The real mood words would be despondent and traumatized.
There is freezer burn all across my back behind my heart, and I feel like the fool of fools. Why do I overreact to men like I do, take them to mean so much more than they do? It's been this way my whole life. Saturn conjunct Mars: "Until you become conscious of something in your shadow, men will always be either cruel or disappointing to you." What am I not conscious of? I long for those Women's Spirituality retreats in 1990's Sonoma County, when we flocked together like a diaspora reuniting, and not only didn't need but didn't want men anywhere near us. There was so much deeply satisfying substance between us, our most emotional selves were so excited to interact. It's only recently that I realized I haven't had a really close woman friend in 30 years — and then Susan wasn't all that "with" me. It's really been 45 years, since Wanda and I in junior college. It's like the bad old days that I never really knew, when women didn't trust women and just wanted to bond with men. I could never relate to that part of feminist theory because I had never felt it. But now I do. I feel like I would have no idea how to bond with or make a real connection to another woman. And men seem to be as afraid of women as women are of women. You have to be so careful with men or they withdraw or abuse. I suppose they feel the same way about women. I wish there were some other option besides "male" or "female." Maybe I do need a pet. Loudon Wainwright, "No wonder people end up with pets. Animals are much better bets." But I don't trust that I'm stable enough to give a pet the responsibility it needs, or that I will stay alive long enough to see one through their lifetime. I'm always so teetering on the suicide edge these days. I wish I could keep myself from constantly checking my inbox, needing to find something from Howard or "lancmar". It's disgusting, really. I disgust myself when I'm like this. It's like there's no me in me. At least the suffering isn't so bad I feel I have to drink or abuse substances. I can tolerate it. But it hurts, feeling those icy winds blow through my rawly opened heart. Will I ever feel joy playing or listening to Ralph's music again? I thought it was gone for good once before, but I'm feeling it again now. How can I live without that joy now that I have known it? The cat's out of the bag.
Goodbye cruel world.