Entries tagged with sad

Crossposts: http://kdsorceress.livejournal.com/644515.html

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Sunday morning, I was already a bit worn-out and brainsick when I saw The Truck. It was parked in front of a church, just outside of Harvard Square, and the back of it had some "sweet" Christian platitude about how we have all sinned and are all going to hell.

(Clearly, this truck belonged to the jackass kind of Christians, who would rather yell at you for how bad you are, than do anything to make the world a better place. I much prefer the Christians who actually do Good Things, and who may quietly pray for your soul, but don't get all in your face about it)

And that was annoying, primarily because it was in my way, but I could've slid right by it and never given it a second thought, until I pulled alongside it and read the quote written bold on the side.

I don't remember the exact wording, but the message was very very clear: WOMEN ARE VILE AND CORRUPTED CREATURES, AND THEIR ONLY GOAL IS TO WEAR SCANDALOUS CLOTHING TO TEMPT MEN TO WICKEDNESS. I don't think it actually said "BURN THEM ALL" as part of its message, but that's certainly what it felt like.

And reading those words, when I am tired and lost and in the middle of a grand existential crisis about whether I can even ever think of myself as a woman at all...it felt as though I had been punched between the ribs, deep where my Self resides. Because I can deal with so many things, deal with Boston drivers and not getting jobs and weird looks when I am just myself on the T.

But I can't deal with being hated.

And I especially can't deal with having that hate slapped across my face too-early in the morning, when that hate has nothing to do with me, with anything I am.

Just with the fact that the single lucky sperm of my da that made it into my mom's egg just happened to be carrying an x-chromosome instead of a y. Something that I could not even begin to control, because I literally couldn't have existed in time to control it.

Hatred because of my DNA, without ever knowing me, without ever meeting me. I'm given to believe that's normal. I am woman(ish, sometimes, approximately, in body only, who knows?) and therefore I hear sexism in jokes from friends, ("women amIright" and "because I'm the boy" and somehow the jokes aren't ever funny or maybe just the reminder isn't.) and rants on the internet, and vitriol from those who think so low of me they imagine I only exist to tempt and so low of men they imagine they only exist to be tempted.

I don't like being hated. I'm service oriented, a Girl Scout, a Herald (before there was a blue box there was a white horse, and given the choice of Companions it's never even been close.) someone who exists on this world to make it better, to make people happy, to make your life easier.

But how can I make your life better if the only thing that would please you was if I no longer existed?

~Sor
MOOP!

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Four and a half years ago, I was engaging in a mindless little elljay survey "What have you done" sort of life experience thing.

One of the items was "Seen Tori Amos perform live". I was fifteen. I was not especially pop culture savvy. I responded with "Who?"

A few days later, ShadowKevin wrote a post about picking battles, which touched on my offhand answer. He had chosen not to fight that fight, figuring it was ridiculous to force Highly Important Music on the snarky fifteen year old. What he essentially said (either there or in other posts) was that you couldn't force Tori on people. She had to be Found.

He said some other stuff, but what I took away from all of it was that Tori Amos had music that was strong and sad and beautiful and full of cope, and eventually, I would be at a point in my life where I would need her, and at that point I would go find her.

I've held that in the back of my mind for the last four and a half years. I've figured out who exactly Tori is, and what she's for, and yes, I've managed to fall just a little bit in love with her -after I read her introduction to the Sandman comic "Death: The High Cost of Living".

But I've never heard her music. I've never made that effort to Find her, perhaps because I've never needed to Find her. It's not that I've never felt sad and scared and empty and lone, or that I've never needed music to protect me when I'm in that zone. It's just that, I think, I've fond my own safety nets for when that happens.

I've nothing against Tori. I'd be perfectly happy to put her in my "Sad Girls with Pretty Voices" playlist, which is pretty much what I need when I'm in that bad place. But when I cry, when I truly need the music to protect me, I'm first gonna turn to the old protections, the old comforts, those made strong by a year or more of already spilled tears. I've never Needed Tori, because at all those points where I really would, I had someone else to catch me.

