Broken Doll

Yes, I’m a couple days early. We had ritual last night and I am unaccountably cheery. Still processing — can’t figure out if I was or wasn’t on both sides of the veil at certain points. No startling revelations yet, although I feel that I have, in part, managed to discard some of the all-pervasive negativity that I’ve been dragged into (repeatedly, kicking and screaming, ad nauseum) over the past couple years. Will have to see how this plays out.

Brought the ritual spirit gift home and plan to light the tea-candle nightly until Samhain to encourage the spirits to follow me here and visit and perhaps bring some answers with them. Things remain opaque; perhaps clarity is too much to hope for, but again, that unaccountable cheeriness. Can’t explain it.

Merry Celtic New Year. Perhaps now things can change for the better.

Waiting in line to pay at the Heartland, I got to chatting with the guy ahead of me who happened to also be a local actor, currently doing work on Prison Break (I’m running into quite a few of these people lately). He gave me the phone number of the show’s casting office, I thanked him and we introduced ourselves. Whereupon he says, “Oh, I’ve heard of you. Heard good things about you.”

Hee. Rather a surprise, I didn’t think I was known at all within the local theatre scene — much less having someone I’ve never met before who’s not only heard of me, but heard well of me. Nice. I’ll take what I can get.

And yes, I’ve already called the casting office and left a message. So with a little luck you may see me on your TV soon.

Everything is shallow, and everything is a lie.

Walk into rehersal Tuesday, sit down at the table and over introductions realize that I am older than the entire cast but one by at least seven or so years. Suddenly feel so old, and I know I am just watching time slip away from me like water through a sieve. Almost two years gone, in only an instant, and nothing is better, nothing is accomplished, and jesus my entire life will vanish, I will be old and decayed, and no matter how fast or single-mindedly I work for it the joy and peace I seek, I need, will be forever just beyond my grasp. I am going to grow old like this, grow physically frail like this, die like this, miserable, unfulfilled, alone. And I look around the table, paint a lying smile on my face, and secretly wonder just what in hell we’re all doing here. What does it accomplish? What does it mean? Why bother?

Deep disconnect. Deep, black alienation. And this is what it means to see the world clearly — truly clearly — for the first time.

Thursday. The munch. Walk into a room and see that fully half of the people there are currently not speaking to me. And why? Because I had the audacity to admit to being hurt and angry at being wronged — by them, or by others, or by fucked up circumstance outside of anyone’s control. I was tired already going in — and absolutely exhausted going out. I am hated and have no idea why. I sat right across from David and for the entire time he wouldn’t even look at me. Not once. What the hell has he become?

And interaction is distant and conversation revolves about stupid things like “bad” porn versus “good” porn and I am secretly thinking just what the fuck is all this for? It’s babbling, verbal space-filler, devoid of meaning, devoid of any genuine connection. And this is the truth I’ve been seeing, this gathering storm, this extinction. I can hardly articulate it, but I feel it and know it. I’ve had friends who claimed to love me who then stabbed me in the back. I see people at the munch who make nice to me while I’m there while professing love for those who seek to destroy me. I see a boy who once loved me with his entire being turn his back on that deep connection, on me, on even a cordial friendship, in favor of a girl who doesn’t even trust him. Is this real? Is this genuine? Is this truth?

I don’t know what this is. But it is not good enough for living. It creates this gigantic black hole of need. How can anyone live this way?

Everything is disconnected. Everything is shallow. Everything is a lie.

And apparently I’m the only one who sees it.

I want it all to stop.

Do you realize that since you left I haven’t been able to listen to music — really listen — without feeling like I’m being ripped apart?

Any music, doesn’t matter. Mine. Yours. Music I loved. Music I hated. There’s always a memory, a connection, something we shared… something we never had the chance to share.

Music brings pain, silence drives me crazy. I’m exhausted but can’t stop pacing from room to room, can’t stop the restless wandering of my mind. It’s always there, in my head. I can ignore it, distract myself from it, push it away, but it’s still always there.

Yet another thing lost, another thing broken, another thing stolen from me. I love you but you weren’t worth it. And sometimes I even mean that, too.

About a week ago, I asked The Powers That Be to give me a dream, to show me how this was all going to work out. That night I dreamed that my cat had severely injured his paw, blood everywhere, squalling in pain. And I dreamed that I saw myself, standing across the bedroom from me as I lie in bed. I forced my eyes open. Me-across-the-room was still there, for a moment. Then I disappeared.

A couple days ago, I realized that I could no longer remember what color David’s eyes are. All I could remember was the abstract idea that they were the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. I had to run to his online profile in the hopes that he still had a photo up there that was close enough to show his eye color. Green, I think. Like mine. But I’m still not sure.

A couple weeks ago, I ran into Paul who indicated to me that the nasty false rumors had (contrary to all Bal’s assurances) not only leaked beyond the leadership committee, but were common knowledge among the membership. Details and all. Paul also made a big production of getting my phone number and promising to call me the following day so we could hang out. I knew he was lying but didn’t call him on it then because my therapist and my mother are always harping about giving them the benefit of the doubt. Two days later, still no call, and that night I nearly died. I still haven’t heard from him.

This past week, one loud thought keeps rolling around in my head, over and over:

As much joy as you brought me in those short six months, loving you wasn’t worth the price that I’ve paid. I wish I’d never met you. I wish that I could hate you.

And then last night… I go to a demo, run into a number of folk from the membership, and they astonishingly treat me like one of the gang. Some I suppose can be written off as “not around often enough to be in on the rumor mill,” but not all. Bizarre, wonderful — what’s the catch? Be nice to believe that it is just as it appears… people finally mature enough not to bother with rumors and gossip. But then why and how did it get spread around in the first place? I’ve been here before, only to have it all fall apart, only to be driven out, again and again. So where’s the other shoe? When will it drop?

Black inside, untrusting, hurt, joyless, damaged, broken, beyond repair. I hate what this has become. I hate what it’s turned me into.