remember. Life. That's what lying at the bottom of a deep dark hole reminds me of. Life. Perhaps if I just lie here and ignore it it will go away again.

Or then again, perhaps not. To be perfectly frank with myself, if it didn't go away as a result of me falling fifteen miles through the air and a further mile through solid rock I'm probably stuck with it for good. Why don't I just lie here anyway? Why don't I climb out? Why don't I just go zootlewurdle? Does it matter? Even if it does matter, does it matter that it matters?

Zootlewurdle, zootlewurdle, zootlewurdle. . . .

(The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, radio version, Fit the Eleventh. By Douglas Noel Adams.)

Comments

[elynne.livejournal.com]

Dear Ghu, hon, I'm sorry. You seem communicatively functional to me. Of course, that's in writing, and I know that some people communicate better in writing than they do in person (and vice-versa), but still.

Somebody that I've known on and off through the 'net for years is a very - interesting person who goes by the handle of Anvil. Rather like Piranha, Anvil doesn't have much truck with releasing personal details, so to this day I know virtually no vital information about this person's offline life (gender, age, location, name, etc). The most unusual thing about Anvil is zir habit of writing in... disjointed fragments, like bubbles of thought. It's hard to explain, and I can't reproduce it properly, but this is an awkward sample:

{thoughts well up, crackling}
{communication requires effort}
{not effort from one, but effort from both}
{communication requires connection}
{if one party fears/desires no connection, effective communication is impossible}
{for your end only are you responsible}
{connections are impossible through a barrier}
{?perhaps some other issue is causing upset?}

You don't write like that, obviously - and neither do I; but I've always appreciated that writing style, which I find very expressive and easy to understand; in some ways, easier to understand than writing under traditional rules of grammar. Anvil is much more elegant and consice at it than I am, though. :]

But, yeah. I hear ya.

[kiya]

I've spent so long training myself to translate thoughtshapes into language that I'm not sure I know anymore how to . . . how to let the thoughtshapes out in a rawer form.

Which means often that I sound much more coherent than I am: all the stuff that doesn't go into words gets set aside, and there's a big heap of paincraving-bloodwish-terror-anger-terror-loss-nospacefortears-shuddering-silence-falsecalm-resignation-hollowness-echo. . . stuff. And none of it goes into the words.

There aren't words for, when I was looking for the scripts, coming across my hair-cutting knife (blade about the length of my forearm-bones, hilt the length of my palm and roughly carved into the head of a snake; it's all handcrafted) the thoughts in my head: years ago I would in times of stress carve patterns into the back of my hand and along my forearm, usually with a stiletto, and the urge danced around the edges of my mind: not suicidal but vindictive, bloody, cold. There's something . . . sane . . . about physical pain. Also outside the words.

I was hitting the walls earlier. That stuff doesn't go in the words either.

I don't know.

I don't, at this point, know if I've lost a partnership. I don't know if I'll go to bed and wake up feeling like this, or if I"ll feel better, sith sanity and distance and all that good stuff, or if it'll have shaken and settled into a deadthing.

Scares the living fuck out of me.

Except it doesn't, because if it matters, does it matter that it matters?

Zootlewurdle. . . .

[kiya]

And I still don't know if the bad-feeling-about-this thing I was dealing with before this visit was a genuine timeslip or just paranoia.

And I suspect I'm sounding like a complete psych-case in here.

[sashajwolf.livejournal.com]

Not to me. I hope things start to go better Real Soon.

[kiya]

Gods. Me too.

I just went and told Kevin about the knife-urges. He thanked me, which feels incredibly incongruous.

I still feel like a headcase, but at least I'm a loved headcase. Or something.

Thanks for the well-wish. These things matter. . .

I think I shall have a glass of milk, bless the fact that we got to the grocery (just before it closed) to _get_ milk, so I have it and can be comforted by it, and contemplate bed, in the hopes that the world looks less terrifying in the morning.

