all these demons were just people after all

I still struggle with the loss of the people who used to be my closest friends. They are amazing individuals who had to do what was best for themselves by cutting a selfish person from their lives. I want that person to not be me, but it is. I am self-absorbed and self-centered and my own needs come before everyone else. Always. I was much worse in high school, as people tend to be. I have always let my drama drag me down, and expected everyone else to sink with me. Very few people have had the courage to tell me this, but enough have done so that I actually started listening.

It is, and has always been, very hard for me to forgive and move on without an apology. This is a behavior that I got from my mom. It is a legacy I would like to leave behind me. It is something I have struggled with for a long time, but recently I've been thinking a lot more about it. I have been left irrevocably behind by people that I needed to keep close to me because they were the ones that would call me on my shit. But they're the ones I used so harshly that they gave up on me. So there's no going back, I suppose. And I need to stop trying to return to past relationships when it's clear those people have no wish for me to come back. If they did, I would have heard from them.
It's hard to let go. Let me use names, real names, not the myriad of aliases I've constructed here. Elley, Sharyn, Jared, Sascha, Sin, Matt, I miss you all. I have wronged you. But I can't help but feel that, even if you were on speaking terms with me, we would still be barely speaking. Because that's how it was before you dropped me, so I guess there's really not much loss over all. And Ariel, I miss you too. I regret how I treated you and it's so kind that you didn't just completely cut me from your life. I will never have a friendship like that with anyone else, and I wish I still had it with you. But like I said, there's no going back.

I have changed. Sure. It's so easy to say that. Death has changed me. It started when AJ died and only increased with my mother's death. There are a lot of people that I miss that I didn't really appreciate when I had them. Maybe they think of me. They probably don't. I don't think too often of the people that I left behind for my own sanity's sake.

I want everything. But I forget that in order to take, I must first give. And when you take too much, then there's nothing left, no matter how many times you apologize.

lost between these thoughts

I dream about a new life. about a life I've wanted yet never thought possible. I'm scared to hope. I've resigned myself to accepting less for so long that I'm not sure what to do now that options have appeared. I keep expecting them to go away. I keep thinking something tragic will happen and rob me of my hope, like how it's happened in the past.
I want to be loved and taken care of. I want to make art and not worry. I want to live somewhere near the water. I want to swim all year long. I want to smile in the winter. I want my past to not hurt because of how good the present is.
I want to have problems that get resolved and do not linger on. I want to be able to talk things out. I want to not feel guilty about playing video games or watching movies. I want to not feel guilty, period.
I daydream about living with Fig in his big house and his little pool. I think about my cat roaming around and lounging on the steps. I think about Fig and I traveling. I fantasize about making papier mache masks and creatures all day long, whenever I want. I tell myself over and over that I'm almost done school. but in the back of my mind, I find myself thinking that if my mom hadn't died, I'd already be done. better yet, I'd probably be on my last year of my MSW.
but my mom did die. and so I've had a lot more time with art instead of social work, and it shows. my passion gets poured into art instead of my studies. I am bored with class and find it difficult to participate. I'm just coasting through to finish.
I hope this new internship happens. I hope that being able to actually include art in my work with people will help. otherwise I'm going to feel a little lost and all this time would have been for nothing. all this debt to repay will weigh on me even heavier than it already does.
I just want to run away with Fig, and forget everything here except for my sister, her husband, and their kids.

it's coming out

sometimes it feels like I will never stop being bitter. being a social work student is the worst thing to be if you're trying to hide from your grief. one of my readings said something about how someone will avoid close relationships if they've recently suffered a loss. OH NO! THAT'S ME.
the only people I feel genuinely close to right now are fig and my sister. I am still so angry at shiny for leaving me when he did, and, more than that, for staying gone. I took the bus home today and saw someone with his build and hairstyle putting a bike on the front rack and for a moment I was terrified/excited with the thought that it might be him. then I realized that this person was far too short to be shiny. I'm sure there could be reasons for him being in Providence. there were before.
I am so angry, and sad, and I still feel so lost. and I have been avoiding these feelings for who knows how long. I hate that I miss shiny so much. I hate it. sometimes I forget his name, but I still remember the way his lips looked when he smiled, and the laugh lines around his eyes. I hate myself for it. I hate myself for missing him.
every relationship I end up in is lost in someone else's shadow. someone else's senseless shadow. shiny didn't care for me with even a fraction of the love that fig does. but shiny is so tied up in my mom's death that I can't feel the sting of one without being pricked by the other.
so when I badly miss my mom, I think I see shiny. and I get angry all over again.
her birthday is in a month from today. she would have been 61.
can't stop my heart from beating.
feels like I'm having a panic attack.
I need to sleep for a while.
I need to cry for longer.

On a train

When I miss him, it feels like I'm betraying myself. I can't pinpoint the reasons he pops into my head and I can't get rid of him once he is there. I am stuck with an uneasy feeling. Or maybe I am just stuck.
I  find myself wondering how he would have dealt with certain situations. People told me he was boring, but he wasn't. He never embarrassed me or himself. He was solid and steady and I hate thinking about him. We haven't talked for so long. So why does this still happen?
Fig worries that I am not happy with him. That isn't true. I'm just a different kind of happy with him. I don't look forward to things the way that I used to and I don't get excited the way that I used to. It's hard. I imagine it's because I don't want to get excited about something that might not happen. I don't trust much anymore, except that plans don't pan out and just because something is for the best that doesn't mean it feels good.

