18.5.2000 (This should be a private ramble, probably (I didn't think of putting it here when I wrote it). It's written in reference to this entry.)

Um. I want to say it. But I'm scared. I got scared because I thought I had nothing to say, actually. The correction I wanted to make was useless (it felt useless, surely it doesn't matter). It doesn't need to be done, that's certain. I did a check on icq logs. I found out I hadn't said the exact thing I had thought I said. My memory distorts things, usually to the worse direction. I don't know why there was such a strong urge to correct it. I wasn't sure about if what I said had been right or wrong. I didn't know if I thought so. And when I thought of it, it seemed like I had said the completely wrong thing. Especially because I remembered it wrong. I don't know why it bothered me. Just that, nothing else.

It's just… not cheer up. Not. There's something else to it. Something I can't grasp.
I feel like a horrid thing. Not so long ago I felt physically ill for some time for something I had said earlier on icq. I feel like a failure. I felt like a failure. He's so nice to me. I like the words he writes (and I wish that would work out like that irl too, but he's more than words). I'm ashamed. I feel like I made such a big fuss over nothing. But there was something I wanted to say. And the point of that one entry was that I was inable to say it then. And it was completely out of proportion then, that's why I felt so anxious. It was terrible. And in a way it was so… I don't know what. Empty, almost. It was empty. It feels odd now. I feel like a hypocrite now. I feel like a melodramatic bitch and worst of all I feel ashamed. I don't want to say anything anymore. Because there's nothing to say. Anymore. And it makes me think of all the times I start a sentence and then stop it in the middle because I realize I have nothing to say and everyone hates me for doing that. They think it's the most annoying, frustrating thing ever. I feel small. I feel odd. I feel… like I had disappointed everyone again. He said that it's ok. I'd just like to forget the whole fucking thing. But it's the first… mistake I've made, if you can call it that. What if it'll cause something… I don't know. I'm afraid. I don't know what to do. I feel trivial, it's trivial, I feel guilty for making such a fuss over it. I don't know what I'd want to do. I don't know what I'd want to say.

What I thought I'd say: "I said it wrong. Your entries don't cheer me up. They… move me. It's weird to feel something. I guess that's the part that cheers me up, if anything.
Your entries (at least some of them) make me feel like something moved inside me. There's no emotion, it's like something literally moved inside me, like an organ changed place for a second. I don't quite know how to explain it because it there isn't a proper word for it. However, it makes me feel different, more clear-headed.
This doesn't happen often and it's possibly the reason I ever bothered to contact you. This has been bothering me because saying your entries cheer me up feels (and felt) wrong but it was all I could manage (because I can't be really introspective during an icq-conversation." This was how I orginally wrote it down on May, 14th 2000 (with plans to modify it a bit though).

Then the writing part terrified me. The thought of sending that terrified me. I still don't know why. I thought I'd adjust it. I knew it probably wasn't at all important, but it felt like it when I wrote it (and then I still wasn't sure if I'd send it). It bothered me. But the reaction I had was still a surprise. That's why I rambled about it in the entry. I don't have that so often. I really couldn't even think of writing an e-mail about this, or anything else, to him. I probably opened the eudoramail but then I couldn't continue. The important thing wasn't the fact that I had something to say but that I had no way of saying it. What he writes also makes me feel blue. There's a certain shade of blue. It's sad but it isn't that kind of painful sadness. It's more like melancholy. That kind of thing that makes me want to hug people. And they also make me want to compose an answer. They're that kind of stuff I want to say something to but I don't quite know what. Like I don't quite know what to say about this. I'll probably forward this rant to him. It might be understandable. I don't know how to say it otherwise.
Four kbs. I think I'll have to delete some of it. Some of it isn't important. I doubt anything is. But I feel like I owe an explanation. Am I doing this only because I feel guilty? I don't know. Do I owe anything to anyone?
I don't think so, actually. All this (internet life) is done by mutual agreement. So if I send it just because I feel guilty, is it right? Should I not send it? Because I'd only send it to feel better about myself, which is a selfish act. Are there any other kind of acts? Is there anything that isn't selfish?

Is it wrong because/if it's selfish? Does it harm him? No. It shouldn't, at least. It might bore him. Is boring people equal to harming them? (No.) So the reason I don't send it is because I'm afraid I look like a fuckhead? Yes. Probably. Was that the original reason for not sending it?

No. Actually. I don't think so. The original reason was that I was afraid I'd annoy him. Probably. It was selfish though. There was a want to e-mail someone (him). Why?
Because he made me feel better. He talked to me. I felt stupid. I liked the thought of e-mailing him and it was the only thing I could think of saying? No. It wasn't that. I wanted to say it. I needed to make it clear to myself why I liked reading what he wrote. There's a need to be accurate. Perfectionism, perhaps. If I say the wrong thing, I need to correct it. However trivial it was. If I don't, that means I am a defect person. However, if I e-mail a correction, that means admitting I'm a defect person. If I admit to cool people I am defect, they'll hate me. Back to this once again. If I'm stupid, I get laughed at. Getting laughed at hurts. It makes me cry. That makes them laugh harder. That makes me hurt more because I feel worse because I can't even control myself. Then there's the fact, I shouldn't feel that way, it's unfair to think they're evil. They aren't evil. I like them. But I also liked my sister. And she was good at making me cry. And I did like my parents, at first. I think most kids do. Then they made me cry too. More than once. (Of course this probably wouldn't happen in this case but it's the worst possible outcome I can think of. I'm afraid of the possibility, flashbacks. Irrational phobia that has nothing to do with reality. [And in this case I couldn't get the reality back into its place.])

I want to do it, but it makes me afraid. Being afraid makes me panic. Panic comes from the fact that I know being afraid means I'm vulnerable. How could I say anything that'd put me into that position? There's no reason to risk it. Except that I want to, because it bothers me. And then there's the counter-charges. The ones that say I'm irrational. And I know I am. I know it's not fair. I know it makes people feel bad. So I shouldn't be anxious. And that makes me more anxious. I'm stupid enough to want to say something that's probably absolutely trivial to everyone and just makes them either annoyed and/or bored because I bother them and then I'm even more stupid by being afraid of the people I absolutely shouldn't be afraid of. There's irrational fear. I'm too weak to control it. I feel it and I obey it. I can't break free from it. It's stupid, I know it has to be, because I'm stupid. People laugh at my fears, they tell me I'll get over it. They tell me I need to try just a little bit harder and I can make it. But I can't. I try but I don't stretch anymore. I can't make it. I don't want to make it. I failed. I think I should've tried harder, I should've wanted it more. I was a failure because I couldn't stop being afraid. How can I write anyone about anything? I'm a failure. There's lots of self-loathing. Hatred. Frustration. Fear. "I'm stupid. I don't want to be stupid. If I just were a better person I could be like everyone else. But I'm stupid and lazy and I don't want it enough. That's proven because I always fail." There's this. If you can't climb to the tree, you won't climb there. No matter how much you might want it, you don't if you can't. No one will give you a hand. That isn't allowed. A dumb kid is a dumb kid is a dumb kid. However much they grow up. (And dumb kids shouldn't bother beautiful people with dumb stuff.)

Am I hard on myself? The shrink said I was. I'm still not sure.

Index.