Posts tagged with "reflection"

My Therapist is a Rockstar

As I was writ­ing notes for ther­a­py tomor­row1, I was doing some research on life­traps and came across a short para­graph that cleared up every­thing for me to the point where I did­n’t feel like I need­ed to keep my appoint­ment. It was the answer I did­n’t even know I was look­ing for.

Now the feel­ing of empti­ness that’s fol­lowed me for so long is gone, and every­thing makes sense. I feel sta­ble again, though there’s still a hint of doubt because I’ve been here before but it’s nev­er been any­thing per­ma­nent.

I’m still going tomor­row so I can solid­i­fy my new-found under­stand­ing. I don’t think it’s going to be a reg­u­lar thing again, I just need the bit of guid­ance he gives me that lets me fix myself. I can’t explain how good it felt to make the appoint­ment, know­ing I had some­one with a pro­fes­sion­al edu­ca­tion and years of expe­ri­ence in this to give me an objec­tive view. My friends are always there to sup­port me, but they don’t make sense of the world for me the way my ther­a­pist does.

  1. This is the first time I’ll be bring­ing notes, only because I’m try­ing to cov­er such a com­plex top­ic that I want to be sure I’m not miss­ing any­thing. []

Lover/Dreamer

(+5 bonus points if you get the album ref­er­ence.)

Thumbnail: Heart in the window

I real­ly do have love to give! I just don’t know where to put it!

—Quiz Kid Donnie Smith, Magnolia

Okay, I’ll admit it.

I need to love. I need it, the way I need to eat.

This is the same part of me that notices the faint out­lines of hearts drawn in car win­dows. Also, the same part that mar­vels about that ado­les­cent point in life, when one would draw some­thing so sim­ple and insignif­i­cant because the only wor­ry was whether or not some­one liked you back.

So when I don’t have some­one to love, it fuck­ing kills me.

Images

This week I’ve been see­ing images when I wake up in the mid­dle of the night. Usually in the form of slow, flesh rip­ping decap­i­ta­tion, or bul­lets enter­ing non-vital parts of my body, like my arms. Not of self-muti­la­tion but muti­la­tion of the self. These images, in some form or anoth­er, have fol­lowed me my whole life, and went away after I start­ed ther­a­py1. Now they’re back.

There’s been a new one late­ly though.

I have a one-inch thick, two meter pole through the heart, stick­ing out per­pen­dic­u­lar­ly to my body in both direc­tions even­ly. My heart and lungs have grown and healed around this pole, and even a gen­tle impact on either end, due to the mechan­i­cal-force mul­ti­ply­ing nature of the ful­crum that is my heart, could dis­rupt my organs and kill me.

So as I’m try­ing to fall asleep again, I see myself going about any reg­u­lar day, stum­bling around with this unwieldy pole, hop­ing I don’t trip, and no one bumps into it.

  1. Or per­haps, co-inci­den­tal­ly from something/someone else. []

I'm the hero of the story

(This first. Listen to the clar­i­ty of the low­er octave notes that Regina adds in waves and waves at the end of the cho­rus; you can tell it’s a qual­i­ty grand piano just from how those notes res­onate — an upright would sound much mud­di­er at the low end. This is the song that plays on day (408) and it’s fuck­ing per­fect. Also, title from the lyrics.1)

It would appear that some­one made a movie of my last rela­tion­ship, and (500) Days of Summer is to #8 as Eternal Sunshine was to #4. The inter­est­ing part is that it was released ear­ly last year, dur­ing the rela­tion­ship, and I won­der if it would have changed any­thing on my end, had I seen it then. And if she saw it now, would she under­stand things from my per­spec­tive? Or does she under­stand already? And if oth­er peo­ple saw it, would they under­stand how one could unwit­ting­ly get their hopes up when things are so clear from the begin­ning?

I’m so glad Marc Webb, the direc­tor, treat­ed the mate­r­i­al with such grace. You can tell it was based on expe­ri­ence because the ten­der moments come from a real place (co-writer Scott Neustadter admit­ted Summer was based on a girl who “returned his kiss­es but not his ardor”). In an inter­view, Joseph Gordon-Levitt said, “I’ve had my heart bro­ken before. Truly, tru­ly bro­ken. But when I look back at me in my heart­bro­ken phase, it’s pret­ty hilar­i­ous, because it felt so much more extreme than it real­ly was. One of the things I love about (500) Days of Summer is that it does­n’t make light of what we go through in romances [empha­sis mine], but it is hon­est about it and shows it for what it is, which is often pro­found­ly fun­ny”, and I com­plete­ly agree. I also appre­ci­ate the fact that they don’t vil­lainize Summer because she nev­er takes advan­tage of Tom2, and at the same time, it does­n’t make the ago­niz­ing days he goes through any less sig­nif­i­cant or dif­fi­cult. In a pro­found way, it brings jus­ti­fi­ca­tion to every­thing I was (or am) going through. I sup­pose I’m just wait­ing for the punch­line.

