Diamonds and Rust

"Now you're telling me you're not nostalgic
Then give me another word for it
You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague
Because I need some of that vagueness now
It's all come back too clearly
Yes, I loved you dearly
And if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I've already paid."
- Diamonds and Rust by Joan Baez

Wish I'd had my notebook with me last night. D dragged me to a friend's party in RI. I say dragged because I have never been enthusiastic about parties. I've been rather hung up on how introverted I am lately -- for good reason, I think -- but in no way is it clearer how horrible it can be than when I am at a party. The stupid thing is that it seems completely illogical. I love being with the people I know who are there. I always have a good time with them. I'd like to spend more time with them. But whenever I'm at a party everything is completely overwhelming for me.

Last night was particularly bad for other circumstantial reasons. I've been struggling with slipping back into depression lately, and then with the end of this week came the dissolution of a years-long friendship that I thought was going to last forever. Can't say I've been feeling particularly great lately. Understatement of the year implied. D and I already planned to be going to this party though, and even though it was pretty much the last thing I wanted to do, I agreed to go. Better to get out of the house etc.

After stifling a potential panic attack or two beforehand, we get there. Lot of people. Small space. But there are people I know. So far everything is okay. I drink one beer. I drink most of another. By this point I'm starting to feel a little like maybe things are not so okay again. Hard liquor might help so D procures me a rum and coke. Halfway into that, I'm perched on the couch watching everyone else be happy and crazy, and all I can think is Fuck, what is so wrong with me that I can't just relax and enjoy this? I'm on tenterhooks. I feel like the ceiling is going to fall in. My nerve system is buzzing - not in a good way.

But it was at that point that a mutual friend came over with a suggestion that made me get up off the couch. Instant connection. I guess that's all it takes. I needed to throw my mind in some direction that still held a measure of passion, and talking about music with a fellow enthusiast always does it for me. Reminds me of talking to my brother.

So now it's the morning after. I had a good time. I'm glad I went. Much better than the alternative of staying at home on the verge of another breakdown. (Fucking Friday night was one of the worst nights of my life.) And D and I have plans for today too.

I think I can keep doing this. Reaching out. I love my melancholy, but I don't want to drown in it. I'm not Sara Teasdale. I'm not Virginia Woolf. I really don't want to be Sylvia Plath. I just want their spirits.

Meanwhile, I'm still sifting through the chaos and heartbreak.