still journaling, oh therapist

Death isn't something a person gets to get over. Hell, I still have trouble accepting it. I have never dealt well with change, though for a period of time I had deluded myself into believing that I did. I don't. My cat and I have a lot in common that way. We do eventually adapt, but that stuff that happens that's out of our control, well, it takes a while to get used to it.
So over a year later and it's still unthinkable to me that my mom is dead. I'm not in denial. It's just still hard for me to grasp. I feel infantile. How can she have been alive, and then not? What is it to be dead? And again I long for blind faith in something, anything, even atheism. I want to feel with conviction that she is gone, that she absolutely does not exist in any way anymore. She is dead and there is no soul, or ghost, or any such thing. Or I want to believe in some higher power, and feel that she is in some kind of after-life. But that just feels ridiculous to me. It sounds like a fairy tale. It's cute and all, but incredibly unlikely.
It's just so hard to let go. It's hard to accept that she died, that she isn't here anymore. No essence of her remains except that which we carry. When I was on the beach with my sister and her family (my family, too, but it's the family she created, not the one I was born into, which is why I refer to it as her's, just for clarification) and I asked if she was going to spread some of our mom's ashes in the ocean, she cried and said she wasn't ready to let mom go yet. And I understood. I am constantly trying to find ways to accept my mom's death, whether it's through art or therapy or writing. I don't talk about it to many people. What is there to say? I wish things had been different. Her death has fucked up my life. I'm angry about it. I'm not angry at her, but I'm angry at the circumstances. I delayed my senior year and now I can't find an internship. I have to spend another year in Providence. I don't think I would have gotten pneumonia if I hadn't been so stressed by my mom's death. I don't know that for sure, of course. A lot of things would have been different. But yeah, there's no going back. But I'm still angry.
I wish my mom had taken better care of herself. I wish she'd quit smoking when she was young, so her lungs would have been stronger and her immune system better. I wish she'd listened to her doctors. I wish a lot of things. I wish my sister would learn from our mom's mistakes, but she isn't. She's pushing herself just as hard and is smoking, too. It's difficult to watch it and not say anything. And when I do, she justifies it to herself. She's my big sister. I've never been able to stand up to her.
I want her, for all people, to quit for themselves. But what I really want is for people to quit smoking for the people that love them. Because I truly believe that, had my mom not been a smoker, she would still be alive. And I hate the thought of my nieces having to go through this in 20 years.
People don't like to face facts. Like I still can't accept my mom being dead. And I won't use terms like "passed away" because I feel like that just sugar coats it. She is dead. Dead. Cremated. She is ashes, spread across the east coast. Some of us try to forget her. Some of us want to remember. Others are caught in between. I have a lot of trouble talking about her. I don't know what to say. I wasn't close to her when I was growing up, and it took a long time for me to see her as a person. She always kept me distant. She, and everyone in my family, always tried to shield me. I still resent that. Why didn't my dad teach me how to take care of my car? Why didn't someone teach me how to take care of my money? There was a chapter in middle school math about it, and that was all. A week in seventh grade isn't enough to prepare you for college loans and all that goes with it. How do people deal with these things?
Everyone always assumes someone else will take care of everything. What about the person who actually does?
I suck at being that person, no matter how badly I want to excel.

to do?

I've gained weight this summer. I hate it. I was finally at a point where I was feeling sexy and comfortable with my body, and then I went and got chubby. to me, at least. fig continues to tell me I'm attractive, as do other people. that's nice and all, and I feel sexy when I'm naked, but I just hate how all of my clothing fits me.
so what I need to do is exercise more, go to bed earlier and get enough sleep, bike in the morning and afternoon, eat small portions 5 or 6 times a day, cut down on carbs, continue to drink water constantly, and all that usual stuff.
I also need to get the rest of my shit together. you know, figure out my internship (call places, write to the person at RIC, etc), start going through all my shit, find some boxes so I can pack, pack, figure out my rent situation, magically acquire money ...
at my therapy appointment today, my therapist told me that i need to go to bed earlier, bike more, and journal. So I have journaled. Now I need to go to bed earlier. and tomorrow I will bike.
sometimes it is just so hard to take care of myself.

working through it

last night I dreamed that I was in a mental ward again. it wasn't a locked one, like the one I was in when I was 18. we were sent home to be with our families every night, and had the option of staying with them over the weekend. I was immensely comforted by being in the ward and I didn't want to be released. I enjoyed seeing my family for a few hours a day, but it was always a relief to return to the ward. this is basically opposite of how things were for me in real life.
my first weekend out, I was amazed to find that we were allowed to stay overnight. shiny and his two female roommates happened to be visiting the house where I was. I bad-mouthed him and he was actually kind of a jerk back to me. we all went out to dinner but his roommate picked a place shiny and I couldn't eat, so we left. but again, his roommate kept leading us around even though she wasn't familiar with Providence. I was frustrated by her, and by shiny.
I can imagine why I had this dream. I have been feeling overwhelmed by figuring out things in my life, so of course I'd hearken back to the time in my life when everything else was decided for me (even though I was only in the ward for three days when I was 18). and I have been thinking a lot about shiny lately, as I inevitably reminisce on previous relationships as I get close to someone new. I took a long bike ride yesterday and it reminded me of last summer and all the riding shiny and I used to do together. my relationship with fig is very different. I loved being active with shiny. I loved riding around boston or providence, playing soccer or basketball or kickball or whatever. I liked that he was athletic and genius and artistically creative. but he wasn't able to care the way that fig does. it wouldn't occur to him to bring me chocolate or make something for me. he wouldn't ask me how my exam went, or remind me to call him after an important meeting. he didn't check up on me or ask how my day was.
and, when I think about it, the things I liked so much about shiny are pretty ephemeral. a couple years ago they would not have mattered that much to me. but the things I like about fig are things that have always been important to me, and I imagine always will be.
communication. affection. initiation. caring. concern. imagination. humour.
and he thinks it's funny when I harass him.
the dream I had last night initially left me unsettled. but I feel better about things now. I have been worried for my future and my inability to embrace it. but things are falling into place now. I have a place to live (I just have to pack, oh god), a possible internship at a place that I already know I love (I just have to pursue it and follow through, oh god), a loving sister and her family, and a loving partner (that lives far away, oh god). So yes, there are solutions, and those solutions bring their own breed of "oh god," but overall I feel the balance that I seek. I don't believe there can be good without bad, though I prefer for the good to be the heavier side of things.

