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 |  A journey of self-improvement - or not. |
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Sup? I'm Char. You may know me from timeless classics such as
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I blog for things like
[Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Believin' all the lies that they're tellin' ya Buyin' all the products that they're sellin' ya They say jump and ya say "how high?" Ya braindead, ya got a fuckin' bullet in ya head |
Artist: Sigur Rós Song: I Gaer [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Prompt via "Blogging Circle of Friends "  : Is there a difference between your personal memories and your history as others know it, and what intrigues you most about how other people recall the past? Right now, I want to find the most "normal" thing to do and I want to just do that thing. If you've read my last entry, "Invalid Entry" , that will make total sense. I'm away from home for the next 5 days starting today and I'm desperately trying to do a hard reset if that's at all possible. I haven't written for a Blog City prompt in forever and that's something normal I did at one time, so, here we go.You know when you see a photograph of yourself as a kid and you almost form a memory around it? Like, oh yes, I remember this day with the dinosaur shirt when you're really just remembering a picture you've seen of that day? I think memories work like that a lot. I haven't really researched memory very much, so this isn't a scientifically-based response at all, but I think the past is so easy to alter. When my brothers and I talk about our childhood, we each remember different parts of it. Overwhelmingly, we remember the same state of existence. We remember the same general atmosphere of our childhood home. But all of us remember different specific incidents that happened. My brother will say something and I don't remember what he's talking about at all. Then he'll describe it in greater detail and I'm like, okay, maybe I do remember that. Then the next time he brings up that event, I already have the base memory that he gave to me during the previous conversation on the topic. Instead of waiting for him to explain the situation, I can fill in the blanks as though it's my memory. Especially if you're someone who has dealt with gaslighting, memory is a tricky thing. When you have people who are willing to dodge blame by saying, "Oh that didn't happen." Or, "That didn't happen how you think it did." You start to question your ability to trust your own memories. I think about that often. Did that happen like I think it did, or did my memory somehow get skewed? There's always going to be a disconnect between personal memories and the way others know your history. No one is inside your head experiencing your memories. Even if they were there at the time, they're never going to be able to remember things from your perspective because they never had your perspective to begin with. As far as other people's past though, I really like knowing the mundane details. I don't want to know about the big picture major events in someone's life. It's not as interesting to me as the day-to-day. When I was a kid, my grandparents talked about their lives together in Chicago. I wanted the details of their apartment floor plan. And I'd ask questions like, "Where were the windows? What could you see out of the window? What stores were around? Did you like to walk anywhere? What were your favorite restaurants? How much was rent? Was it furnished?" I remember having the exact conversation above with my grandparents. I loved to watch and listen to them reminisce on their life together 40 years before. I didn't particular care about my mother's birth story or their wedding story or a vacation they took. Not that I wouldn't listen to that, but I tried to steer them in the direction of more unremarkable things. Because all of those unremarkable things make up the remarkable history of a person. It isn't the big events that occur once in a lifetime, it's all the things in between. Looking back, I think this is what got me into journal writing at such a young age. I remember going to a museum and reading these very old journals from people just describing their day of making dinner or washing clothes or hunting or whatever. I thought it was so cool to have an account of that history because it's so much more important than those one-time things that are remembered whether they're written or not. Plus, collecting those details is a great way to preserve your own memory. Did that happen the way I think it did? Oh yeah, I have a written account from that day right here to reference. Can't argue with that.  |
Artist: Sufjan Stevens Song: Eugene [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] It's like something that happened to someone else. I'm sitting on his bed with only a towel around my waist when he starts laying into me about how I just want to go. Always ready to just leave. It's hard to fight against someone who is twice your body weight. All they have to do is throw their weight on top of you. No matter how hard you struggle beneath it, it's impossible to slip out. The second you start to get free, they just shift their weight to block you again. He says he's not trying to hurt me. Just stop fighting. Okay, I'll stop fighting. I'll stop fighting. Just let me go home and then I'll come back later. I'll come back tomorrow, I swear. You're not going anywhere. 