Diary: The Plasticity of Adolescent Shame
October 15, 2004
I feel as if the cocoon that I have built has turned into a sarcophagus suffocating me with delusion. I beg:
Am I true? Is anything that I say or do real? Have I ever actually felt or just acted out the motions? What am I I protecting myself from? Where am I trying to go- what am I attempting to achieve?
I rile others to be exposed, yet I am terrified of being so. The poet's heart but none of the grit. What does it mean, what does it unequivocally mean? So many ideas of life as we “know” it that I cannot even conceive. How am I going to be able to do this… Often, I feel as if I am in one of those dreams where you try to scream, but no sound resonates. When I am asleep and dreaming, I am stuck with such paralyzing terror and horror that I do not know what is worse: the dream I live in or the dreams in which I involuntarily conjure. I do not even have dreams about him yet, strangely.
I do not know if any of this means there is impending slumber suffocation or haunting or that my brain is attempting to let me know that it does not want to operate on the sole purpose of hurting me. I would rather have dreams of monsters chasing me than the unknown wilderness of crippling emotional entrapment each night. Where is the relief? I think it is that I do not deserve assistance. I am not concerned if that is cruel to myself. A part of me believes that the art of necessary punishment and ultimate damning for indiscretions is quite archaic. However, life is just one long bout of consequences, good and bad. If I choose to wallow, that will lead to no higher ground yet if I do not digest my actions vis-à-vis my emotions, where will I go? I mustn’t pillage anything else. I am terrified.
Being reminded of the lies I have told and tell is like being induced by the most painful barbiturate. I do not know that person. I want to run away just like the others before me. Plagued by an unsavory, malignant taste in my mouth.
I hope that I am a sort of unpolished silver; with the right amount of patience, attention, and determination I can be as I am supposed to be.
I am compulsive. My neurons fire from the recesses of my brain that otherwise should not exist. What a joy it would be to change the plasticity of those throbbing lobes. I must uncover and resuscitate that happiness. Quit the Jekyll and Hyde tug-o-war. I so desperately crave a kind of love and attention that must be earned not just given yet I keep expecting it. I have made myself aware that my compulsions in all of their respects must be laid to rest. Otherwise, I may never actually experience anything true in my life. Appearances are much different than actualities. A true reality must be created not projected. Lies get you nowhere even the white ones.
Disloyalty only brings shame. Most of us find it excruciating to be forthright yet only later will you look like an utter imbecile for initiating the aftermath. We protect nothing when we do that.