find a rhythm

the first drops of rain felt like a mistake. I thought it was the trees dripping, and I wiped them off my face with a nervous laugh of disbelief. it was beautiful out. a perfect summer night; not humid, warm enough for me to be comfortable in shorts and a tank-top but cool enough that I didn't break a sweat as I rode my bike. the spattering of wet on my face took me by surprise. for a moment I wondered if someone was spritzing me from a balcony. the drops got fatter and closer together, making me glad that I was already on my block. I pedaled faster, matching the pace of the rain. I laughed again as I jumped from my bike and onto my stoop. it wasn't raining very hard when I plopped my bike inside, so I hopped over to the house next door so I could look at their curbside couches. the cushions on the makeshift couch under my loft could use some plumping, and the ones outside on the sidewalk looked pretty good. I sniffed them, knowing I had to take action now just in case the rain got worse and made up my mind for me. I plumped some pillows and decided to just go for the largest cushions. I heard coughing from the second floor window. I looked up, laughing again, feeling foolish, as I pulled the over-sized couch cushions to my front door. up the stairs, up more stairs, and then to the landing outside my apartment. there I set the cushions to air out while I cemented my decision.
inside, I decided that bourbon and iced ginseng tea made a fine combination while I wrote about the rain now gently dancing outside my bedroom window.
it was a good night.

truth is harder than fiction

here I am, back in rhode island. for a little over a week I got to trespass in another world. I got to see what it's like to live without concern. I was in a big house with amenities. I was cared for. it felt like I was a child again. the feeling was heightened when I went to stay at a resort with my sister and her family. I will always be her little sister, and in that way I become a child. I relate more to the actions of her daughters, and I build sand castles with them and make stupid jokes. it is comfortable to be young. it is always nice to have someone else take care of things, pay for things, lead me around.
it is painful to realize that I would rather have that in my life now than to take control. that I fantasize about leaving school and just curling up in fig's bed to let him take care of everything. I want to withdraw completely from the world. I want to just make papier mache masks and art all day. I don't want to have to think about anyone or anything outside of my tiny bubble of him, and me, and my cat, and my itty bitty sister-family.
everyone else is a disappointment. but these few people are the only ones I feel I can love and forgive unconditionally. I am terrified of the people outside of my little circle. and even they are given limits. I don't let any of them in too far. who can?
I want to withdraw. Sometimes I think with longing of mental wards. I think of the schedule and stability and the total lack of individual decision-making. it is so comforting. it was 12 years ago but I still remember the starkness and fear, and over top of it the people telling me what to do and what not to do. I should recoil, but instead I miss it. and because I want it so badly, I must fight it. but sometimes independence is such a struggle. I just want a break for a while. I just want to relax in reality instead of having to find stability outside of daily life.
I want my basic needs to be met. stable housing, stable job, stable school, stable friends, stable food, stable family, stable partner. I long for stability.
it is, consistently, the thing that most frequently eludes me.

I can only cry when I'm alone now

dear mom,
it was over a year ago that you died. 368 days since my sister called me and told me. since then I have spread your ashes on the grave of your beloved horse and scattered them into the ocean where you got married six years ago, just as my own marriage was disintegrating. you were starting while I was ending. and when you died, you took my finally quiescent life and turned it upside down. every aspect of my life has changed since then. it has taken a year for it to start to settle down, and even that is nothing consistent.
I have no internship for fall, not sure where I'll be living, and the person that I'm dating lives over a thousand miles away. sometimes I get so angry about you dying, as though it were something anyone could have prevented. as though things would be different now if you were still alive. I just want to be angry at someone. I want there to be a reason for all of this. I want there to be a reason that you're dead, and for everything being in turmoil. for my life utterly changing. I don't see the point in going out to meet people, or in initiating plans. I don't look for as much comfort in others as I used to. People die, or they go away, and it hurts just the same. but I was finally getting to know you, and I know I've said this all before, but I just hate how much time I wasted not loving you. how much time I lived in shame or fear or guilt.
and I hate that your husband has abandoned us because we remind him of you. and I hate that he never seemed to like me. and I hate that your friends all talked to my sister, but not to me. and I hate that I just got pushed to the side because I wasn't strong enough to take everything on my shoulders like she could. and she knew you better than I did, because she was more like you. because she remembers things. there is so much I never knew about you; so much that I will never know about you. and there is so much you didn't know about me, too.
we both gave up for a while. I stopped answering your calls because I was tired of feeling guilty and you stopped calling because you were tired of me not answering. I wasn't a great daughter and you weren't a great mom but I guess we did the best with what we had.
I'm not as strong a person as I would like to be. I have a lot of trouble doing things, like paying bills on time, like handling stressful situations, like getting shit done on a deadline, like making phone calls or talking to strangers in power. I want someone to take care of me so I can just live in my blissful bubble. I think I got that from being the youngest. I think I got that because I always had someone else to do all the shit I didn't feel like handling. so yeah, you're a little to blame, but I'm the one that kept doing it. and now it's turned into some hardened anxiety that I can't seem to fully break apart.
mom, I am still angry. and I still hurt. I wonder why you gave up on me. why you didn't keep calling me. I wonder why you had to be so inconsistent. I wonder why I had to mirror that. sure, I would like to have done things differently. I would have liked to know you better. I would have liked to have called you more often, and seen you more frequently. I would have liked for you to have wanted to understand me, or shown that you did understand. or asked me questions. something deeper than what was there.
I miss you, but I think I mostly mourn the loss of what will never be. because we had finally started off to something new, and it was truncated before it could lead anywhere. I am so sad that we never got to really be friends. I am sad that we didn't get to be adults together, and I never really felt at ease in your presence. we never taught each other how to really listen and not judge. I would have liked to teach you how to meditate. I would have liked to learn it myself.
mom. the loss of inertia is painful to feel. it is running into a brick wall without slowing down. it is the slice of an axe through a watermelon. it is suddenly, alarmingly, over. the lost future aches inside my chest. my inability to connect is tangible. I don't feel you anymore. when dru died, I still felt him around me. but with your loss, all sense of spirituality fled. I want to believe that you live on in the bumble bees and elephants that I see. but I just don't. you are gone and it is like a chunk of lead in my rib cage. there is no undoing this. I am not sure what to do. I have gone through art project after art project, trying to find some peace. it has come in small bursts. but now I am stuck on the precipice, looking down into uncertainty. I miss you and I want you to tell me it will be ok, because you were my mom, and you were pretty much always right.
I wish I had done more for you. I wish I'd done more with you.
I wouldn't call these regrets. just notes for the future.
I love you, I miss you so much. I hope I didn't hurt you too badly when you were alive.
love,
me.

