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2003-12-11 - 10:33 a.m. diechotomy sheesh, when I forgot my own history and tragedy and self-doubts and loneliness I can convince myself I was never depressed about it and I become such a child... a child in the sense that I live in the moment, so much in the moment that if nothing else matters and all I focus on is what comes into my immediate range of perception and the TV or music or anything can amuse me... and then I remember or find something to remind me (and I skim over it knowing I wrote it in a former life but somehow left that part of myself behind and yet still knowing I am just trying to fool myself into believing that because that part of myself is the anchor (albatross?0 dragging behind me wherever I go and just cuz I ignore it so well it becomes invisible to almost everyone, even the acutely sensitive and wise and aware, that does not mean it's gone even if it is only a figment of my imagination that creates the elusive depression after all... I just avoid my own nightmares and the bottomless pits so well that I unconsciously avoid others and that stings because it means I've become insensitive (is that becoming human?... is that called survival?) and that is something I could learn to hate about myself if I face the fact that it is really happening and becoming part of me more permanently than I think so I breath a sigh of relief that I found myself leaving food in the microwave and ignoring the movie on the new cable station two hundred whatever and before going to ramble on in my child-like momentary wonder, remembering I have a profile here with favorites who are favorites for a reason and this entry must be the reason or at least one of them because it sure has altered my consciousness and rearranged my perspective a bit... I know those words, that feeling, that experience... I know it too well... I don't want to remember, but I know I must to complete the healing process that I've allowed to drag on for way longer than it should just because some warped part of me sang the entire libretto from Jesus Christ Superstar too often and find some perverse pleasure in playing the martyr for my god, which is love... so many of my words, words I have lived, words I have breathed, words I have run from, are haunting my mind... it's a love-hate thing, to be sure... and even as I am doing my best to distract myself, I realize that the movie I chose that I am glancing at out of the corner of my eye while running to the microwave to stall the food is about a guy who loses his family and even though it is atrociously bad acting the flashback scenes between him and his little girl are making some part of me scream and another part cringe and it wouldn't have nearly that effect if I was actually watching because it's such a bad movie but the glimpses are enough to stimulate my own memories which is, I suppose, poetic justice as it happens sometimes that everything i do to avoid and distract actually leads me right to the center of the abyss that the heart of me, the realest me is lost wondering aimlessly through... or maybe it's just that I love drama (or how much I would like to believe I could sell that... so am I telling secrets or just trying to make an otherwise boring life (and diary) more interesting?... the very question begs the question, huh?... does my maniacal laughter belong in a Hollywood studio or an insane asylum?... there is a difference... usually in the color of the drapes)... and I really this tired as I have felt in my weakest moments or am I still the child I feel bubbling over in my happiest moments... has my pendulum swung too far one way or the other?... has my roller coaster left it's tracks for the last time?... is my closing this entry with this next line my unconcionably absurd sense of humor or the final plea of a dying soul?... I am ready for my padded room now...
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