It has not stopped raining here. Not once.
Flash flooding, thunder, and… yeah, I didn’t set foot in it once today.
I am unable to afford my birth control and am also unable to obtain a car to drive clear out to between Coralville and North Liberty to get it. Lucky for me- tomorrow I will hopefully be giving plasma.
Because tomorrow I have an appointment with my psychiatrist.
Tomorrow, I might just come completely clean about things.
I know it will help.
But knowing me, I’ll panic in the moment.
The last time my doctor saw me, the first thing she noted was that I was carrying myself very carefully – as if I was deliberately thinking out each of my motions.
She was probably right.
It was… semi-conscious.
I’ve been like that around a lot of people though. My dad. I went home a couple of weekends ago after an extremely bad night. I meant to show him my shoulder – what I do to myself – to see if maybe then he’d believe that I was truly in a rut here. I sincerely feel like I’m stuck in a pit and instead of climbing out, I dig it deeper.
No one else touches it. I dig it on my own.
I mark each lie. It’s a good thing I have a pretty decent memory, otherwise my string of lies with people would fall apart pretty catastrophically.
And that would result in a lot of bad things.
Probably my hospitalization for one.
Not something I really want to do right now.
There’s too much to do- too much to focus on. I can’t just check out.
There’s so much to do.
I’m just going to fall asleep now. K? K.
And I can’t help but feel like I’m burdening people all the time. I cancelled our quartet rehearsal because while I was having cramps due to my birth control problem, but I felt horribly guilty.
Alright, the three other guys in my quartet are amazing. Simply put amazing. One of them was awarded a Yamaha Young Artist Award. That’s incredible. The other that did that competition? Honorable mention. They leave tomorrow to go participate in another competition. I’m blessed and proud and honored to say I know them, I’m in a quartet with them, and that they are my friends.
While my saxophone abilities aren’t quite up to their levels, I do know some of my strong points with my musicianship. When rehearsing, I don’t focus as much on my playing. It’s bad- it’s horrible- I know, but I can’t help it. I’m more focused on the sound, what others are doing, listening to things that are good and for things that need to be fixed. The notes are there. I can do the crescendoes (granted, not as loudly as most people. I’m a pretty quiet player.) I can think the lines. But I’m not 100% engaged in my music. I give more attention to other things.
While I may not practice as much as others, I know how to practice well. I know how to practice hard so that something is 100% perfect all the god damned time. Others have a way of practicing, but not everyone is a virtuoso. One guy in my quartet, while he’s just as amazing, I can definitely tell that he’s not quite a virtuoso. I know that he’s definitely amazing, but some parts come harder to others.
Tuesday’s rehearsal was grueling. There’s no other way to put it. The soprano player in our quartet was just getting frustrated. If he wasn’t actually, then he was doing a shitty job of showing otherwise. He was impatient, reluctant to woodshed parts that needed to be worked out, and his frustration was palpable.
I understand, as a very talented musician, it’s frustrating to have to repeatedly go over a section over and over and over again with a player below your level. I’m very upset with his behavior though. Even if he had no intention of showing that, he didn’t mean to, or something along those lines- it doesn’t matter.
In the end, it doesn’t matter your intentions. It matters how people perceive your intentions.
That brings me to two things I have learned in college.
One, that previous sentence. You don’t necessarily have to always be conscious of yourself, but you do have to be aware how your behavior and actions are affecting those around you. You can’t be insensitive in moments of distress. When everything falls to shit, every one looks to someone, and if you don’t have your shit together, say goodbye to all peace and serenity for chaos will ensue.
Second, I really hate how college brushes over things. Especially in my music classes. In band, we don’t take the time to work things out or work them out properly. That’s why our last concert sucked. For quartet, up until yesterday we never had a fulfilling rehearsal unless Dr. Tse was there. It’s because Dr. Tse stands there and nit-picks one little section and works it and works it until it’s perfect. And that’s what you have to do! At some point, you have to stop saying “oh, I’ll work it out on my own” and fix it there. You just have to. I’m a hypocrite here, and that’s why I absolutely hate myself (along with a plethora of other reasons.)
I really do hate myself about 90% of the time.
I really do.
Then I hate myself more because it’s disgusting and… it’s just gross.
I sincerely need help.
At this point though, I feel like I’ve exhausted all my options. I just feel like this is life and I need to get used to it.
I will be able to point out one or two physical and a couple of personality features about myself that I like, but continue to have low self-esteem, self-worth, and self-respect for the rest of my days. Of course I’m not idly waiting for this to be my demise. I’m eating better (or trying where I can), eating less, working out, taking more care in my physical appearance because that helps boost my confidence, I’m working hard on my classes to ensure I get the grade I want (all A’s of course. I’m too much of a perfectionist for anything lower), and I’m trying to think more positively about my life.
I really am. I really am trying.
And I think it’s great that I’m trying. Maybe there’s an answer out there for me, but I think it’s… not real.
I’m not upset over it. Okay, I mean that’s a lie, the fact that I really see no hope in anything anymore, it disturbs my mind and it upsets me that I think like that, but at the same time it comforts me? I don’t really know how to put it.
I’m not having suicidal urges all the time. Only at times. But, I won’t deny that I hope every single time I cross the damned street that a car will hit me. My mind practically begs every time I do.
Hit me, please.
Maybe these dark days will pass.
Or maybe my faith in everything I thought I knew when I grew up is now blowing up in my face and all I can do is give it a little grin as my skin is peeled of by the blast.
How, how deserving am I?