an even trade

most of the time, I am not fully aware of my grief. but occasionally, the enormous weight of it is felt all at once and I find myself emotionally borne to the floor by it. sometimes physically. I am held still for a moment and everything inside of me tries to break all at the same time. I can't control the muscles of my face, but am simultaneously rigid. it is that weird conglomeration of too-in-control and totally out-of-control. instead of breaking down into tears, like I would have a year ago, I just feel my face crumple and I cannot cry. I am so overwhelmed by emotion for that moment, that nothing can even happen. I have gotten so used to not letting go, that even when I feel the need to, I can't. So I just walk on with this heaviness in my chest. I continue on with what I was doing, because what else can I do? My mom is dead. no amount of crying will bring her back. and I don't want to cry with no one here to comfort me.

I remember sobbing on Shiny at two in the morning. I remember his little sad sounds, and the warmth of his torso as he enveloped me. I remember how lost I felt when he left me. I remember the stillness I found in his presence. I remember the emptiness he gave. but I loved him, and for his part, he loved me. it just wasn't enough for either of us. and it always bothered me that he wasn't more affected by my mom's death. it bothered me that he didn't cry, too.

this past year has stretched me in ways I'd hoped to eventually reach, but not like this. I have become more patient. I have gotten used to solitude. I remember, years ago, how I could not be alone. now I'm not sure how to be around people. It becomes a game, where I put on my charisma and people fall for it. I'm fine with that. it makes things easier. we all get to feel good about ourselves and in the end, no one has to give away anything real or frightening. I feel hollow at the end of it, but I had a good time. I have so few people I can talk to about anything, with honesty, who listen without judgment, and will give back in return, who ask for nothing. I can think of two.
I still feel this guardedness with Fig. I can read him but he can't read me. I still keep up barriers. I still can't entirely feel what I know to be there. and I wonder if this is what it was like for shiny. I can't bear to contemplate putting Fig through that. I don't think things will happen that way. we're very different people, this is a very different situation. but I believe in balance. in my life, all that has hurt me has turned itself around so that I could understand it. or if I hurt someone, I had something like that then done to me. it doesn't mean it was the same situation, but I've had to understand so many different points of view. it hasn't stopped me hating, but it's helped me move on to other things. I still hate ex-otter. but that's because of him, not necessarily what he did to me. he hasn't learned. he just speaks the words. he doesn't feel them.
so just because I have this emptiness inside of me, that doesn't reflect on Fig. the things I say I feel for him, I do. it's just harder to completely feel it sometimes. it has been a long time since I've had someone so completely adore me. and he thinks he has baggage, but it is nothing in relation to other people I have known. he doesn't know that his inexperience is his saving grace. he doesn't know that it has made him strong in ways that I can't comprehend.
what he lacks in experience, he makes up for with an enthusiasm that I personally haven't been able to feel in years. he is able to appreciate things that other people started taking for granted a long time ago. he sees in me what others never noticed, or mentioned. and I'm not sure that would be the case if he were as jaded by love as I am.
if he were as jaded by loss as I am.
I am hoping that prolonged exposure to his adoration will help to revive the parts of me that have been withered by neglect. I am hoping he will be the rain-fall I have needed. he has already been blossoming under my attention. I have been giving him experience. can he hand me hope?

caught left-handed

the most difficult part about having a journal that everyone can read is that everyone can read it. my mom used to read my old website. my sister reads this one. so do strangers. so do lovers. so do exes. so do friends. I keep track of the IP addresses of the people that visit this site but that doesn't necessarily tell me who they are. sometimes I can make a good guess. other times it stays a mystery.
the only person that regularly brings up the things I write here directly to me is Fig. people feel the things I write about are too personal to actually talk to me about. I think it's strange that someone would be willing to read all this and then not want to say anything to me about it. that makes you a voyeur. but I know that you're watching me. so if you don't want me to know, then find a better way to spy.
of course, on the flipside, I'm an exhibitionist. I know that anyone, absolutely anyone, could find this site. that is both terrifying and exhilarating. I suppose that's exhibitionism for you.

but the point that I'm getting at here is this: I actually do limit what I put on here. I didn't used to, before I knew who read this. but my readership impacts what I write, and that was not my intention when I started spying on visiting IP addresses. the reason I signed up for the service was to see if Pants was reading my page. I'm not kidding. he wasn't. I'm not surprised.
but knowing that Fig reads this has kept me from talking about how I think I'm falling in love with him, because I don't want to say it first, but he's not going to say it first because he'll think he's pressuring me or something. and because I previously said, on this site, that I didn't want to hear or say it. Oh, the dilemmas of the modern world.
knowing that my ex-girlfriend reads this keeps me aware of the heterosexual nature of my serious relationships since her. but dating dudes doesn't make me any less attracted to ladies. guys are just easier for me to approach and relate to. I know I'm not the only bisexual to feel that way. and dating men doesn't make me any less bi, no matter how guilty my lack of girl-play makes me feel. this is just the way things are going. not a hell of a lot I can do about it. maybe if guys weren't so easy and girls weren't so clingy ...
not you, von, of course.
as for my sister reading this, I feel good about that. she gives and takes. she doesn't make her private life public like I do, but she lets me know what's going on with her in her own time. that's important to me. Chick also keeps in touch with me. so it's not all a mass of silent voyeurs.
and besides, I see you looking.

