the struggle continues, some days i have hope, other days i feel total despair, but i have to say thank you to everyone who reads what i write, writes things that make me think, helps me hold on
the anger and frustration with politics, divorce stuff, and my disgust with humanity in general is still here, but there are also brilliant, wonderful people, writing, art, music, science, etc that elicit a wow, a smile, a giggle or even make me cry but not in a bad way and i should talk about that more often
i tend to dump fun/cool things into twitter or take a quick note to refer to later, but today i want to write a bit more about some of these ideas and where they fit in my thoughts, and because writing sometimes helps me remember
a quote from brightlotusmoon I don't care, I am not my pain, my pain is not my life.
, and a few tweets I figured it out. It is about chasing your dreams... That is how dancing saves us.
and If I let someone else's douchbaggery keep me from doing the things I love, then they win.
and "Think of pain as weakness leaving the body."
are all good reminders for me
said The soul needs feeding with friends, music, culture, fun etc. Without it chronic pain is worse and we (who have it) lose the desire to fight for out health and our lives. When chronic pain is in your life, you really have to struggle to find a reason to get out of bed. Friends and good times can make all the difference in the world.
I used to say, I am going to hurt, even if I am in bed, so I might as well do the things I can do.
I know people don't get it, but you can have fun even when you hurt, you can have a social life when a normal 9-5 job is difficult to maintain. You still get to have a social life if part of it is sleeping on a couch in a club.
but then, i read this after rm
recommended it (note: nsfw, gay & straight sex, polyamory, language; also Jack is more-or-less immortal for those who don't know Torchwood) http://amand-r.livejournal.com/401160.html
- and couldn't stop crying when i got to this (snips from part seven - this part is worksafe) Jack rubs the bottle across his forehead, then glances out at the lights of the air tower that had been built last year to ward off low flying planes, the tower whose lights flicker red, on and off. Red for danger. 'Sometimes I want to forget,' he says, apropos of nothing, or something. 'When it happens, I wake up and I think, "I would really like to not remember that".' He smiles at Ianto. 'I've lost count with it all, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. When did I stop counting?'
'I don't know. Memories are important,' Ianto says, 'but maybe some things are made to be forgotten.'
Jack frowns at his bottle then, turning it on the table. 'It's funny, all the memories I erase for other people, and I can't even manage to hold onto the ones I want to remember.'
Ianto makes a concerted effort to drink a large portion of his beer before asking the next obvious question. 'Why would you want to remember them, then? All those deaths?'
'They're all I have,' Jack says.
Now he does have to roll his eyes. 'Oh, please, bullshite,' he moans, and makes a wanking gesture with his hand. 'Tell me more, Captain Jack Melodrama.'
Jack's mouth quirks a little, but he doesn't look at Ianto. 'That wasn't what I meant. They're the only constant.'
Jack looks at him. 'Don't you ever worry about not remembering things?'
Ianto cannot answer that, because he has a whole swath of memories that he would like to forget. Or maybe those memories make him what he is. They are painful, and he realises upon thinking about them...
that he couldn't trade them because they make him who he is in some ways.
That is capitulating, then. 'I suppose then, that yes…' he says to Jack, fading away when he realises what Jack is driving at. 'In some way yes, memory is identity-forming.' He has yet to understand what this has to do with Jack being upset that he cannot remember how many times he's been electrocuted or drowned like a kitten. Or they could just be speaking hypothetically. He looks at his second beer with doubt; they aren't that strong.
'It's all we have,' Jack says then, his eyes looking at the sky, almost dancing across the stars as if he is counting them, making sure they are all there. 'Even me. I might live forever, right?' Ianto hears the edge in his voice, it's almost like a laugh. 'But how long can I hold a memory? When I don't remember it might as well have not happened.'
Ianto rests his chin on his hand and stares at the lights out on the horizon: red, red, red, red. 'That's comforting.'
Jack snorts. 'I'm terrified.' He sits forward and turns the bottle in his hand. 'There. I said it. I'm fucking terrified.' The cuss lands like a slap, because Jack doesn't use them.
the story has a mostly happy ending, because pain and loss and terror isn't all there is for these characters, there are also lovers and friends and fun and work
the point being that i guess if someone who is immortal is afraid of losing part of himself when he doesn't remember things then i can be afraid too, but i need to stop letting the bad stuff be the focus of my writing or my life no matter where i am
and i need to dance more - because for me, my body moving to music is that constant Jack talks about
hmmm... now that i think about it, maybe if i try using the clubs and dancing over the years as a starting point i'll have a foundation for a memory structure that works for me (the clubs, the dancing, the people that have been part of my life because i dance are usually as easy to recall as the music and the words to songs)