20 Years of Wondering: a different kind of journal excerpt

April 26, 2008 at 3:06 pm Leave a comment

I wonder if I’ll be in this house 2 months from now. I am so scared. I need a shoulder to cry on. I am so upset, I don’t know what to think.

I wonder if there is so much to sex after all.

I wonder what’s wrong with me – why I ask for so much. He didn’t say much.

I wonder what her first impression was. I’ve been dying all day long to gorge and puke, and it’s been really hard, because Mom’s been around constantly – watching everything I eat, and so suspiciously!

I was just talking to Mom, and said that I wonder if Desmond is attracted to me.

Mom said she doesn’t agree with all I say, but has faith because I believe in me. I wonder what I wrote to spark that off?

I wonder if people still know right away that I’m a foreigner.

I wonder what expression I have on my face when I pass a bum/beggar and pretend not to notice?

I wonder if there’s something lacking in my diet? Maybe it’s simply a lack of sleep.

I’ve been in the tunnel for so long – I wonder if there really is a light? I keep thinking I see it – but it’s only an illusion, or perhaps a crack in the roof – because darkness sweeps over me again and still again to successfully obliterate any gleam of light or hope. There is none. I am destined to struggle. To be scared, miserable and sad. Oh, so lonely.

I wonder if everyone has gone through this? Ah, the ultimate of inner peace – unplug the fucking phone. There is so much pressure, so much bother, I need to get out of it. Fear – what if I’m really stupid? I am a fuck-up and nobody knows it yet?

Young people at Jim Morrison’s grave – I wonder if they hang out there every day? One guy had a guitar and was playing unusual, soothing, music.

At one point, he said something about my health being good. I wonder if he knew.

I wonder about Doug. Mom said if we’re meant to be in love, it’ll take many years. I believe that.

Funny, when the idea of OA first came, I wondered what to do until it was time to go. And now, the meeting has already begun.

It really is so different from anything I’ve ever known – that in itself scares me sometimes, as I wonder if it’s really true – really happening.

I wonder if it’s because I’ve stopped smoking? It really is strange. But then, there are so many possibilities – strange air in the new office, the bus ride. Maybe it’s the cockroaches. They keep multiplying and I’m feeling defeated.

Feel so young and stupid. At times like this I wonder if it hasn’t been frozen – a  Polaroid shot that’s taken 5 years to develop – of stupid adolescence. Need something to wake me up. Pushing hard to open eyes. And, God, that’s why I started this letter.

When I got here, my travel bag was on the floor. I wondered where I’d been, since I must have just got back from somewhere far away. But the light was on – and I heard a moan. Goldilocks (Stacey) caught in the act – in bed with her boots on. She ate too much porridge, and fell asleep.

Such a strong feeling of being in love on the one hand, while on the other I wonder how I would ever get out of here.

Maybe I should rethink it anyway? I wonder if it might not be such a bad idea to take it easy now – take the time to build up my strength?

It all seems so harmless, but then I wonder. I’m 24 – not 10 – so it sounds strange to think I’m going to see him to play – but that’s the way I feel.

I wonder if maybe I’m too busy comparing instead of making an effort. Observed us tonight – when I’m not so bitter, it is also fun.

At times I still can’t believe he loves me so much, then I wonder why, and wonder if I should hold on to him? That implies the fear of not being loved again – very improbable.

Probably right – comfort is NOT a good reason to get married. More and more, I wonder what a “good” reason could be – other than children. (And is that really good?)

I wonder if the bulimia is the reason behind the cramps all those years. As far as I can remember, I didn’t have cramps in the very beginning. I’m sure the psyche also played an important role, but the constant nutritional deprivation was surely a major factor. Was functioning for so long on so little energy.

The change bothers me – and I wonder if the focus on sex is a means of avoiding shyness and openness to love.

Creativity in life – as I please, how I choose – don’t have to prove anything, or provide evidence of worthy existence. I’m here. And I wonder how it all came to be. How we all got to be as we are, why, how different we all are from each other. Or is the actual difference less than the varying degrees of courage of expression? Still trapped, not kidding anybody. But working towards at least a taste of that luxurious creative freedom of life – of days gone by.

I wonder if I chose a similarly difficult marriage to that of my parents, in order to prove that divorce is not necessary. I also wonder if I chose someone to whom I could never totally give my heart – as a protective mechanism. I’ve always secretly hoped that he would leave me, since we are so incompatible. But, not wanting to abandon someone, I never had the heart to leave him. Yet I am so grateful to him. I wonder if things had to be so difficult so that I could enjoy my present life as much as I now do.

We’ve made so many mistakes, had so many critical misunderstandings. Sometimes I wonder if the damage done is too destructive to be corrected. Then I feel helpless, like we’re doomed, stuck together with no way out and no way to improve the situation.

I wondered why he asked – did he feel guilty or what. I said he’s free and doesn’t have to feel responsible for keeping me busy. If he’s out having fun, that’s fine.

I wonder if something else happened as well, although that really was traumatic enough.

From a distance, I wonder if it will really help. It certainly was a help last year – and towards the end it felt like I was just beginning to open up. My gut feeling is – therapy would be good.

I wonder if my hurt soul didn’t need that more than stage lights.


Contrary to habit, I am NOT going to explain this! Thank you.

Entry filed under: My book, Poetry. Tags: , , , .

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