“I want my book” sounds so unsettlingly like “I want my pacifier” in my head, … I can’t even….
asd=vulcan
Being anxious about every tiny social interaction out of your comfort zone is just that much more painful, when there’s a person around who appears like they don’t care about anything.
my brain likes to mis-read and mis-write words a lot
think food and write door
see liked and read killed
… but even I think that mixing up Astrophysics and Aphrodisiacs is a first
my defense is that they do have a lot of same letters, yes.
There was a point in my college life (a point that lasted for 1,5 years, with breaks for going home on holidays), when I was in Oxford and, after a certain incident had left me rather butthurt disappointed in human relations, I was so comfortably left to my own devices…. that somewhere inside me I just can’t stop missing that time.
I could refuse going outside more than 2-3 short times in a week, and do so only if absolutely necessary or for things I enjoyed. Once a few weeks I would go to London, usually just to buy essential stuff in JapanShop and the big book store next to it, and visit Portobello and Electric Cinema (seriously, I’d fly to London once a few months just to visit it, if I could) and come back happy and content. Even if it was lonenly and I wished I could do it with someone who would enjoy doing it with me, I still enjoyed it very much, all the quiet walks in strange places and long rides on the OxfordTube bus. Most of the time though, I would spend most of my days at my desk from morning to evening, studying while watching recorded dramas and tv shows non-stop – which worked fantastically well with my brain for some reason. I didn’t eat much, and drunk delicious teas all day long, and lost 10kg I can’t lose now, and my bones felt so much better for it. And on some evenings I’d get some delicious dinner and watch heart-healing asian movies while drinking sweet wines. And the stories I watched every day made my soul fuller and more balanced. I could spend weeks not speaking to other human beings more then hello/thank you to a cashier in a supermarket, but I became fluent in another language in less than 6 months.
I’m coming back to these memories often now because right now I can’t even get my mind balanced enough to feel like starting to watch a movie without feeling too tired or anxious about something to concentrate… let alone actually getting through one.
(an old selfie from that time)
there’s a kind of hyper buzz in my head these few weeks, a bad kind–the kind you would expect in your gut when you ate something real bad and feel all bloaty and can’t stop farting and wondering if you’re gonna throw up soon or not. But in my head. And instead of farting I panic and mess things up. And feel like I wish I could just blow my brains out at least 3 out of 5 days on my way back home from work.
Secretly I’ve always known that my handwriting is so bad because deep inside I’d prefer that no one was able to read the stuff I wrote down.
Is what I think every time a page form an old diary falls out from somewhere.
Another not very pleasant dream feeling – when I get stuck in-between state, and am supposed to be in this world of a fantasy book I’m reading, but I’m slowly waking up and the real world overlaps and turns it into something weird like riding a metro train to battle, besieged castle having an electronic glass backdoor, me hurrying trying to find and wear my armour and only finding my real 10-year old horse riding trousers.
The frustration is real.
There are senses… smell, taste, just the feeling of the air around you… that sometimes make you feel like for a fleeting moment you were able to jump through space or/and time, dimension … and that fleeting moment shakes your whole existence for hours to come because you feel like if you can catch that moment and bring it back you might really travel somewhere. Or maybe you did travel somewhere and it was someone else who came back. Or maybe, you were finally about to wake up, but didn’t reach for the surface strongly enough.
Glitch in the matrix.
how interesting it is, to realise
that feeling a book as a physical thing,
being able to feel its weight and touch the paper, and probably most importantly smell it,
is as important part of “reading” as the text itself
I have a habit of pausing to smell the pages, while digesting some words and thoughts, when I read… and if I can have this ritual, reading doesn’t go as well for me.
Sometimes I put away reading and watching my favourite stories ’till the right time comes’ for years,
Or sometimes I’ll stop reading/watching something in the middle, not because I don’t like it, but because I like it a little too much.
These stories that I feel I have some connection with, get a little too deep into me, and whatever I feel emotionally almost hurts me physically.
I was in middle school when I watched The Two Towers for the very first time in the cinema, and almost had some strange kind of panic/heart attack, driving home through the night in my father’s car. It was a dark road through a forest, and my heart was hurting, and my head felt like I left it back in the movie world, right there on the walls of Hornburg, and I couldn’t breathe.
And that’s how I learned that I might be a little too impressionable towards the things I like.
Then there also was a mistake of watching all episodes of old Berserk after all episodes of Ayashi no Ceres in one day/night, after which I couldn’t walk straight for three days.
The point is, I feel bad about it, but I really can’t make myself watch/read some of my most favorite things just because they hurt too much and I think it’s kind of unfair.
Sometimes I just have to stop in a middle of doing something and ask myself: “To whom was I just talking so intensively in my head for the last hour?!”
The impression I get from the therapy I’ve been going to these few months… Is like having a huge mess in your very long hair after you’ve slept on a giant piece of gum, and trying to untangle it by tugging on one hair at a time… And I guess I sort of imagined it be more like chopping it all off.
I went to my first concert when I was about 6 years old, I think.
There was an adult pop singer (male) I liked at that time, and my parents decided to take me (almost had to run away from it, because at the very first song they used some fireworks that set the curtain in the concert hall on fire (the times!), but they put it out fairly quickly and went on with the concert),
parents also wanted to take me to a rock-ish band concert somewhere around that time, but when they went themselves and saw that half of the band was drunk and the other clearly on drugs (the times! again), they decided better not.
anyway, that’s not what I was trying to say
I was trying to say,
that I went to my first concert when I was 6, and there were times when I would go to another country just to go to a concert, or go to a 2-3 concerts a week,
and that no matter how much I love live music and what it does for me,
I still am completely unable to comprehend what is it that other human beings have in them that makes them want to raise their hands, shout and scream and jump (and I’m not even talking about all the other violent things some people do at rock concerts) and squeal people’s names and so on.
Every single time I go to a live, a either try not to look at the audience at all, all stare at it in shock, because it makes me feel majorly alienated, for being unable to comprehend people’s behavior.
I do realise that if everyone was like me, it would be a very boring audience
but still, it’s not like I’m the one who has to perform out there
Keina Daria 