10 minutes later, he's asking if I want to order takeout. Have you seen Saving Private Ryan? It's a great movie, you have to see it. It's really long, but it's so worth it. Hey, give me your watch. I'm on the couch watching him pace back and forth with my phone. Who is Leo? It's a guy from school. A guy from school? Yeah, it's just some guy in my class. How long have you known him? I don't respond and stare at the wall as he scrolls through the conversation. Wow, you seem really fond of Leo. It's just some guy from school. I barely know him. It doesn't seem like you barely know him. I barely know him. I stare at his movie collection while he erratically thumbs out a message. What are you saying? Nothing. Don't talk to people on my phone, like, let's just chill. Who are you even talking to? Are you worried about what I'll say to Leo? Like I said, I hardly even know him. He's a random person in my class. That's great. You treat a random person in your class better than me. He puts my phone back in his pocket. Chinese? Indian? What do you think? Anything but pizza. I'm trying to stay away from greasy stuff. I think I should go home now. I'd kill for some chicken tikka masala right now. I'm expected home so I should just get going now. He starts getting agitated again and walks over to the front door, blocking it with his body. You're not, okay? You're not going. You always want to just go but you're not going right now. I should take a shower then. I should do anything to get out of this room with him. He asks if I want vegetable curry and then tells me I can use one of the towels below the bathroom sink. Standing under the steady stream of the shower head, I'm not even thinking of a game plan. I'm not thinking of how to get out of the situation. Instead, I'm downplaying it to myself. Like, it's not that big of a deal. I'm sure I'll be able to sneak out later or someone will notice I'm gone and figure out where I am. He hasn't really threatened me. I shouldn't overreact. Instead of plotting an escape, I'm debating whether or not I even care. My arm hurts when I try to raise it over my head. I look down to see my collarbone swelling and an ugly shade of dark red. I just use my other hand to wash my hair. There's no real fear. Just taking a shower like normal. I might as well have been humming. I stay in the shower until the water moves from hot to lukewarm to cold. There's a knock on the door. Food's here. I step out and towel off with a clean towel from under the bathroom sink. All very natural, like staying in a guest's house. I pause in front of the mirror, but don't dare look up. When I step out of the bathroom, he's right there. Sit down over here. I'll bring you your food. The flatscreen is playing a DVD menu with dramatic, dark music and flashing scenes like a thunderstorm and marching soldiers. A war movie is the last thing I want to see right now. I should have said I'd already seen it, but I figured he'd then drill me on the movie's contents and become infuriated when it was revealed that I'd not actually seen it. I can even hear it now, Why are you such a liar? Why do you always lie? I can't stand the smell of Indian food. He brings me a plate of orange mush. I immediately start picking at the recognizable vegetables with a fork because I know he's going to get worked up if I don't eat. The opening scene is loud. Crashing waves, screaming, vomiting, praying, bombs, and gunshots everywhere. I start to ask if we can watch something less violent but he hushes me the second I make a noise and tells me to pay attention. It's really a good movie. I eat more of my curry than expected given the circumstances. I start nodding off during a dialogue-heavy scene in a dark bunker or something. I wake to snapping fingers in front of my face. How are you sleeping right now? Are you seriously bored? I tell him that I'm really tired from school. It's definitely time for me to go home now. I apologize like, sorry, but I need to go home and go to sleep now. He immediately tenses and bolts upright turning toward me. You can sleep here. No, I really can't. I have to go. Kira will start to worry if I don't get home soon. He unleashes a flurry of insults at me. You really think she cares? She wouldn't even notice you being gone. She doesn't care about you. I tell him that, either way, I have a lot of work to do and I need to go. I stand up and he stands up quickly in front of me. I feel anger coursing my veins. I know that I can't control my temper much longer. I tell him that I really am going home now. I take a step back and he grabs both of my arms above my elbows. He tries to force me back down. Just sit! I tell him no and fight against his grip. He tries to wrestle me down to the couch, and I drop to the ground trying to use my legs as leverage to push myself backward away from him. He puts all of his weight on both of my legs and I'm writhing underneath, my knees crushing together. For the first time that day, I feel actual panic clenching my chest, settling in the center of me like a heavy anchor. I'm screaming that he's hurting me. "My legs, get off of me." I try to kick him away but he only bears down harder. Stop making me hurt you! Why do you always do this? Stop fighting! I exhale and it feels like all of the oxygen is escaping my body in one breath. I feel lightheaded like walking into an air conditioned building after running outside on a hot day. He moves his weight off my legs, but keeps his grip on my arms. He pleads with me to just stop fighting. I would never hurt you intentionally. Please just come sit down. I don't want to fight with you. I nod in response. When he lets go of me, I feel like I can feel my pulse everywhere. In my ears, my neck, my chest, my stomach. He moves behind the couch and lingers around the front door as I pull myself back onto the couch, laying across all three seat cushions. He walks over and makes some lighthearted joke about taking all the space. He scoots in under my legs and starts massaging them. I wince at a specific spot and he fingers jump back to it. We're silent for a long time. Are you okay? I tell him I'm fine. I just really need to sleep now. He agrees that I look tired. You should rest. Here, come lay in bed. I agree to, but I have every intention of pretending to sleep and then sneaking out when he falls asleep. But that isn't how things unfold. It's like something that happened to a different person. I keep thinking, like, oh well, it just happened. Like any other thing that just happens. Like twisting your ankle on the stairs or having a car accident. Some things just happen and there's no point in analyzing why they happen or how they happened or what could have been done to prevent them from happening. There's no point in saying, "Well, if only I'd left five minutes earlier. If only I'd stayed home to study. If only..." It's just this thing that happened like any other thing that happens. Since I was old enough to speak, I've said it with alarm Some part of me was lost in your sleeve |