I try

I am waiting for the world to end. I want all my debts to be erased. I want everything that has gone before to not matter anymore. I want all the things that I have done, and that has been done to me, to become equally meaningless. I want oblivion more than I want anything else. But because I am selfish, and others are selfish, I want it to be total. I want everyone wiped out together.
I have talked to people about how I long for a pandemic to kill us, how I want an apocalypse. I want an excuse to give up without it being my fault. and if no one is around to feel the loss, then all the better.
destroy everything. Not a war, not a massacre; just a total cessation of all human life. Let us leave. But turn the reactors off, first.
I told Fig that my cat has saved my life since I had her, that there were times I didn't kill myself just because I wasn't sure who would take care of her when I was gone. Right now I am the most content I've been in a while, and it terrifies me. Luca doesn't sleep with me anymore and it saddens me. Everything changes and this is also frightening. Now I can't die because of what it would do to my family: my nieces, my sister. Before I wouldn't die because of my cat. At least I'm making progress.
It's not that I'm actively suicidal. I'm not. That changes when the spring comes. I love life right now, despite my gnawing fear, but that adoration is always tinted by the memory of winter. It is my lurking shadow, waiting to strike. The days are getting longer, and it is wonderful, but I know they will shorten again in just a few months. It is this inability to live in the present that fuels my depression. It is the knowledge that, no matter how good things are now, they will get bad again, that keeps me from fully embracing anyone. In the winter, in the throes of that darkness, I can only vaguely remember spring. Winter feels never-ending. Spring/summer feels ephemeral. Why the difference? Maybe because there's so much more to lose when the sun slips away. The winter envelops me in static and keeps me seeing beyond itself. Spring opens me back up again.
here I am, on the cusp of summer. not sure what anything means. terrified of my future, but abundantly excited at the same time. I could fall in love. I could fall apart.
there is so much promise in the world.
no wonder it's so easy to wish it away.

all the things left behind

when I get introspective, I get sad. Is that the way it's supposed to be? the greatest changes come from pain. the longest-lasting ones, too. so when I think back, it's to meditate on the things that have hurt me rather than the good that has occurred.
it's the good that makes the pain so much worse. the break ups with shiny and ex-otter would not have been so painful if they hadn't been directly preceded by an intense closeness brought about by death. love does not overcome all obstacles. sometimes love is the obstacle.

it's hard not to think back over this past year and wince. it's hard not to miss shiny. it's hard not to hate him. it fades, sure, but the image remains. the dreams I had for us still haunt me but they're like a quote taken out of context. when I look at the entire picture, at the future I had planned, I can see that it would have just been me dragging him along. and he would have gone with it because it was something to do. and when what I wanted overwhelmed what he was comfortable doing, he would have left, just like he left me after my mom died. I still wonder if it would have been better for me if I'd gone to the hospital alone the second time instead of convincing him to come. I still wonder a lot of things. but these are thoughts better left to rot and die, like others before them.

I have a whole compost heap of dreams that I created with other people, or for other people, of lives that died when we parted. somewhere, I'm living those. somewhere, I'm still with my ex-husband, or buttercup, or shiny, or Pants decided to get his head out of his ass, or I never went vegan and therefore found my dating pool sufficiently enriched, or I stopped dating males completely, or I never left PA or I went to DE instead of RI or my mom never died, or any of a number of divergent paths led somewhere that I, me, this me, did not go. could not go. would not go. somewhere, I'm in CA. somewhere, I'm in Chicago. somewhere, I just stayed. somewhere, I died.

all of these options, always options. and the opportunities left behind decompose when I chose something else.
when I chose someone else.
when I chose somewhere else.

I still feel this barrier between me and the rest of the world. I am still living every life that I could have, and none of them, all at once. until I can let go of all those paths, I can't walk fully on this one.
until my feet can firmly feel where they are, I won't really be anywhere.
somewhere, somewhen, somewho, somehow.

always this has been my dilemma: how to let go of the past and focus on where I am now instead of where I could have been.

feel the fear and embrace it?

scared of becoming dependent. dependent on someone over a thousand miles away? it wouldn't be the first time.
I've never been someone's fetish before. at least, no one that told me. it's a weird kind of compliment, being dissected by specific obsessions. would he still want me if I had different hair? would he still love me if my breasts were removed?
it's strange to think that ten years ago I was disgusted by having breasts. I didn't like for them to be touched, even as recently as five years ago. I felt disconnected from them. I still do, a little. I do not feel wholly female and I don't think I ever will. It wasn't until I was with Von that I felt complete. so it's strange to me that I keep dating men, when it was with a woman that I felt the most comfortable.
I can't help who I'm attracted to, and who I attract. so I just go with it. I try not to discriminate. but I still miss women. and I'm wondering where that will lead me.
Fig wants to work toward monogamy, and I do too. but how can I be monogamous when part of me always longs to be with women? when I'm with one gender, I desire the other. I can never turn it off. I want both.
I am both, to some extent. it's just that the dominance shifts. right now I feel ok being female. I like having breasts, and I like being femininely attractive. but what happens when things shift again? it wasn't that long ago that I was researching breast reduction and even removal. I was seriously considering it, to the point that I'd had discussions with my ex-husband and looked up surgeons. if I'd had the money at the time, or been backed by health insurance, maybe I'd be flat-chested by now.
probably not.
after all, I do like the attention that being curvy brings. when I choose to show it, that is. it's been fun to be an obsession and to fit a fetish. I just don't know if that kind of attraction has the ability to last.
and I am always scared of losing what I have come to cherish.
because it has happened so many times before.

