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Accio stress relief and how life is sort of like polyjuice when it comes down to it

September 10, 2013

i should be sleeping. But as seems to be normal these days, my mind is having problems shutting down.

 

i’ve had a headache for too long. Long enough to make me worry about having to visit the neurologist all over again. i don’t have the time or money for that. i don’t want to be poked and prodded and filled with radioactive liquid or have to wash the glue out of my hair from the sensors all over again. The likelihood is that this is from stress. i’ve been trying to remain unstressed and not worried about things.

 

i am terrible at this.

 

Last night i sobbed after getting to the chapter in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, you know the one. And i actually felt some relief. Like i was finally releasing some of the pressure that was building. i did it all over again tonight while watching the movie and it didn’t help, so that glimmer of hope went down the drain. But i admit, going back to Hogwarts in print and film brings me some solace. i feel such a connection to it all that i can actually imagine not being alone in the world.

 

That sounds more grim than it is. i know i’m not alone in the world. i have remarkable friends. They are like my patronus. But it doesn’t mean that sometimes, even a lot of times, i don’t feel like i’m wearing a horcrux that is sucking all of the good warm thoughts and feelings out and leaving me to see the world and the people around me as less than what they really are.

 

And that’s sad really. Because we all do that. We all feel like that sometimes. And it puts us in this position of being and acting guarded even when we might not need to be. The other day i read an exchange on facebook, it was mostly between one family, one member of which i consider to be a friend. (i would like to say good friend here and maybe they would allow that but it has been so long and i take responsibility for that. Though judging by recent exchanges i know my friendship towards this person have only grown with time.) Now this conversation was one i felt like i was eavesdropping on but it was shared so i tried not to feel too bad. But as i read i felt worse and worse, not because i felt like i shouldn’t be reading these words but because i didn’t know about so much of it. There was so much there that i was completely blind to. And i thought back to high school when i met this person and how much fun we had and how i counted on her, maybe even depended on, for a smile at times when i didn’t think i would be able to find one. And strength when i lost mine. But i realize now how little we both knew about one another. We both saw what we wanted the other to see or perhaps what we wanted to see in the other.

 

Now maybe this was an unconscious and mutual decision. Maybe we both had so much darkness that we needed to find the light in each other instead of sharing and possibly feeding off the dark. Or maybe we were so trapped in our darkness that we didn’t realize how much help or support we could have been to one another. i can’t go back in time so i’ll never know the real answer. But i do know that i continue to do this. i break little pieces off and offer them to people, while never handing them a whole me. i am terrified to give them more. i feel like if i don’t give them everything – and this goes for even my very closest friends- that i can’t completely fall apart and be destroyed by it.

 

How scary is that? i sound like Voldemort. Like i’m splitting myself into pieces so that i can’t be killed. And in an essence that’s exactly it. i am like him. i hate that about myself. i hate being scared of love and friendship and connection. Now i would never use that fear the way he did. But maybe the way Snape did and that’s just as bad. i don’t want to play a part that forces me to mask everything that is inside me good or bad until the very end.

 

It’s one step at a time even if that step is backwards. Everything is just one thing at a time and that seems a lot easier to tackle than the whole world.

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