Artist: Sufjan Stevens Song: Should Have Known Better [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] Life is full of contingencies no one ever bothered to tell me. Yes, you can have this, so long as... Contingent upon meeting an impossible laundry list of conditions that you were never, ever, ever intended to meet. I've never had more trouble communicating. Not when I lost a year (or so) to concealing my weakest spots. Not when I woke to "Last Gas 130 Miles" road signs. Not when I was huddled beneath a too-big Carhartt coat that reminded me of chewing tobacco and half-finished construction projects. "Next spring, for sure." Not when anyone had me by the throat, fully clenched, and conceiving new ways to reemerge. From the ashes and all that... There was always a kindred soul. Someone who had fucked up like me. Someone who rode the train just for the warmth. Read the synopsis on the backs of books they couldn't afford. Drank until 4 in the morning, because, why not? Of course it's not too late to start Footloose for the 40th time. Of course we can lay on the hood of my car while I ramble about astronomy. Of course I'll guide your hand to point at each star and constellation I see. Of course. Of course. Of course. I wore everyone out like I knew I would. Not just me, of course. Life wears people 95% thin and I can take over from there. Communicating with people now is like when I was 11 trying to explain to my parents that my brain wasn't functioning properly. "I see. Yes, uh huh. I understand. Okay. Right. Well, you know, yeah. That's a shame. Uh-huh, yep. That's too bad. Oh, hmmm. Mhm." Or worse, "That's just how Charlie is." That's just how things are for you. That's just you. That's so very, unflinchingly YOU. Or worse yet, That's your fault. There's nothing more bleak than just being a terrible way. That reads like, "Stop attempting to self-correct." Just be wholly you. But also, don't actually speak about it. That reads like, "Just be quiet." What I don't know can't hurt me >>>>> What I don't give a fuck about can't hurt me I've tried to be radically quiet. Every time I rant about something, I'm self-aware enough (for better or worse) to read disinterest. I take that dismissal as a demerit. It's time to be quiet now, Charlie. I just thought you should know. I just thought you wanted to know. I just wanted you to know. In an attempt to be radically quiet, I've actively tried to be less vampiric. Which means I've tried to completely build a wall around myself. Brick-by-brick. I feel like a pinball bouncing off the bumpers. "Oh, that didn't go well." Brick "That person has no interest in this topic." Brick "They don't want to hear about that." Brick "This is an inconvenience." Brick No matter what I say. No matter how I try to connect. "This situation is dangerous. I'm afraid of this person. This person is actively abusing me and I'm kind of scared." Well, you know, yeah. Hmm, yeah. I see. Ha, yeah. Right, mhm. Don't put yourself in that position then. You always do that. I might as well be saying, "The house is a bit drafty with the strong winds off the lake." I'm not asking for a solution. Sometimes I just need a safe space to say, "The injustice! How unfair." I know it's my fault. I know I attract certain types of people. I know I have a disordered personality and I don't react to things appropriately. I know all about toxicity. I don't want to excuse my role in anything bad about my situation. I don't even find myself to be undeserving of it. I don't think I'm worthy of defense. I just want to breathe deeply on occasion and say, "Wow, this feels fucked up." I never wanted to be that person who's like, listen, just listen to me. It's gross. I've always tried to mutually support others. Whether I've been selfish in that area, whether I've done a poor job, I don't know. But I've always made an attempt to say, "Wow, I agree with you. That's fucked up." Even just for the sake of camaraderie. Even when I don't understand. I'm not really sure what's going on in this situation. I've never experienced this before, but you have someone in your corner, okay? I'll always listen, with an open heart, to anyone. If ever you find yourself without a soul on your side, I will always set aside what I'm doing and take a minute to draw that line so that you know you're not alone. Even if I don't know who you are. Even if we've never spoken a word to each other. It's so important for people to just feel justified and feel valid. It's important to feel like you matter. I've walled myself off so much at this point, I can't imagine even attempting to open up to another human being. I can't bear the inevitable indifference. And that's if another person can even be openminded enough to not cut me off. "You shouldn't do that. Just don't be doing that. Just don't do that. Just don't. Don't." Even though I've fairly thoroughly exhausted my resources, the way only I can do, I feel like I'm oversharing anytime I actually take someone up on the offer to listen to me. I end up feeling embarrassed and like I matter even less when it's like, "Whoa, um, wow... okay." It's like if you really wanted to share a book with someone, but could only give them chapters 12-18. I don't know of a word in existence that can adequately describe the frustration of fully agreeing with another person's handling of you and still feeling in want need of something more from them. It has left me feeling robotic and disconnected in ways I never knew possible. Even saying this now, I already feel telepathic. "Ah, that's just Charlie. Charlie's just being Charlie. He's just emotional. He's always like this." Maybe I'm being pessimistic. So, in the best case scenario, "I wish I could help, but I don't know how." Wherever you fall, I completely agree with you. I should have known better Nothing can be changed The past is still the past The bridge to nowhere I should have wrote a letter Explaining what I feel, that empty feeling |
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