like a gossamer thread

I have dreams where he tells me that he loves me. or where I tell him. usually, in my dream, I am drunk or fucked up when I tell him. when he tells me, it's by text.
I'm not sure why I dream about these things. I don't need to hear it and I don't need to say it.
the more comfortable he gets with me, the more I like him. that's what I know right now.
and I am trying to let go of these barriers that have been erected by my defense mechanisms. it's hard. it's so hard. a few times I've noticed myself start to close and I put my foot in the jamb before the door can shut. it hurts, it always hurts, and it's terrifying, but I am trying.
I am so tired of feeling lonely because I stopped letting people in.
because when I let my guard down, they leave.
I want to believe that there is someone that will stay.
but I have to accept that there may never be.
it's that delicate balance between faith and reality.
it's the blurred line between want and need.

it's the distance between who I was, who I am, and who I will be.

you don't get it

I still see small reminders of my mother. the bumble bees that approached us the last time I was at my sister's; the bumble bee print a fellow classmate made in our intaglio class; the sunflower poster in the break room at work; a face in a crowd; someone's hair; a smile; a way of walking. I wear her shoes and I hope that people comment and I hope that they don't. I told Fig that it was a cruel joke she played, giving me that yodeling pickle when she visited. now I'll have to keep it forever because it was the last thing she ever gave me. I know she wouldn't see it that way. But I can't get rid of it.
I don't like having extraneous things, but I wish I'd at least had the chance to go through her stuff and take some reminders of my childhood with her. It hurts that I haven't been given that opportunity because of the man she chose to marry. but maybe he's a scapegoat. Maybe the real criminal here is my malaise.

you used to look back at me, now you don't look back at all

When you loved me, I was able to ignore all the other shit in my life because I knew that, eventually, I would get to see you again. but it wasn’t a mutual feeling. To me, you were an escape. To you, I was a cage. and every weekend I would trap you and disrupt you and take you away from your weight-lifting, book-reading, and biking. Every weekend you patiently waited for the week to return, so you could be alone again.
When you left me, it just shattered the rest of my life a little more solidly. It took the loss of my mom and gave it a mirror. I got lost in all the reflections of grief. I couldn’t focus on what I was seeing. but I couldn’t stop looking. you kept coming in and out of my life whenever I reached out for you, but you only stayed long enough for me to ask you to come back. Then you left again.
It’s been six months since the last time we talked. That’s longer than we were even together. It’s been ten months since you told me you wouldn’t be coming to my mom’s memorial service with me, because you felt like we should break up. you told me that you didn’t feel giddy or excited about me. I was devastated. you wrote me an email. I called you.
I don’t want to settle for someone else. I don’t know how to stop wanting you. Your communication sucked and the way you handled emotion sucked and the way you stopped loving me the way I needed you to sucked. It sucked. The whole damn situation sucked. but you are forever tied up in my mother’s death and that makes it so much harder to let go of you. you were the last person that I loved that she met and I still want you back. I wrote you a letter to say that, but you never replied. So I haven’t tried again.
because silence is an answer, and if you wanted anything to do with me, I would have heard from you.
but I liked the way you did things, and that’s what I miss about you. I miss the way you would laugh when I’d get excited about something. I miss your steady gaze and closed-mouth smile. I miss your lips. I miss kissing you, you were so good at it, you were the best. I miss your light touch and how you’d stroke the spider web on my arm. I miss your freckles and the way they draped across your chest like a cascading necklace, or like constellations. like galaxies. I miss your intelligence and love of math and science. I miss our bike rides, and watching your hips as you pedaled; watching you move your foot in the toe-cage. I miss you so much, and it gnaws my chest like hunger. it eats at me and there is nothing I can do about it but move on. and I’m trying. I’m trying. but sometimes I get stuck.
every time I meet someone new, I have to go through this. I have to slowly deconstruct the memories of the previous people I have loved. I have to justify why I am where I am. I have to trace a path from there to here, so I can feel like I am making a good decision. I have to let you go. I know this. I have known this. and I have made progress. but every so often I have to bleed you out again. I have to attach the leech and let it suck out the stagnant blood that is you before it poisons the rest of me. and someone else always ends up hurt in this process.
try to keep it quiet. there is no one else like you. try to keep it down. these memories serve no purpose. try to let it go. you are gone.
you are gone, and I don’t need you, and no matter how much I miss you, it doesn’t change a thing.

happy mother's day.
I got much of my crying out of the way on thursday.
so I guess that's something.

this was one of two days a year my mom could count on hearing from me. the other one was her birthday. I am certain that there were times in my life where I didn't call her on these days. I wasn't always a very good daughter. that's ok, though, because she wasn't always the best mom. but, as mom goes, she was at least attentive and made time for me.
at some point I withdrew from much of my family and stopped hearing from them. I frequently felt bad about myself for being a college drop-out. I felt like an inconvenience for being vegan. I didn't feel like I could be open or straight-forward with my family, so I avoided them instead.
after dru died, I got closer to my mom.
after my mom died, I got closer to my sister.

with each loss, we find some kind of gain. sure, there's balance. but that doesn't add up to a mother.

remember the reminder: things can get better. things can get worse.

I can't remember how he put it, just that he said I had the ability to make anyone cry with my words. I don't know how true that is, but I know that the rawness of the explanation of my emotion can still make me cry, even three years later. maybe even ten years later.
there are times when I read myself and I am overwhelmed by the sadness I express, and the confusion, and how straight-forwardly lost I am. those questions that I asked, those questions that I lived, they never got answered. I just moved onto new ones. time came and took away the old ones. they weren't answered. they were buried.
I don't feel as intensely as I used to. and I don't want to. I am so much more cautious, even though I try to push that away. A part of me has been lost through grief and I don't think it can be recovered. I'm not sure if I'd even want to. All it ever did was get me in trouble. All it did was leave me crying in a shower. but it's part of what I was, and that is enough to mourn its loss.
there are times when it feels like much of my adult life has revolved around sadness. it is a safe place to be because you can only go up. optimism is terrifying because a fall is not just possible, it's inevitable. but wallowing in sadness is also a self-fulfilling prophecy. the longer you let yourself stay there, the more likely it is that you will never leave.

the horrible thing is that it's hardest to see how depression keeps you down when you're stuck firmly within it, and that is the time when you most badly need to know.

