I have trouble understanding that I'm living my life. That my body isn't some vessel I'm inhabiting at the moment, but a part of me, if not me entirely.
I can tell you the day I detached, and I could tell you why. I know that I was present before that point. I've been bringing back memories. Trying to pull them out from the ether I condemned them to. And I used to be present. I used to see my life from a point inside of me, instead of as a dispassionate observer.
I had opinions. I was passionate about many things, and especially things that affected my life. I threw temper tantrums. Me.
After that point, my life was reduced to two points: see what others need from you, provide it. The counter to this was if they don't need you, back off. Keep quiet.
I am only just realising that that moment was a catalyst. I remember the thought process as it was happening. I remember the acute sensation of shutting off, of detaching completely.
It was different even in the moments before. I was naive and childish (fuck, I was four, it would've been wrong if I wasn't), I suspected games of malice. I remember the fear as it set in that something bad was going to happen. I feared for my own safety. Do you understand how huge that is? I don't do that. And I haven't in fifteen years. Not since that moment.
I remember it happening. I didn't for a long time, but I remember now. I remember my thoughts. I remember thinking that adults, parents especially, can do whatever they like to their children. That my body was merely the property of adults, to be used at will. And so this wasn't a big deal. It wasn't a problem. It was just how things were.
And then things were okay. I could handle everything that was happening. Without joy, but with duty. This was my purpose. To be a quiet, submissive piece of meat. To do whatever was needed of me.
And I was. For years. It wasn't safe to do anything else. I saw that quite clearly.
I still am that way, almost entirely. I am, however, making progress in realising that I am myself. That I'm living my life. I'm starting to own my opinions and thoughts and feelings. And I am not very far. I'm really not. But at least now I understand things better. And I am starting to see and feel things from a point inside of me. Little flashes of realisation pop in every now and then. They say, "This is your life." And my eyes get huge and I go into shock and block it out a bit. But they are coming more frequently. I'll get there eventually.
revoless.
9:35 p.m.
November 10, 2003.
Listening to: Elliott Smith.
Bit on victimhood and self-destruction (clever title) or Good enough to write