Yesterday I had an appointment with my soon-to-be former therapist. I understand completely the rationale behind her decision but I liked her. I find it difficult to open up emotionally in artificial situations. I find it difficult to open up to a person that I will never, in any profound way, know. I find it difficult to open up in general. My emotional experience of the world is tempestuous. My mind is in the process of creating a universe. Formless energy, implosions, explosions, death, rebirth, CHAOS, darkness, illumination. How do you feel? Is a complicated question. Often I have no idea how I feel until I begin to write. Writing is my way of embodying the unseen.
Human interactions for me result invariably in a deep unshakeable sense of humiliation. I took a monumental first step in discussing my childhood with her and the thought of repeating the experience is a bitter pill indeed. I dislike speaking of my everyday life as well hence my diary being more an exercise in abstraction. There is not a good deal to be said on the subject as I function via a schedule. If I’ve gone to see a movie I don’t really bother with details or plot lines. Did it make me think? Did it make me feel something? Never ask me what a movie was about you will end up with a very strange and nonsensical response. For me a movie very well could be described as venous or carbonated 😛 I once described a movie by describing a leaf. I can watch the same movie countless times and see each time something entirely different. So I do not mind repetition. That said I have quite a difficult time personifying myself. I perceive mostly everything, myself included, energetically, organically. I am entropy (not in the purely destructive sense of course). I have to have the same conversations with myself over and over again in order to make them cohesive and concrete enough to relate.