I am always sad. I will probably always be sad. but it isn't the only thing that I feel. I have felt intense love and happiness and desire. I have been proud and excited and screamingly joyous. to think that I will ever live a depression-free life is naive, and there will be times when it completely engulfs me, but that doesn't have to be daily.
there are a lot of people that have left me that I have spent a lot of time missing. lately I've realized, though, that I don't like those people very much. maybe it's the sour grapes phenomenon, or maybe they're just not worth it.

I could use words to make them cry. but I think you have to care about someone in order for the tears to come.
and if any of those people cared about me, they would still be around.

an interlude

I like
hearing him
breathe.

I like the sharp intake of breath, I like the unconscious movement. I like watching men masturbate or have sex because they don't act concerned about how they look. you can tell when it's forced. you can tell when it's just for appearance.
in my dreams, I'm with women. they're all softness and posture. they want to please. in my fantasies, I'm a man, taking what I want, acting on instinct. I know reality doesn't match these stereotypes, and I'm fine with that. it's not how I would really want things. but in my head, there are no lost erections or strange sensations. so I can pare things down to their simple components and pretend that sex is easy.

a note

I know that I have said this before, but I want to mention it again. I want to talk about how severely I was changed by ex-otter. I want to talk about how much my mother's death has changed me. not necessarily the act, but by all that has followed. and I think these two things, the reason they have had such an impact on me and the reason that I associate them with each other, is because I had to figure out how to be alone. I had to be alone with myself and it wasn't necessarily by my choice initially but it became that way.
my trust issues started a long time ago. I have learned that there is no such thing as a 100% trustworthy person. there is no one that exists that will not hurt me or do something that is entirely self-centered without thought of its impact on those close to them. including me.
so it's been a rough adulthood for me. I have loved and lost so many times. and even the good times weren't that great. it's been a lot of waiting and a lot of crying and a lot of depending on other people for my happiness. I don't know where I learned this. my therapist said I have a history of falling for emotionally unavailable men, and for people that are poor communicators. for people that don't let themselves feel. but I told her, I told her, I told her that this time it's someone that is actually working on his issues. but he lives over a thousand miles away.
so I will still be alone physically.
it's the emotional stuff that's always affected me the most.
I talk like I know what's happening. like I know how things will turn out. but there is no knowing, like there is no way to plan for love.
I'm tired now, but still with more to say.
I just don't know how to say it yet.

well, that took long enough

that thing again where there are words stuck just beyond my range of comprehension. I can feel them pressing on me, aching to rip through my skin and pour out of my mouth or through my finger tips. I can feel them but am too elastic. they push hard, then ricochet back and get lodged in my throat. lodged in my brain. lodged, unable to be released.
and I am not sad.
I feel content with this thing that I cannot touch. I feel content in my distance and this frequent contemplation.
we are two opposites, we are attracted to each other's eccentricities. our similarities bind us but our differences keep us coming back. I like how excited he gets about me. I like how excited I get him. and I like that he follows me.
it always bothered me that the person I was dating had direct access to my head and heart via these journals I keep, but never used them. the people now that read them, they say that the things I write about are too personal for them to discuss with me. how can you read these thoughts and then not want to talk about them?

we meander. we dance around subjects. our methods of communication vary, and the level of disclosure differs between each one.
I worry that my romanticism and his inexperience will doom us. I worry about a lot of things. the spring is making my skin itch and my awareness prickle.

I started writing this entry on april 25. it's now april 30. I can't finish it and I'm not sure why. tomorrow is the first day of may. I wonder if that's supposed to mean anything.
I saw my therapist yesterday. it had been three weeks. I told her toward the end of the session that I haven't been taking my medication because I ran out. that I tried to be responsible but it didn't work out that way. that I wanted to see what would happen. it's not that I want to stay off meds, it's that right now I feel ok because of the spring and because of my current state of affairs. I see my psychiatrist on friday, the same day that Fig is showing up. I'm nervous, not so much about seeing him, but about transportation stuff. riding a bike is fine when you're solo, but it makes having visitors a little difficult.
I hadn't told anyone that I haven't been taking my medication. usually it's something I mention, at least here. I am not off them completely, I've just been taking them infrequently. trying to stretch them out. I kind of want to start over. winter was hard. winter was so fucking hard. and I resent so many people because of that.
and I resent that resentment.
this is new, this is old, this is ... some messy mix of the two. I feel young, I feel old, I just feel like I am where I am.
there are so many contradictions in my life, even though I work so hard to smooth them out. I want to be ok with the fact that I basically lead a straight romantic life, even though I am still similarly attracted to women. It feels like I'm cheating myself by primarily dating men, but I'm not seeking them out. it's just how things go. months ago I changed my dating profile on okcupid so that I was only looking for women. Von remains one of the only exes I have that I don't carry some kind of animosity for.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I guess I'm just confused and I don't want people to think that I'm straight, and I don't want to be ordinary. I don't want to feel like I'm letting people down. I don't want Von to feel like she was just a phase for me, because she wasn't. I am still as attracted to women as I have ever been. but situations present themselves, and I am not one to deny someone based solely on gender.
maybe I worry too much about what people think of me.
even when I have no idea what it is that they are thinking.