[linenoise.livejournal.com]

I must admit to being somewhat croggled at expressions of communication-difficulties, since I have admired your communication abilities for quite some time. Greatly admired, even, at times.

Please to not be crawling in dark holes. I've been in dark holes, and they are not nice places. There is many out here in the light that would greatly miss you.

[rosefox]

You are indeed a loved headcase. And I'm glad you have comfortable, familiar, it-didn't-go-anywhere-or-do-anything-weird milk.

I am truly sorry to hear about the communication problems. Seems like a lot of people I care about are going through stuff like that right now. This is probably a bit of an... incongruous offer, given what I think I'm figuring out are the givens (and I could always be wrong), but if there is anything at all that I can do to help with translation or easing of hurt, please let me know.

[keshwyn]

*hugs the roomiesan*

[aiglet.livejournal.com]

Oh, dear. I was going to try to say something useful, but I think all I can do is offer ::hugs::.

You're NYC local, yes? If you're feeling up to it, come to d.b.a. (http://www.drinkgoodstuff.com) tonight and I'll give you real hugs. (It's my birthday party, so I don't know if you want to face lots of people, but if you do, you're more than welcome.)

[jenett]

Blergh.

Many hugs. (I am glad you found the book, however. One less thing not being where it should be always strikes me as sorta helpful.)

If there's anything I can do, let me know.

As a note, did you know that the Hitchhiker's TV version is available on DVD? (We have it. The husband person came home from the gaming store with it. Much cooler than the fairly degraded video taped during New Hampshire Public Television's pledge drive at least 11 years ago, and I think more like 14. (It has my father's handwriting on it, which provides a useful dating method.))

[jenett]

Also, erm, my discman is trying to tell me something.

I've got the most recent Flash Girls CD in. It's playing "I've got my fingers in my ears" at me.

Allow me to quote the third verse and chorus... ['it' being 'fingers in ears'

"It works well when I'm in trouble.
It works well when my boss gets mad.
And right this minute it's the only solution
To the worst day that I've ever had.

Relationships are funny.
I know that ours is going to be just fine.
If we face the world together
And your response is just like mine.

I've got my fingers in my ears, going la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
I've got my fingers in my ears, going la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Going la-la-la-laaaaaa. [etc.]"

I dunno. My CD player wanted to share. So.

more offerings of hugs

[autumnesquirrel.livejournal.com]

Here's a hug if you want it.

Communication is hard. Communication of emotions is very hard. Communication of emotions that you don't yet have a handle on is even harder. Working on it helps but it's still not easy.

May your trying be worth the effort.

- Autumne

[mittelbar.livejournal.com]

I hope the world looks less terrifying most of the time.

Never had the guts to use a knife, but probably best that I don't keep them handy. Only ever put a hole in a hollow-core door. I dislike milk, pero entiendo la comodidad. I believe this translates to "cousin" rather than "seebling."

Communication difficulties are the big suck. Sometimes I wish we could just say "I'll have my [girl] call your [girl] and we'll patch things up."

[kiya]

For values of "NYC local" that suggest "well, on the same coastline" -- I'm up here north of the Hub of the Universe, rather than the Center of the World. . . .

[kiya]

I think I did know but I didn't have the memory on ready file. If that makes sense.

I'll be around this evening, though I'm not sure when, and we can poke at book.

[submarine-bells.livejournal.com]

I honestly don't know what to say beyond a vastly emphatic seeble about the awfulness of the scarier kinds of relationship-uncertainty, and an emphatic hope that by the time you read this things will be very much closer to being settled and resolved.

Good luck in resolving it all productively, and here's a whole bunch of {{{{{{{{{{sanity and calmness and copingness vibes}}}}}}}}}}}}.

[kiya]

Have a dose of mild irony (of the good sort): at the point at which you wrote that, sanity and working-stuff-out was being negotiated.

I won't say I'm sane at this point; it seems a bit much to ask of myself in my current state. But I'm no longer feeling like randomly quoting Yeats at people.