Katrina Phillips (katrinaeve) wrote,
Katrina Phillips
katrinaeve

anticlimactic

hmmm, 11 months. so there's that.

not very close to God right now. but now feel so far away that i'm scared to make my way back.

i am an extremist. all or nothing. everyone else is right, i *AM* too fucking intense. i'm too intense for myself right now.

i don't want to see or be seen, don't wanna know or be known. feel like a crumpled valentine. just want to go to sleep and sulk for awhile, mmmmmkay?

need some moving mountaintop moment that is not going to happen, because apparently that is not how it works.

i want to begin something new, but i don't know where to start. i feel ready for a change, but tired and lacking the energy for any sort of initiative. also feel really fearful... about making the wrong choices, about not being able to see things through... i never finish things, you know? i am looking back and seeing how much potential and opportunity my life has contained, and i pissed it away, and i feel like i am doing the same thing now as well, to some degree. but it's partly this... ugh. this depression, this drag on me. i have not made my peace with it, and i don't know how to deal with it. it just comes and overpowers me.

sometimes i just feel like saying fuck it. i am *EXTREMELY* frustrated right now. i don't need to be lectured about self-will and this and that. self-knowledge avails us nothing. i don't need more information, even if it's the correct information. i don't need facts, i need for my heart to be touched, i need for my mind to be changed and my heart to be healed, and i've been running like hell from the only One who can do that work, because i am scared and tired and don't wanna feel anymore. i am angry and resentful that not only does this person get to steal the majority of my childhood and adolescence, he also gets to steal hours and days out of my life right now as well, in which i revisit this wound that never seems to heal. to be walked through another piece of my own private hell. I AM FUCKING SICK OF THIS. it is not fair. that may sound childish but i don't care. i get angry when i hear these other women talk about how great their life is now that they are sober. i feel like nothing waits for me on the other side of sobriety other than a long and painful confrontation with all of this shit that i can no longer numb or ignore.

is there no limit to what he gets to take away? i am so angry right now that i am crying and my hands are shaking... i don't care if it sounds crazy, i am so fucking angry that i want to find him and kill him, tie him to a tree and beat him to death with my bare hands. is that crazy? yes. would i actually do it? no. but does it seem like a fitting expression of this rage that is prickling in my veins and on my skin like electricity? mmmmhmmmm... i am a live fucking wire today. better still, it is a day jam-packed full of situations in which i am required to show up, act calm and normal, and even fulfill positions of authority (haha, kids' play! great...."hey kids, today we are going to do interpretive drawings of the word 'EVISCERATE'...") maybe i will call it an early day, skip the meeting. although maybe in this state of mind i should really go to one... but on the other hand, i really don't want to juggle the kids whining through the entire thing. i don't know.

i just want to disappear. i wish that i could clone a zombie-katrina version of myself to go through the motions and fulfill all the obligations and handle everything with aplomb, while i curl up somewhere safe... sometimes i feel like i am not going to make it, or that there is nowhere to make it to. what good is it to be sober if you are still of no use to anyone, mired in a bottomless pit of this shit? with no end in sight. these feelings swallow me whole, and it seems like it will never end, or the feeling that i will never experience even a single moment of happiness... i know that isn't true, but it FEELS so true in moments like this. i can feel his hands around my throat. then there is nothing left of me. everything is dimmed or extinguished in that darkness, where there is only searing pain and hopelessness.

maybe i should call jexo and tell him i need to go home today. A* just came into the gallery and asked how i'm doing, and i started bawling... i couldn't stop it. i don't think i can handle being in public today. fuck, that makes me feel so weak... and how am i going to explain that to jexo? he's cool, i'm sure he'd understand if i said i need a personal day... but then what will i do, go home and cry? what's the point? i may as well stay here and paint the sets white so they're ready/dry for the kids to start painting them on saturday... yeah, painting will probably calm me down. and it gives me an excuse to hide out back in the mantis, and i will leave a note on the door so that people know to come back and ask for help if they want to make a purchase... otherwise, look at the art and go the fuck away. that's a bad attitude, but that's where i'm at today. this is so intense right now. WHEW. deep breaths.
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