She didn't play "The Tower"
And she didn't play "Lullaby for a Stormy Night"

But she did play "Harbor", which was my first, and she did play "City Hall", which makes me cry with the beauty and the sadness of it all, and she did play "Gravity" and she did play lots of new and beautiful songs and wrapped me up in her music and her voice. And so, for a few hours, in the real world (and not just in my head) I was safe.

I saw Vienna Teng ~~yesterday~~ ~~last~~ the other week. Vienna, who has held me through tearstorms and panic attacks, who has let me dance my way back into stability, who's words have wrapped themselves 'round my arms and through my mind. Vienna, who above and beyond anything else she makes me feel, makes me feel incredibly perfectly safe,

Vienna Teng who is my Tori Amos.

And who knows. Maybe there's still time for my brain to break in just the right fashion so that Tori is the only thing I need. I wouldn't mind that. And maybe I'll just find her anyways, where I don't need her at all but am perfectly happy to add her songs to my collection. In the meantime, when I'm broken, and need my music to heal me...I have my resources.

I have Vienna. And that may be all I need.

~Sor
MOOP!

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And I read thoughtstreams from a year and two and three ago.
And I read BehindtheWalls, the first one, the one that coined the term.
And I read secret journals, that I was never meant to find in the first place.
And I read letters that were never meant to be sent
And I read notes that were left on my keyboard

And I talk, to you and you and you. And it doesn't really help. Not right now.

I just feel empty.
I just feel so
frigging
empty.

And I'm doing things off Al's radar. She pays such careful attention, should I cut-scratch-bite-hit myself, she swoops and grabs me and stops me.

But there are more ways to hurt yourself then with knives. There are ways to hurt yourself that don't hurt at all, that shouldn't hurt at all, that only burn because you're a freak.
(Other people are not the only ones who are not to touch my neck. I don't even like it when I touch it myself)

You pull strings tight round your wrist, and cause your hand to tingle from the loss of blood. And then you stop, you release the cord, the chain, whatever it is you have, and let your hand return to normal. Maybe you caused slight indents on your wrist, that fade within moments. Maybe you didn't. You didn't actually hurt yourself, just caused the world to feel different for a little bit.

You're all about making the world feel different for a little bit.

...

And in the middle of the empty and the hate and the lost and alone, she says one beautiful perfect priceless thing, without reason, without warning.

And the stretched thin emptyness, keeping you from doing anything stupid snaps away, and the saltwater starts running down your face. Fucking tears, you've been here before. How long since the last time you cried? Perhaps a week?

Fucking tears.

Maybe it's time to go away for a little while. Take all of who and what you are and bundle it up in a shirt and a robe and a hoodie and a coat and go walk. Walk the paths that you've made familiar, familiar because you hurt sometimes, and when you hurt, you need to leave. You need to go somewhere new.

Were I in Maryland, I would go to my playground. The one I don't bring other people to. Because other people taint memories, and I need a place where all the memories are mine and mine exclusively.

It's interesting to see how hard I have to work to find any given reference to any given thing. It's interesting to see whether I choose to use the reference when I do. For the last paragraph, end it "My 'Das Nonstop-Programm'." A reference that one and only one person will get. Good for him, then.

From Dar Williams* to Clam Chowder* to Dresden Dolls* to Marillion* All the words, all the lyrics are different, all the tones are different, all the moods are exactly the same. Sad and quiet and beautiful and melencholy.

Where to next. They Might be Giants? Where do they make balloons? I suppose.

It's time for me to wrap myself up and leave. May you find happiness where you need it. May I find happiness before I sleep.

BehindtheWalls

*The Christians and the Pagans, Windmills, Sing, Lavender.

Current Mood: sad
Current Location: All the fuck alone. *sulks*
Current Music: Dental Assasins (Ask Kat. :p)

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But she's gone now and she can't do that and it's not fair and nuuuuuuuuu!!

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but fuck, man, that shit BURNS in the meantime."

It was a Good Week.

Sor out.
MOOP!