tides and seasons of my secret life

I’m so awfully particular about stuff sometimes. If I tell you, please, bring me a yellow neon marker, and you bring me an orange one, oh, am I pissed off. Of course I try to control myself. Some part of me completely understands this is not the Titanic Disaster, but another just completely freaks.

I think what lies underneath, is a problem with expectations and control. When I expect this pen to be yellow and it turns out orange, it gives me the creeps about generally not being able to control how things turn out. It freaks me out when my plans fail. I want them to be foreseeable, I need the stability to know what will happen and when exactly. Maybe it’s a bit of an autistic trait. I only eat the same things in restaurants, I only go to a few places, I don’t like to try new tastes, unfamiliar things scare me. I have never been drunk, I hate the feeling of not being able to control myself. Which invariably leads to that exactly - throwing fits and toddler tantrums over insignificant things like an orange marker pen. Or the wrong food. Or a change in travel plans.

The perspective of starting work in less that three weeks… oh my, is it torturing my days and nights. The only way to avoid panicking is to study madly. Stuff things into my brain, read, read, read. Which is so exhausting, I drop dead in bed at nights. But I doubt whether this is actually efficient.

This is a deep issue, just scetching it out here. I feel like I’ve dealt with it for a lifetime, but I haven’t made much of a progress. It has its roots in the constant insecurity of my childhood years. There are deep wounds I haven’t overcome yet. Things are chained together, I know how I turned out that way, I can see connections, I just don’t know how to break them yet.

I’m somwhat concerned about the anonymity and the traces I leave behind, when writing things and commenting on other blogs. In order to write freely about my demons, I need this place to be intraceable towards my “real life self”. Because there are other people involved. People, who are close to me, whom I love dearly and I don’t want to expose for the world to see. Because, I can’t guarantee the truth about them is always a nice thing to be told. Not at all. And still, I don’t want them to be hurt.

We’ll see how that turns out.