Weeeeellllllll. I know that it's been a while since you've gotten an entry with any true merrit. Other than that letter proclaiming this person as my new hero.

so, since I spent a couple hours writing today, I figured I'd transcribe what I wrote.

Therefore, you get this unfinished self-examination just as I wrote it at Chuck's today. So there.

The new additions, in other words, the stuff that I'm adding after the fact, is typed in [brackets].

So there.

I am an emotional chameleon. AS of late, the only emotion I have which is my own is anger.

By emotional chameleon, I mean that I take on and convey the emotions of those around me without actually having a thought or opinion of my own.

I am filled with anger and feelings of uselessness because my father is living in this house again. I suck up his emotion so he doesn't have to feel it. [okay, so that isn't quite true. What that really means is that I have taken on Dad's emotions... the emotions/vibes he puts out, I"ve picked them up and thought, honestly believed, they were mine. Through actually thinking about it, though, I'm realizing that I don't feel that way.]

I remember talking with Carol once, who said that I was drawing her power. I didn't really understand what she meant then. Yeah, so I'm drawing her power uh huh, that's just a lot of witch craft hooey and I don't have to spend my time worrying about it...

*rolls her eyes, shaking her head*

Being intelligent does not mean that you understand everything as soon as it is presented to you. Hell, for me, the whole delayed reaction thing is not new.

Regardless, carol told me that I was drawing her power. She said I was pulling her focus. I don't need to describe the entire situation, just know that it was my first introduction to Wicca and is largely why I am against Wicca today.

Just for information sake, for all you folks who think that Wicca is only a peaceful, love-of-all-things-natural kind of religion, Just because YOU feel that way about it, doesn't mean all Wiccan's do! Carol made that mistake.

Carol (AKA Kat) if you're reading this ever... not like you would be, but just if you are, How's Eric? Susan? You ahve munchkins yet? Duncan and I have split, he's living with a whore 20 years older than he and he's got custody of his oldest daughter. He and I never had kids, and everything is just peachy. But please, don't pray a man into my life. Though the theory of having a man to love me is attractive, everything that goes along with it is a waste of my time and energy right now. Unless, of course, he's extremely rich and doesn't want sex. Then I'll date him. I fully intend to date a rich man. Not necessarily fall in love, but definately date him. I want to know what that's like. Anyway... did Eric make the Navy a career, or has he gotten out of that yet? And, tell me, how are the pups?

Regardless, this isn't about Wicca or Carol. Back to the point. I was syphoning Carol's emotional energy. her gift was drawing energy from whatever surrounded her. My skill, I found out after the fact, was in pulling that power and then striking with it. Doing something, you know?

This was the night I met Carol, folks. There was no preamble, no build up, I was sitting there beside her, she said something akin to "shit" and I felt the most intense terror I had ever felt before. And, I've not felt anything like that since either.

Carol told me we were under attack. She said that she had been the focus but that I had gotten a little taste because I'd been next to her. [Kind of like schrapnel] She said then that I was probably not actually being attacked at all, but just feeling the residual from her. [she was talking about my being empathic and that I felt terror not because *I* felt terror, but because *she* felt terror.]

At that time I disagreed as it was just way too real for me. I would honestly have sworn that the terror was internal. But, I think about that now and I have to admit to myself that she may well have been right. [I don't know for sure, haven't completely made up my mind, but still... she could have been right.]

I wonder if any of my emotions have really been mine. I think about the diaries I've been reading lately. I've been reading the words and comerserating. I have "felt" the same emotions expressed in the entries. [but are those MY emotions? Or am I just picking up and claiming someone else's emotion?]

I'm reminded of the Julia Roberts movie, Runaway Bride. I identify with that character === yes, I'm fully aware that I could be picking up that too, but humor me. === I wonder if I have been dormant so long that I have no seperate personality left.

so... What's the point?

I want a personality all my own. I want to be someone who isn't an amalgom of everyone else in my social circle.

===as an aside, it was proven to me yesterday that I am a very self-centered individual. my friend told me about having to put his dog down yesterday and though it hurt--- I kept thinking about how it reminded me of the times I've lost dogs. I took his pain and made it about me. Can I get more self centered than that??? I don't think so. *shakes her head disgustedly*===

So, I want to be my own person. I want my own identity. I want to be who and what I am in and of myself. And that too is selfish. But that's what I want.

[Well... that and a rich man to date. Seriously... you think I'm BSing here... nope. I really and honestly want to date a rich man. I don't want to fuck him. I don't want to use him, I don't want to fuck him over. I want to know what it's like to date a rich man. I want to know if his mindset really is different. I want to know what it is like to have a man interested in me (as friends first, of course) who actually has the money to do fun things. I want to know what it's like to date a rich man.]

