ArchBook, Pt 1

I’m labeling this old diary “ArchBook” because it has architectural diagrams on the outside of it. It’s a really ugly book. Over the next [unspecified time period] I will post entries from it. The first dated entry I found was 1996. So this entry is probably from around that time.

Like many things from this time period in retrospect it reads so obviously as an in-denial gay person reconciling his differing degrees of feelings for a girlfriend (N.) and guy friends (T. & O.).

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For some reason—not until I was ~18 did I even try or want to have really close friends.
Or something.
I mean, more true to say that I wanted—and it didn’t work out it seemed + at times I was very unhappy + felt “unpopular.”

But I’m thinking about how 1991 happened—and how I was in a position of emotionally relying too heavily on my friends, specifically T.—and why how I hadn’t felt that way before OR Rather how I had made it differently up until that point.
I don’t really know.
I wouldn’t say that I got all that same volume of support from family before then.

I think there are a number of factors which held off the kind of (conscious or sub-conscious) self-examination. For one simply growing up + living through adolescence—high school was more than distracting enough. Two, from an early age (for me) I had a suffocating “Love” thrust upon me—which provided the self-assurance, affection, attention, whatever I might have needed when I wanted it. In fact, between N., school, and family I think I got more than enough. What I mean is—N. was in + of herself an over-abundance, for my occasionally overwhelmed tastes.
But I knew I wanted to escape from that + have a chance to feel I acted for myself.
—won my own companions + followed my own tastes.

In all of this I cannot overlook Natural Processes. I can vividly remember feeling differently about my friendship with O. than previous friends.
—and knowing too that I hadn’t wanted/been willing/looked for as much closeness before.
—— It would be interesting to note the possible difference that lies between closeness I felt and an objective view of the friendship. I don’t know the right Answers, and I do think that there is necessarily a mingling of the two… ———
At the time I felt that I had “matured” to a point of wanting a certain kind of openness in relationships + being willing to give more + feel more “committed” — being more willing to commit myself to the friendship. I felt that, I guess, I was more comfortable with myself—and therefore less inwardly-preoccupied.
In many ways my relationship with N. still centered on self-preoccupation.

[Now I don’t know… Maybe I’m going too far—it’s hard to imagine any relationship that isn’t intensely focused on myself… but I guess one of the things I mean is that N. continually put the focus on myself—even in talks about “us” — it was always the “Y.” portion of us that needed consideration/attention. So it felt good for me to move on to a different “feel” of friendship.]

But now where am I?
Intensely focused on me,
perpetually
it seems.

Argh.

——
What got me started was thinking about what it means for me to venture emotionally back out into the world of other people. You see, the other night I penned a beautiful letter to O. which stirred much feeling in me.
(that’s not exactly right—I wrote the letter so my rising emotion caused the letter not vice-versa; OR at least they went together.)
It was nothing super-extraordinary.
OR maybe it was. Maybe it’s a true (x) re=awakening of feeling.
Well, I dunno.
All I know is when I spoke to him on the telephone I felt different. (The Real can never live up to the hyped)

Now the course of this writing may mislead. I don’t / didn’t expect to feel the friendship with O. was the same again.
What I’m trying to address is the lack of fulfillment I feel—or the desire I feel to have other people come + fill the void.
Like, any “improvement” in relations with my mother only feels like Appeasement [or some other word referring to unpleasant compromise with the Nazis].  It’s not at all that I feel that I’m going to be better helped emotionally by her. To me, the central question is one of “thereness.” (Like, when someone interviews Miss America, she’s totally not there—OR in that special, frightening case, that’s what she’s become—OR been willing to do in order to be “Miss America.”) I’m sure I’m afraid that I’ll never feel emotionally comforted by my mother.
—and what can I do about that?
Not much I feel / fear. . . ?