Thursday, 04/15/04 - 11:11 pm.
Today I learned that Angie and Victor broke up last saturday. I didn't notice really. They covered it up really well. I mean, when they were together they never were too affectionate in public, so I didn't notice anything strange.
Angie said it very casually. "We broke up, by the way". That was a tangent in a conversation about books. But I know she isn't that indifferent. I know her, I know how unstable she is, and I'm afraid her world has fallen apart. She seems to be pulling herself together, but still...I keep my eyes open.
Their break-up has reminded me of 8th grade, when Veronica and Carmen broke up (but it was friendship in this case). What's going to happen with Angie and Victor? I'm not sure. The way things are going...nothing. They still act like friends, although now they speak less to each other, of course. I'm just fearing there'll come a time in which the rest of us (Irene, Victoria and me) will have to choose one of them. I don't want that to happen, but life always gets its way on this one.
Aside from that, I am overwhelmed by assignments...I wish I could start studying for midterms already, but just now I'm getting homework. Midterm is important, homework is urgent. I can't really win.
AND aside from that...I am painfully remembering the days of 8th grade. Yes, speaking of Veronica and Carmen. It's been long since I talked about them as a single entity. I wished I kept a journal by then...I did, but it was very poor, very vague. And the journal itself didn't have a lot of space, so all the words are cluttered up.
The whole day I've been getting reminders of how horrible those days were. That (8th grade) was the time when my self-harm started to develop, though it didn't really show until 11th grade (the equivalent of senior high school, two years ago...by then I had this diary already, thank God). That was the time when I thought of suicide as an option, because they both, and their circle of friends, were hurting me bad. They ignored me, they walked on me everyday, they put me aside. It sounds minimal, but it made me miserable. And I thought I could never get over that. I did...but here I am again, hurting over that. I'd like to think it's minimal, but I'm crying too hard for it to be such thing.
It's been a few weeks since I felt bad over whatever reason. But I'm breaking down again, here comes the cycle again. I know what happened to me in 8th grade (and the following grades until I graduated from high school, and then a year more after that) are not the worst things that can happen to a human being. But they certainly are the worst things that have ever happened to me.
I posted the following on my other journal, but I consider it important enough to post it here, as this is my main diary. It's slightly modified, to fit this diary's format (yeah, like the movie screens):
Freud once talked about the agression of the self as a defense mechanism. And I almost cried when my professor brought it up. She spoke of burning, hitting walls, oh, no, don't say it, don't say it and cutting. And I shrunk in my desk. And I wondered if my friends around me remember I do that. God, I hope not (I think they don't).
Then she spoke of being interested in others, because you need people to be interested in you. And I remembered something I don't want to remember, ever: me, paying a lot of attention to my friends, craving to be noticed, craving to be asked back how in the fucking world I was doing (they didn't ask). And by that time, I wanted to kill myself as a way to get back at them. And the professor said, about this theory, that some suicides are commited to get back at people who hurt the individual. And I swallowed harder, my wound ripped apart a little bit more.
And then she spoke of dreams. I know how to analyze dreams now, and what their elements are (but if people come up and ask you about dreams being premonitions, don't go there...you're a psychologist, not a parapsychologist). And I remembered my dreams about them. How in dreams I remember the desperation and the craving for healing and release, the pain I got from them. And that was way before I even fell in and out of love for the first time.
The only thing that remains unmasked in dreams are the emotions, professor said. The charachters that represent your conflict may be different, but the the emotions expressed in your dreams are the emotions you really feel. If in your dream you feel angsty, you're feeling angsty for sure.
Dreams about traumas are supposed to repeat over and over to solve the conflict. But I've just discovered my "trauma" hasn't been solved and never will be. It's been so long, why is it hurting now? I'm healing now, I've moved on, I don't want regression to those times. I hated those times and when I think of them I remember getting a razorblade for the first time, wanting to kill myself to let them know they were making me feel like shit.
Why are things coming back to me now? The defense mechanisms I used (I didn't know my 8th grade+ behavior had a name), the dreams, the emotions. And is not even just in my head: my inbox is now receiving surveys from the "friends" I tried to run away from (but ended up staying with, because, as the defense mechanism states, I wanted them to stay with me...they didn't, of course). They don't change. They're always egocentrical, always "look at me, I'm doing this and this, I am that and that, I'm so cool and hardcore".
This is what's happening now. I hadn't felt like crying and curling up in bed (Freud also spoke of curling up in bed as a psychological regression to times when you were a fetus, and your life was so much easier, practically solved) in the longest time ever. But things, bad things, are coming back to me. In just one day.
In just one day, I've skipped back five years. I'm supposed to be looking back on it laughing. But I'm looking back on it and I'm getting a different feeling. A feeling I'd rather bury in my mind. No, not bury...just make it disappear forever.
It's no wonder why The Agression of the Self and I get along very well.
In recesses I was always alone, I had to write in my Theories Of Personality private journal (we must keep one this semester). In recesses I was always alone...my friends were off somewhere else. And my only comfort was the thin red lines along my arms.
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