I ache. It feels as though a current of electricity is moving through me. I cannot touch anything to let it go out of me. It resides within and will not go. How I ache for someone to put their arms around me and accept me. That is all. To not feel as though I am less than they want. To not feel as though I am not making them feel proud. To feel as though I can simply be and laugh and hurt and sing and cry and for her to accept that… to accept me.
I know I have some friends who would do this. I love you all. But it is not the same. It is not a ‘her’ doing it. It is not someone to who I can give my heart to without fear of them throwing it away from revulsion or because it was lacking.
For some reason I return to the opening page of a recent journal project I had to turn in for a class. I don’t know why… but I suppose that the last sentence is the most telling.
This was supposed to be a reading journal filled with our responses to the poetry, stories, and handouts given in class. Of the roughly ninety-four pages roughly four of them are the hoped-for reading journal. The other ninety-one or so are for my own needs. While I hope to pass this class, I have received so much more from this class than a mark in my academic record. I do not care as much as I should about such things as grades. I am more interested in breathing… and breathing well.
I began this class at the same time as I also began regular counseling concerning matters of war, relationships, personal issues, such as sacrifice and self worth, while at the same time continuing a pledge taken for the gods during the Autumn Equinox to venture forth into the Cthonic realm in for understanding, as well as my choosing a rather large volume of Jungian psychology to read and present a book report on in another class. All of these things are, as usual in events in my life, connected. They have had a positive or negative, depending on how you look at it, effect on this journal.
I have grown a lot in the last three months. I’ve come to terms and have opened hurts. This journal, while perhaps a failure for class, was an attempt by me to present the ideas, feelings, histories, drives, ambitions, fears, and so forth, into one spot. I have family that does not understand why I signed up to go overseas. I have a new romantic interest that does not understand why I did so as well. I have coworkers that have no idea why I almost choked the shit out of guy who played a joke by sneaking up on me and grabbing me by the neck. I have to explain to people why I startle easily and why I get so angry at it. I have emotions from unknown chambers that puzzle me. All of this and more are questions that I hoped to give insight by this journal.
This is not a reading journal… it is an attempt to understand myself and to, hopefully, let others who love me understand me as well. There is nothing in here that I am not willing to share with anyone else. I can imagine some military brass, religious people, intellectuals, social activists, and so forth, getting angry with me. Deal with it. I tried to be honest as I could. I contradict myself, I change myself… but what I hope is evident is that in the changes there is growth. Growth of soul and human intellect (as different from the pure cold reason of philosophers) is more important than being consistent in thought and behavior throughout one’s life. To the best of my knowledge the ku Klux klan has been consistent in their beliefs yet no more ignorant and pathetic of an organization can I name off the top of my head. Yes… I could, but I wont.
There is cursing in this journal. There are pictures of blood. There are pictures that one might not want to see. I did not place gore in here for shock value. I kept out pictures that many want to see out of morbid curiosity.
Thank you for the opportunity in making this. It has been a needed activity for me.
I hope to print out another one of these and send to my family in Mississippi/Arkansas so that they know what their ‘black sheep’ thinks and feels. Perhaps I’ll keep one on hand for any future girlfriend to look through with the hopes of easing her mind that I am not a monster.