beautiful monsters

Proof

The sleep-deprivation has caught up with me. After weeks of insomnia, suddenly I’m sleeping again. Unfortunately, I’m still not sleeping enough at night. But I’m dozing off on buses, and in class, and slumped over my desk. I suppose any sleep is better than no sleep, right? Only right now I feel as though someone has hit me over the head with a sledgehammer. Ouch. And stars.

*

Today is a wildly exciting day at home with Beautiful Monsters. I tidied my office, swept the floors, did my washing, cleaned the kitchen, washed the dishes, answered a few phone messages, and fell asleep no less than three (3) times. Gripping blogging, I know.

While I was cleaning the kitchen I noticed that my flatmate had a huge bag of sultanas from Moore Wilsons, and I grabbed a handful. It took me a moment to realise that I had a handful of chocolate drops. She has FOUR KILOGRAMS of chocolate drops. Or she had. Looks like she’s eaten about two and a half… How is she not fat? (She also goes through five litre tubs of ice cream at an alarming rate).

*

Went to a friend’s house the other night, and watched lots of Buffy (I’m up to the second box of season two – wooo, go me) which involved lots of Willow and Oz cuteness.

Then we watched Proof, an Australian movie starring a young Russell Crowe and Hugo Weaving.

Nurse: "You've been blind all your life!”
Martin: “I know.”
Nurse: “What were you doing driving a car?"
Martin: “I forgot.”

Martin is a blind photographer. Yup, you heard me. He believes that through photos he can prove that the reality he experiences is the same reality that we see. Trouble is he never trusts anyone to describe his photographs to him. Until he meets Andy. Eventually he learns to trust Andy enough to let him describe the photo he has kept locked in a safe for more than 30 years. A photo that will either confirm or deny his lifelong belief that his mother was ashamed of him because he was blind.

I’d never thought about how much you’d have to trust people, if you were blind. By describing Martin’s photographs, Andy became the dictator of what was real to Martin. He could have said anything. I don’t know if I could have trusted someone so much – but I would have asked the questions anyway. I would have felt the same need to know.

I could really relate to Martin’s need for proof. So often I feel that truth and reality is eluding me. However, instead of relying on others to tell me about the world around me, I rely on other people to tell me that I am real, that I am a part of the world.

*

Everyone dissociates from time to time. You know those times when you’re driving? Suddenly you’re pulling into the garage but you don’t actually remember anything about the trip home. You’ve been on autopilot. Part of your mind was focussing on the road, but you were miles away. Or those times when you’re walking home from a party, and you feel totally “out of it.” Or that time when you found out someone had died. It felt as though everyone was so far away - like looking at the world through the wrong end of a telescope - and everything moved slowly. Your feet barely touched the ground.

Well, for some of us dissociation is so frequent or so extreme that it seems we are falling apart. There is no reality to fall back to.

What is it that defines you? What is your self? How do you know that even though your body grows bigger and then older, even though you stop eating fairy bread and develop a taste for wine, even though you stop playing with sand and toy trucks and start dragging yourself along to an office five days a week… you’re still the same person?

*

I have no history, no stable sense of “myself” over time. I am trapped in the present moment. If I am lonely, all I have ever felt is loneliness. If you are angry with me, I feel your anger for an eternity.

My memories are like scattered puzzle pieces that seem to have no connection to each other or to me. They create a fractured image that makes no sense – when I try and pick up the pieces they slip between my fingers, or crumble in my hands.

I am someone different with every person, with every group of friends. I put on different masks in different situations. Sometimes it feels like I am nothing but a collection of masks, and if I were to take them off I would disappear.

You are the mirror in which I can see myself. I know I am real because when you hold me I feel comforted, when you say you care I feel loved. Without you, I am nothing.

Sometimes I feel completely numb. I’m conscious, but I cannot feel anything - like being under anaesthetic. Other times I leave my body, I walk away. I do things that I have no recollection of doing. Sometimes I hurt myself without being aware of it. I worry that one day I will do something drastic and I won’t see it coming.

Who is in my body when I’m not there? Is my body an empty shell, or does someone else take over the controls? Who am I when I leave? Am I a lost soul? A ghost? What about the times when I go so far away I’m not aware of anything. Do I still exist? What if one day I go away and I can’t get back to my body? Will I die, or will I just wander around, lost and lonely? What about the voices that I sometimes hear? Are they part of me, part of my own consciousness? Or are they really coming from someone else?

Looking around my room you’ll see evidence of my frantic attempts to create a sense of my self. On the corkboard by my bed I have letters and print outs of emails from friends, telling me that they care about me, telling me that I am worthwhile. My bookshelf is like a catalogue of things I would like you to know about me. These are the things that are important to me. See? This is the kind of person I am. Please believe that I am real.

Ultimately it is not a healthy or sustainable way to live. My self-esteem is defined by my interactions with other people. If someone is angry with me, then I am a worthless and horrible person. If someone praises me then I am a worthwhile person. But as soon as I have a new interaction, everything changes.

*

All of this makes the ending of my writing course seem almost unbearable. For twelve weeks I have had something stable to hold onto. I have had twelve wonderful women who have made me feel supported and valuable. My sense of myself has been stronger. I am someone who writes. I am someone who is a part of this group.

I always find endings so painful. When I am with someone I feel more alive, but as soon as they leave I feel empty. When people are not with me I do not feel their love and support, and I cease to exist.

I find it so hard to let go.

*

That’s why I check my email every two minutes - I’m searching for proof that I am real.

That’s why as soon as I hang up the phone I want to call you again – I want to recreate the warmth I felt talking to you, I want to prove that it was real.

That’s why I want you to hold me – to keep me from falling apart.

Posted by Fionnaigh at June 3, 2003 11:01 PM