The Alphabet of Regret: D is for Dirt Daubing

I was the life of everyone’s parties, wry and funny, self-assured and expansive. I strove to include, to uplift, to engage. When I was in their company, no one was allowed to be left out. I never sought my social footing in any group. I was happy and secure; I can assure you with unflinching honesty that is not some wishful construct of my very healthy imagination.

In the here and now, though, it’s merely an act. I am busy redirecting attentions so that the more savvy among your number won’t see my Truth.  For instance, I will show you my insane so you won’t see my stupid. I will crack wise so you won’t catch my pain.

If my ribcage is seized with laughter, maybe you won’t be inclined to notice that my heart is just a bloom of bruise in my chest.

I don’t exactly know when this happened, when I started mingling the sweat of my own fear with the soil of every potential hurt. I couldn’t necessarily even tell you when I began daubing this not-quite-mud on myself; I just know that beneath its many layers I’m not feeling the satisfaction of insularity that I once thought I would.

It seems I have caused myself the greatest harm by trying to protect myself from hurt at the hands of others. For every single emotional encroachment or mental barb someone might chance to conceive, I have manufactured a dozen with which to punish myself. In fact, I have become so adept at self-punishment that I have now reached the point wherein my brain --with a greater and greater frequency as of late-- just up and betrays me.

It’s as if there is always a great hand hovering above my head, one which often takes a notion to lovingly stroke my hair. It then gently rests its palm on my crown, tempting me into the romance of sadness. As I relent (and when it’s too late), I realize that there is more to this scenario than a gentle moroseness and quiet, rocking melancholy.

My realization sets the hand in motion and now there are claws being dug deeply into my frontal lobe; they rake with purpose across my brain, deep fissures of burbling infection being crafted even as I am steeped in awareness.

Each time this occurs slivers of bone populate the valleys that have been carved into the tender places…places which had no business being laid open to the stagnant air that whispers across them. I’ve begun to anticipate a time when I will be composed solely of that darkness which resides at my center, because it has started pulsing steadily outward. I have to do something now, before I have forgotten completely that I should be terrified at the prospect of reaching the center of Nothing.

I’ve told you the machinations of how I came to be my own worst enemy. My question to you now is ‘How then do I stop?'

Comments

[Kevin (Always Home and Uncool)]

Our social facades crumble from the inside out.

[TwoBusy]

Goddamn.

This is both gorgeous and terrible -- this pervasive and unnervingly recognizable sense of infection and hidden rot. Of infestation.

Wow.

On an unrelated note: "my heart is just a bloom of bruise in my chest" may be my favorite thing ever.

[Justin]

You want people to understand? Use less symbolism

[Jett]

I assume that by 'symbolism' you meant 'fancypants words'. I tried that, Justin, but when I submitted an entry like this:

"Depression and self-loathing sucks. Help me."

the editorial powers that be frowned on it.

I wish you'd just rewrite the whole thing and show me how it's done. Thanks!

[Mr Lady]

Um.

Er.

What Twobusy said, like, exactly.

[foradifferentkindofgirl (fadkog)]

Less symbolism? Really? I feel like I can see and touch and hear "my heart is just a bloom of bruise in my chest," and wow...

Not only do I love that (LOVE THAT), I could see that as a title of an old school Smashing Pumpkins release.

Love. My bruised heart LOVES this.

[Jett]

HA, fadkog, I nearly appended the entry with the video to 'Disarm'....hand to God.

[Charlie]

This is so fucking good.

Justin - How's this for symbolism - You're a worm who needs a lesson in manners. If'n you want, I could give you a crash course in How Not to Be a Dick 101. Lemme know.

[mommymae]

pretty and ugly at the same time, ya know? i really have no words of wisdom. i just know, for me, it doesn't do me any good to get down on myself, so i just don't do it. i move on and make the next moment, minute, hour, day better. dwelling on the shit never gets the commode clean.

[Kevin (Always Home and Uncool)]

Hey, Justin. Here's a symbol for you:

..!..

That's me flipping you the bird.

[Holmes]

This is the best description of being your own worst enemy I've ever read. Just awesome.

[Palinode]

Exactly.

[Homemaker Man]

Hi. I third (fourth?) the "bloom of bruise." Pretty cool image. Popped right into my head. Also the "slivers of bone."

[Skye]

From the heart of one who's known the journey down, just know the journey back is worth the effort. You nailed this one, Jett.

[ms picket to you]

I've read this three times and still can't find the right words...

But I do hate it when that punk from N'Sync gets all judgy.

Jett -- thanks for this.