I have this internal "thing" where I need to know why I do something. I need to understand my motivations. If I think that I cant' fix anything about a situation then I stop working on it. I can't seem to work on something if there is no way for my effort to produce a result.

The same holds true in every part of my life. Hell, when I role play, there are times when a scenario will present itself where Tig will need to heal someone... or will need to make some change in another character's life. It pisses me off to no end, when the person who received the healing/change ignores it or says it didn't work.

[BULLSHIT! I put my effort into writing up that little bit of story. I created something within the power range of my character which would be accepted within the power range of your character, and you have the fucking balls to tell me that it didn't work? Back the fuck-truck up, bubba!]

*clears her throat, getting back on track*

That pisses me off because it means that my actions, thoughts, words or deeds were/are worthless.

If I expend effort here in the real world, it had better the hell count for something. That's a large part of why I hate to clean. It never stays clean. Someone will come along and expect me to clean up after their mess. Someone will bust my ass by dumping a load of papers, or trash in a place I've just cleaned.

I am not willing to work for nothing!

And perhaps that's why I'm here in this prison. Maybe that's why I'm still here. Maybe I have to just go ahead and spend my limited energy on something I hate that won't last anyway.

Perhaps I'm here on this earth as a mindless grunt strictly to be a mindless grunt.

[I don't believe that for even half a second. Not even an eighth of a second!]

I don't think so though. There's no way that this growing inner fire is burning in order to consume the same garbage day in and day out.

So, the whole purpose of my being alive must be bigger than being someone's slave. My fire is bigger than that. Is this what passion feels like?

I remember laying in bed three years ago with my leg on fire. It felt like the scene in Dune when Paul is being tested by the head mistress person. That scene where we see his hand being burned, then turning black, charred and cracked.

My leg felt like that. Charred-black, cracked and falling apart. The pain was intense and even the heavy narcotic pain killers the docs prescribed for me were useless against the nerve regeneration pain.

So...

[end of pre-written entry]

So, I've been thinking about that all day. Specifically the whole nerve-regeneration pain part. And I think that that is the entire point. In order for me to be able to walk again, I had to go through that intense and completely debilitating pain. I was practically delusional. I've never felt pain that bad. The pain in my back as of late is almost that bad. Really close... but not the same. It's hot like that though.

Which, as yet another aside... makes me think that the problem in my back is not bones or disks or tendons... that it's nerves. Cause it's that same kind of pain just not quite as bad... Hmmm, something I should talk with the doc about. Or dog as I originally typed.

Anyway... the point, child, get to the point.

The point is this... since I had to go through that intense and completely debilitating pain in order to walk again... perhaps this recent more psychological and mental pain is the precurser to complete mental and psychological health. Emotional too.

This is the idea that has occured to me today. YES, folks. today. I'm 31 farggin years old. I promise that I"ll figure out who and what I am by the time I'm 90.

Now, when I had the nerve regeneration pain, I stumbled on to an anesthetic for it. There is a rarely-prescribed-anymore anti-depressant called Amiltrypteline, or however it's spelled. Anyway... this anti-depressant has a unique side effect. It deadens nerve-regeneration pain. Of course, if you get too high a dosage, the Amiltrypteline will kill you. And it doesn't take very much.

However, What I need to do, I think, is find the anesthetic for this current emotional/psychological nerve-regeneration pain. And the merrit isn't in the pain itself, but in the fact that the pain is a sign that my passion is coming back. It flares once in a while.

It's a sign that I am coming back to life. The surgery has been completed, it's just a matter of waiting that final few weeks for the pain to stop.

Hell, my docs told me I couldn't walk for at least three months after the surgery. They told me not to. They also told me that there was a good chance I wouldn't be able to walk. They also told me that there was a good chance that I would never have full use of my right leg, ankle and foot back.

I couldn't stand that. I absolutely couldn't stand waiting yet another two months before I was allowed to get up off my ass.

Yes, I like being comfortable. And I like being in my comfort zone. And I don't like getting out of my rut, but if staying in bed all day is a choice, that's one thing. If it's manditory, then fuck you butt munch, I"m gettin out of bed.

*chuckles*

What I need to do is change my perspective, I think.

This current mental/emotional pain is not the life-ending, depressing thing it seems to be. It is the proof that I have truly awakened to who and what I am. It is NOW my responsibility to do something with that.

This should be a very, very interesting year.

Peace unto thy hearts.