Wednesday, March 17, 2010

The Carnival Was Here

the house itself is barely there, concealed above the street
the garden hovers behind, a shy child in his mother's skirt
and while the wild festival weekend of drums and feasting
begins to politely take its leave of us
in perfumed shades of blues, greens, and purples
priests and acolytes gather in a garden that floats over the alley
and suffuse it in the haze of a holy rite

the herbs dance haphazardly around the ring
glancing over the spindly ironwork
that suspends us all in the least of likely corners
and dusts the faces of the congregated with the intimacy
of an open secret
sanctifying and sacred

we palace children exulting in privilege
embroider the evening in song and lace it with laughter
insolently entreating the festival to remain an hour more
and though we cannot keep her from slipping demurely away
she consents to tag the gathered pilgrims with a kiss

Sunday, March 07, 2010

A Friend In Need

So I've come to an odd realization about myself. And that realization is, there are certain things I don't talk to anyone about. This may not seem like a strange realization, but one has to consider the following things: 1) that I come from an extremely verbal family, in which everyone is more or less accustomed to saying pretty much whatever is on their mind, as loudly and verbosely as they can, usually everyone at once. 2)that I am and have always been an intensely introspective person, hyper-self-analytical and self-aware 3)that there is a predominant impression in American culture (especially among girls) that friends are there for you to talk to, people to whom you can go with your problems for advice.

I did not realize this about myself until a few things pointed it out to me recently. The first was when my therapist asked me if there is anyone I talk to about my depression. And I realized, not really. Which is to say I have told several people of my issues and had discussions about it, but more in the "hey, you're a close friend of mine and we keep each other posted on stuff, so this is maybe something you should know - just a head's-up" kind of way. Not like we have regular discussions on the topic but more importantly what my therapist was asking me was this: when you are having an episode is there anyone you can go to to help talk you through it? And the answer to that was a decided no. Not ever. At all. Well, when it got really bad at home I would go cry on my parents' shoulders, and that was extremely comforting and helpful. But described in avid detail, told them exactly what was going on in my head? Not ever. At all. Until recently, when I started to realize I should maybe talk to someone. And then I went to a therapist. So.

The second circumstance happened with a gentleman friend of mine. I mentioned something about seeing a therapist and he said "Huh. I always thought that was what friends were for, and why pay someone for that?" He also offered to listen if I wanted to talk about it, which was sweet but no, for a number of reasons, I absolutely did not.

I do remember a time, before and during high school I guess, when I believed in that theory of things. And I got to wondering how that changed and why. I don't know. But I do know that I don't believe in it anymore. Friends are busy. They are also not trained psychologists (anyway most of them aren't) which means that they can't actually give you clinically useful advice. Why would you burden them for hours on end with problems they can't do anything to solve? I know that in theory sometimes just getting things off your chest is useful, but that has never seemed to be the case with me. After I talk about things that upset me, I am upset. And now I have made someone else worried about me, and senselessly since they can't do anything about it. So essentially, talking about it just seemed to make everything worse.

So then I thought, well, maybe I should blog about it. Not that many people read this anyway (really almost no one I think) so I wouldn't be burdening anyone and it's a good forum for getting things off my chest. But I do run into some of the same issues here, namely writing about it makes me deal with it. Which of course I don't necessarily want to do. It's easier to ignore it, distract myself with something else, and hope it goes away in the meantime. But that hasn't proven an especially effective tool thus far. Also.... really it's not bloggable stuff. Stuff for a horror film, yes. Stuff for a blog, not so much. (I have also come to the realization that I might be able to exorcise some of this by putting it in a horror movie. Which is ironic and disturbing because I hate horror films and always have.)

Ok that's enough for now. To be continued. Maybe.