Figuring it out

This blog is by nature about my relationships - as pathetic, fleeting, heartbreaking, glorious, fun, irresponsible, well-intentioned, sad, sexy, or otherwise, they have been. And sometimes its been a combination of the above! It ain't called LOVE & Mental Illness for nothin'!

I'm not going to write about my career (or lack thereof!), my friends and family (only vaguely and on rare occasions because I want to be respectful), politics, art, my hobbies, or other personal issues. But it IS about dating and sex and love and all those things in between.

Life is not always pretty or practical and I make lots of bad choices, but writing this is like keeping a journal; its cathartic. Writing down my thoughts helps me to clarify them. Why do I do it in a public forum? I'm not sure. Maybe to feel that I'm not alone in all this, maybe because I hope someone else can relate, maybe because I'm delusional and I think for some strange reason a couple people might get a vicarious thrill or derive some amusement from these stories and anecdotes.

Its also about my relationship with New York City, my relationship with myself and my patterns of behavior. I'd like to say that I'm learning a lot and growing wiser and more mature but that's not always true - sometimes I totally fuck up and engage in completely ridiculous behavior. But someday in the distant future I hope I can read over all this and it will make some kind of sense. Until then, the madness ebbs and flows...

Today was a good day

I didn't even have to use my AK...

I haven't been in the greatest mood lately. Truth be told, I've been just a touch angry.
OK...OK...I've been in a bitter, scathing rage. The kind of rage that let's me walk down the street not caring if I live for die; the kind of rage that makes me fantasize about tying certain men's balls in knots, the kind of rage that makes me want to kick random people and yell at babies, the kind of rage that makes me explode to my therapist that there's 'just too many fucking people in this city!!!'
It gives me a sliver of empathy for people who freak out and commit violent acts. I'm not condoning violence, nor am I going to lose my $hit, but I can kinda see where they're coming from.

I won't go into WHY I'm angry, that's too deep and personal to really take the time to articulate here but suffice to say that I haven't been feeling the greatest about things.

Anyway, what I finally realized today is that I have to stop playing these foolish games with men. The men I've met in NYC are trifling, at best. To spent time with them is to waste my time. No one has shown a sincere interest in me in ages. So in the spirit of not beating a dead horse, I need to let it (the search for love and companionship), let THEM go... Truth be told, I'm not gonna miss anyone that much!

I need to come to terms with the fact (and here's where it gets kinda deep, and scary too) that I'm scared I can't take care of myself, let alone anyone else. I really, really want to try but I'm terrified of the responsibility of having a family - or even a pet - and all those other things that most people just seem to be able to do without overanalyzing them to death. It might sound dumb, or heartless or self indulgent. But I'm scared of making mistakes and hurting people.

I guess the reality is we all hurt people and other living creatures, even if we try not to. The best we can do is bring a little awareness to the table and try to minimize the damage we do. I just gotta take the plunge. And maybe sometimes its OK for me to be angry. It might even be OK for me to be a bitch, on occasion. Hey, that sounds fun!

After therapy I ate an ice cream and sat in Central Park. I watched a squirrel drink from a puddle and little birds bathe in it. I watched the pedicabs roll by full of tourists gesticulating to the building tops of Columbus Circle, barely visible over the trees. I looked at the sad horses towing ramshackle old carts, their heads topped with tattered feathers in a fake attempt at jauntiness. I watched the cart drivers cluck to their horses and the pedicab drivers' rhythmically pumping calves. I think most of them were from other countries. I tried to imagine their dreams when they came here to New York, their struggles and goals, the families they left behind.

After a while everything didn't seem so bad.