barkeep, make mine a flaming narcissist

apologies for the lack of posting lately. i've been *gasp!* doing things. actually, it's been so long since i went out and enjoyed life that it's all a little heady. a few weeks ago i went out with my cousin and some friends. the other night another friend called me up and invited me to go with her to the bagdad to see "office space," since she'd won tickets on the radio to their midnight movie madness. it was a blast.

and i'm learning to crochet! somewhat in the spirit of satori in the name of spaghetti, i decided to just say fuck it, and eat. i've been wanting to learn how to crochet for years and years. once upon a time, my bio-mom bought me a crochet needle and expected me to just know how, or to pick it up elsewhere. over the years, there's either been no time, opportunity, or sometimes people just flaked when they said we'd sit down one afternoon and show me how. so, while at jo-ann's with *cc*, we picked up a cute little kit in the kid's crafts section and i just followed the instructions. i'm a very visual learner, so unless things are spelled out for me in complete detail, i have the damndest time with things. i have to read them over and over, too, to make sure i get what's being said. kids' books, i've found, describe things in a way that i can actually envision things and duplicate them, unlike adult beginner instructional books. sometimes it makes me feel stupid, learning from kids' books and needing as much demonstration as i do, but that's just how i learn.

ironic, i think, since every test in the world says i'm a phenominal word warrior. ah well.

but aside from my normal everyday, and being "crochety," i've been thinking. for the past week or so i've been thinking about composing a letter of...not apology, but ownership. i would address it to those individuals formerly known as the fucktards of the world. unfortunately, fun as that phrase is, continuing to call them that only promotes resentment and hatred, and that goes against the grain of the Funk.

here at iGoddess, we're about rocking into oneness with the Surpreme Funk, not holding onto petty human failings.

anyway, so i would address my letter of ownership to those individuals who had supporting roles last year in my Summer of Funky Kali Love (Who destroys the old so the new may live, remember), simply owning my disease and taking responsibility for my behavior resulting from my codependence. i would apologize for any soul-ache that it may have caused. part of conquering this fucking disease is no longer accepting/believing i am powerless (not just choosing to be powerless, but "knowing" i am as powerless to be autonomous as i am to fly around the room under my own power), and even though i was powerless Then, i am not powerless Now. therefore i will take the power of my destiny and individuality into my own hands, however with power comes responsibility.

part of me is very afraid. even just typing this entry, i have this roiling, sick feeling in my stomach and i'm actually getting liver pains just thinking about it. well, not thinking about the letter, persay, but thinking of their possible reactions. i don't want this to seem like i'm taking responsibility for everything that happened, even unto what other people did, and apologizing for it all. i'll take responsibility for my part, but i also know --being the apocalypticians they are-- they've gone around convinced there's nothing wrong with them and the inner apocalypse is all inside me, that i'm the only one with the problem and they're all fine, dandy, healthy, functional, and not nearly as fallible as i am.

but then...i have to fight and resist the urge to justify myself, to explain, to seek understanding. it's my flaming narcissism that cares about what they think, how they'll react, what they'll believe about me whether it's the truth or not. we here at iGoddess (ha! meaning "me") are firm believers in everyone owning their own truths and creating their own realities. maybe in their reality i'm nothing more than a selfish, conniving, malicious, doomed little pissant, and that truth is as concrete for them as water being wet. it may pain me to know this --it may really pain me-- but i must make a curtsy in respect for their reality and let it be. i know it's an aspect of my codependence to want to control everyone's opinions about me, therefore i must face that part of my inner apocalypse and slay it with love. transform it into a creative expression of the Divine Wow.

but oh, it's hard.

i've spent the better part of this last week composing bits of it in my head. if i write this letter, they're going to think i'm crawling back and kissing their feet and saying i was all wrong and oh, how horrible i was and everything they did to me was justified. nothing could be further from the truth. my flaming narcissism is worried and afraid that's exactly what they'll think, though. the only reason i haven't written that letter yet isn't because of my fear, but because i've been trying to examine what my true feelings are about writing and sending that letter. it's been difficult. my flaming narcissist has been clamoring quite distractingly about it.

it's kind of funny, actually. it's been using every trick in the book: upset stomach, sinking feelings in the solar plexus, headaches, extreme worry, insomnia, chronic heartburn, nightmares... i can almost feel the terror as a palpable thing. silly flaming narcissism... i feel kind of bad for it, though. i mean, where would it be without me to feed it?

yesterday i went with *cc* and my mom to pick up our new dining room table (yay, table!), and mom's jacket smelled just like willow. i caught this whiff of sweet spring and comfortable country home, cozy and comforting. i was filled with missing her. one difference between the delena of my former life and Delena of the Divine Wow is that, before, i would have been filled with remorse and guilt and shame and self-pity and oh, what a horrible person i was, down to the core, to have made such a good friend hate me so terribly.

my poor, mistaken, diseased former self. she can't help who she is. she's been programmed at such an early age, there's just no helping her. she's not a bad person, really, or malicious. it's just that, growing up, fear and extreme levels of emotional and psychological discomfort were her norm and became, in essence, her comfort zone. she's not comfortable unless she's uncomfortable and filled with self-hatred, if that makes any sense. so i pat her on the head and send her off with a hug to go sit in her corner. i slay her with love.

but not Delena of the Funky Ya-Ya. yes, i missed willow. and with each whiff of that carried that willow-scent, i breathed deep and remembered how much i love her...

ah well. spilled milk and all that.

but i think that moment helped me learn a little bit more of how i really feel about things. i've gone my whole life shut off, not knowing how i felt or what i thought about anything. like dizzy told me once, i reminded her of a squirrel because i'd been going through my life, gathering things that might help me get through life the way a squirrel gathers nuts. she's right, though. i've also been gathering people's opinions and feelings and philosophies and fundamental beliefs, trying to graft them onto myself because i didn't know who i was. i was shamed and abused any time i tried, until i finally just shut down inside.

one day here soon i'll find out how i feel, and if writing that letter of ownership is really and truly the right thing to do. i still got some wrestling with my flaming narcissist, though.

maybe i'll make it fun, make it a jello wrestling match. hmm?