Screaming Past Weirdness Explosion

[oneirophrenia]

Isn't it strange how just stumbling across a useless, meaningless artifact of a person who damaged you is enough to send you into a serious hatred-laced funk?

I was just putzing around on in my stupid MySpace profile, getting rid of some old pictures and just generally taking a much-needed break from the grading, when I stumbled across an old, old comment that someone had left on a picture. That person happened to be Jessica, the useless piece of human garbage I was unfortunately involved with earlier this year. The comment was nothing more than a "Hey, this picture is really cool" kind of deal, and I just deleted it...but I was honestly surprised at just how much bile suddenly flooded my gut and sent sparks of burning phosphorus shooting through my nervous system.

All that crap went down months and months ago--in fact, I don't actually remember when all that shite happened--and it's ancient history. Certainly nothing that haunts my thoughts anymore. But its cold shadow still lies heavily on my heart. There are no longer any names or personalities really attached to it, but it's a heavy black anthracite slab nonetheless. This shadow is the reason I refuse to date. The reason I rarely leave my house anymore and don't want to be involved with anyone. And sudenly, out of nowhere, a little rip in the black coughs up a bit of the reason for it. I'm not exactly sitting here stewing or plotting bloody vengeance, mind you--but I was more than a little alarmed to discover just how much even seeing a very bad, fuzzy picture of that girl can stir up the eternal smoldering Croat rage that lives in the bottom of my brain. Bizarre how the human brain works. Especially mine.

Ohwell. It's all for the best. I'm now appropriately fired up to finish the lyrics to the Malpractice song specifically written about that girl, "Stick a Needle in My Eye"! Sweet!

Comments

[mellawyrden.livejournal.com]

It's something I've been addressing in my playwriting. I feel enslaved to my own past but I hope I don't *have* to be.

My idiot ex-husband (who isn't really entirely an idiot, but he acts that way toward me) keeps in contact with me under the guise of friendship. Maybe he thinks it really is friendship, who knows. Talking about his current sex-life with me is supposed to be friendly conversation, hmmm.... But I hate him for it.

When I stumble across a picture of him, or even any of the friends we had when we were married, it makes me feel angry/disgusted/suicidal.

[blankkittyblack.livejournal.com]

Hey,
It was nice to meet some friendly people when I was out of town and at ceremony this weekend.

Sorry you went through the wringer in this last relationship. If you feel like digging around in my journal any you'll find it filled with stories about my past relationships and usually they end badly, but you've got to forgive. Maybe you're not ready yet and even more likely you'll hate me, a relative stranger for having the audacity to write this. I don't know, I spent over a year dating guys and jumping from one to heal the pain of the break-up with the last. Things didn't really come together for me until I 1-forgave the last person who broke up with me and 2-took some time to grieve what could not be.

[mirvana.livejournal.com]

I had to deal with a similar thing recently (dredging up bad memories), after I went back through the past year's worth of lj entries and tagged them. It amazes me how blind I can be...how one minute someone can seem worthy of your love, and the next minute, the blinders are ripped off and the truth is revealed in all its ugliness. I think it has to do with choosing the wrong people to begin with.

I'm going to be totally honest with you whether you like it or not: I think that you are completely capable of having a successful, loving relationship with someone, but you keep choosing the wrong type of girl, the sort who will rip your heart out, toss it in a blender, and hit frappe everytime. You need to look where you've never tried looking before.