Hah.

Watching it has left me feel­ing emo­tion­al­ly dev­as­tat­ed late­ly, almost as if I’ve regressed, and lost months of progress. Perhaps it’s because see­ing it was like see­ing her again, reliv­ing the entire thing from day one, from when we had met in the office. Like a recov­er­ing alco­holic falling off the wag­on and tak­ing his first sip in 5 years. That does­n’t mean I don’t appre­ci­ate the mes­sage, and as well as the rec­om­men­da­tion to watch the movie from Darren.

Even though I’ve tried to com­plete­ly for­get and move on, I’ve come to learn it’s not that easy. It’s almost as if you have to accept the all the mem­o­ries, both good and bad, as much as you accept your own qual­i­ties and flaws.

The days, months, years you spend with someone significant will inevitably change and shape you. To deny them is to deny yourself.

I found it fas­ci­nat­ing to trace the plot devel­op­ments to parts of my own sto­ry. The entries I’ve writ­ten over the last two years echo the sen­ti­ments so strik­ing­ly in dia­logue, songs, and voice-overs.


Things in block­quotes are either nar­ra­tor voice-over or direc­tors notes. I list­ed the events lin­ear­ly too (even though the film is pre­sent­ed in non-lin­ear fash­ion) for the sake of clar­i­ty. It’s also inter­est­ing to see how the cal­en­dar title cards change back­grounds, from bright and sun­ny, to red and sim­mer­ing, to grey and bleak.

(1)

This is a sto­ry of boy meets girl. The boy, Tom Hansen, of Margate, New Jersey, grew up believ­ing that he’d nev­er tru­ly be hap­py until the day he met “the one”.

From my entry The Penultimate Letter — “My whole life, I looked for some­one like you. Someone who was capa­ble of rais­ing me to my poten­tial, some­one who was wor­thy of the love I have to offer. But even then, I nev­er knew I was capa­ble of a love that res­onat­ed so deeply in my per­son.”

Continue read­ing “I’m the hero of the sto­ry”…

  1. Or is it? []
  2. Ironically, the gen­der roles are reversed, and it’s Tom’s date who’s the voice of rea­son here. []

29 2/12: The Lachrymologist

I used to be a crier. Any strong emo­tion, good or bad (though more often the lat­ter), could bring on tears like a reflex. Now, I can’t remem­ber the last time I cried, which means it’s been a while. More than a year, I sus­pect.

Getting misty-eyed does­n’t count; that’s too easy. A poignant scene in a movie, the right song at the right moment, even see­ing some­one demon­strate a Tai Chi move­ment with mas­ter­ly detail and pre­ci­sion can cause my heart to swell, but the feel­ing only lasts as long as a few blinks after the blurred vision. When I refer to cry­ing, I mean when the tears are enough to over­flow and leak.

Self portrait at 29 2/12

 

When I was young, the kids in school would laugh at boys who cried — much less social­ly accept­able in this cul­ture — but I was nev­er embar­rassed about it. I thought it was nat­ur­al, the way some peo­ple are gay or Caucasian. I thought I’d grow out of it, the way one grows out of a fear of the dark grad­u­al­ly and sub­con­scious­ly, but I kept cry­ing well into my 20s.

I’ve always won­dered if my dad has ever cried, even as a child. I can’t pic­ture him doing it, not even when my grand­moth­er dies. He’s so care­free and log­i­cal that I can’t see any­thing affect­ing him emo­tion­al­ly. With my dad as my ear­ly mod­el for a man, I’m sure this is part of the rea­son I don’t feel like an adult yet. Society teach­es us that adults, or male one’s at least, aren’t sup­posed to cry.

I’m not sure why it’s been so long for me. Maybe the ther­a­py, com­bined with my study of Taoism, has evened out my ups and downs, help­ing me acknowl­edge my weak­ness­es (so I’m not as hard on myself), as well as the uncon­trol­lable nature of life. Maybe my life is sta­ble enough now that I did­n’t need that kind of release.

I turn 30 in 10 months, and I won­der when I’ll cry again.

The Turning 30 Series