I will keep coming back to this at different points of time because screaming into space is strangely therapeutic. If what I say bothers you, don’t read it. Just leave. I need this and you know it.
How much can you let someone’s actions take away from you? I mean, there must be some limit, shouldn’t there? Shouldn’t our happy-peaceful places be sacred and untouchable? When is it that a person opens up those places to be routed too? When was it that I opened up those places to be routed? Where then can you go in your head when you need peace anymore?
In the beginning, it was the small things. At first, I couldn’t see movies in theater any more. Sure, big deal, I could live without that. Then I found out more, and now, I cannot sit down and watch them at home as well. But then again, they were just movies. Not particularly a big portion of my life. It bothered me, but not particularly so. These weren’t related to my happy-places. Their loss was noticed, but not mourned. Hey, I now found stand up comedy. It’s orders of magnitude cooler. Really.
And then things evolved. Things were hitting closer to home. Closer to regions that shouldn’t have been touched. We were now tiptoeing into music. I never realized I was that weak that I needed these things to keep me comforted when there was nothing else to lean on. That my happy places were functions of external stimuli. That I wasn’t self sufficient when it came to retaining my state of peace.
Again, it started of small. Random bands I liked, no loved, but did not need. I can’t stand to listen to them or even think about them anymore. But again, such losses are bearable. And then, it really hits. The only band’s music that has mattered to me. They have the most nonsensical lyrics. They lack talent. They’re stupid, always in trouble and obnoxious. None of that matters. Their “noise” calmed me. I’ve felt that way since I heard bootlegged copies of demo tapes before they had major labels backing them and copies of gigs in pubs. It was their music. Now, with events, I cannot stand some of their stuff. I’ve lost that. Too. They do not calm me when they used to be able to.
How hard is it for someone to see how much things they say and do can affect you? How hard is it for me to see I shouldn’t be affected so easily?
I wonder how she’d be if another woman read me lines from poems by her favorite poets, ones she didn’t read me, and I am affected by it. It didn’t have to mean anything. Just me excitedly describing it to her.