anti-reticent

I am damaged.
yes, I know, everyone is in some way. but the thing that is hard for me is letting go of the bandages and seeing how much I've healed. there's still a barrier between me and, well, everyone else. when I find someone that I think I can trust, that I think wouldn't hurt me, I begin to doubt myself.
the "what if"s start creeping into my brain. they dig holes in my reality and what I feel and I stop believing that good things can happen to me. I feel myself shrinking beneath my skin. I have to push myself not to retreat entirely. being vulnerable is terrifying.
my biggest anxiety has always been feeling like I'm making the wrong choice and people will think that I'm stupid. despite everything in my life, despite all that I have done and all that I have been through, I am still terribly concerned with how people view my choices. I don't care too much what they think about my appearance, but I care what they think about my decisions. I'm not even sure who "they" are. some nameless mass of people that are always lurking, waiting to disapprove? I don't know. I think they're just my doubt. they don't really exist.
one of my favorite bands has this song whose lyrics I occasionally quote to myself: "there are only two real extremes in any given situation: love and death." sometimes thinking that helps. sometimes it just bums me out.
but I guess what I'm getting at here is that I'm scared. I'm scared I'll fuck up, or that I'll get fucked up, or any of a number of things. I know I need to let go of the fear but sometimes it's easier to hold onto it than it is to feel nothing. right now I have an overload of emotions and when that happens, it turns into white noise and leaves me feeling empty.
try to deal with these things one at a time. try to deal with the stress of school, and my ever-changing living situation, and then some more stress of school from the incompletes I still have, and trying to keep up with my friends, and trying to keep up with my family, and just the things that I feel like other people are able to deal with without much thought at all. I talked to Bones the other day and she said that she still rewards herself for the small victories. the things that other people take for granted. when I complete an assignment ahead of time, that's a small victory. when I get to work early, that's a small victory. when I make a phone call to my psychiatrist, that's a small victory. when I remember to write back to someone, that's a small victory.
things aren't as bad as they used to be, in my head.
talking to Fig at night makes me feel better. when I wake up in the morning, I am happier. during the day I think about him and, for the most part, I am content. it's not the physical distance that makes things difficult. the older I get, the less that matters. it's the not-knowing how things will be in person. just because we spent a pleasant, albeit awkward, couple of minutes talking in person a year ago, and have spent the past year emailing each other, doesn't guarantee success. what does, though? nothing. I hate having such a peculiar attraction to small things, sometimes. because they can be what break me.
it's so strange when the world feels right and wrong for the same reasons.

stay.

this is not obsession. this is not regression. it's something like infatuation, but deeper. I spoke out loud to the dark just to see if the words sounded right. I'm still not sure.
this is not falling, or flailing; it's more like opening. and I can't determine the cause of the change of my mood. if it's him, or the weather, or some combination of that and other things.
what we wanted places itself squarely on our chest once we've given up hope of finding it, right?
there is a weight there, now, that I do not want to lift.
a weight and a fullness that I'd missed.

call it like I see it, call it like it is, just call

there were truths that I heard that touched me to my core. to the part of me that no one has been able to worm their way into for a long time. and he didn't make it in, he just said things that I could feel inside my chest.
he told me that I hide myself in the shadows so that people won't notice. that part didn't feel as true as everything else. I don't hide. I just don't put myself in the light like I used to.
he told me things I already know. that I'm sensitive and I feel other people. that I care, that I care deeply. as he was talking, as he was reading me, as we drove in his truck to the ocean to sit by the lighthouse and eat vegan brownies, I felt a lightness in my chest that I haven't felt in months. maybe years? I felt that part of me glow and it was strange for someone to see through me so completely. and I still kept my distance. because even with that eerie insight, I still expected him to want something more from me.
I feel cold, and closed, and I try to keep most people distant because I know eventually they will leave me. I wonder at the barriers I have constructed and I wonder how it is that I used to let myself be so vulnerable. I miss clinging onto someone in the night and sobbing against them. I miss opening myself and letting the light pour out. I miss telling the entirety of the truth.
I remember this man, this same man that described me to myself, told me after ex-otter left me that I would soon find someone to love me. but I didn't. what he told me then didn't feel true, just like some of what he said this weekend wasn't true either. but the parts that were left me speechless and close to tears. the truth burns.
it chipped away a layer I've been trying to hide from myself. it chipped away a part of me that had been making it more difficult to feel. little bits of me have withered away over the years, and they can never grow back. the last time I saw her, my therapist told me that in the years I've been with her, the greatest change in me came after ex-otter left me. I died. but people still expected me to be the person that I was. but how could I go back to that? and how can I go back to the friendships I had that left me empty after my mom died? I can't. I am too immersed in my past, even though I try to escape it. I'm getting better, I can feel it, but there's also something beautiful about being broken. there's something magical in trying to reconstruct yourself when you're missing pieces.
the spring is here. I feel as though I could blossom any day now. my thin stalk bends toward the sun. I am less cold. warmth touches me and my skin prickles in goosebumps. and I feel touched inside, too. I am frightened of distance, but feel its meaningless. I am frightened of distance, but know it isn't permanent. I can see through someone, too, you see.
and someday, they'll see through me.

look.

another dream about shiny. I'll have to stop writing about them, because I think bringing attention to it only makes them multiply. last night I dreamed that I was living in the house where I grew up (or visiting? hard to say) and he came by on a tractor with a power-washer, there to blast the dirt off cars by order of the government. his hair was a washed-out blue (ie grey or green) on the tips, and he was growing a beard-no-mustache. I was shocked. "I thought you hated facial hair!" he shrugged. he offered no excuse. he told me that he'd moved back to california for a while because he'd become so poor. he'd since returned to boston, but lived in a different apartment than before. he was surprised that I didn't know. "who would have told me?" I asked. his roommates and I make it a point not to mention his name.
while he was outside, I started thinking about the letter I wrote him. maybe he never got it, since he had moved a few times. maybe he still loved me. he'd changed his appearance, maybe the rest of him was changing too.
so I asked him if he got my letter. he had. crash crash went my hopes again. and I can't remember how the dream ended, or what else happened, just that he had changed his appearance but not the way he felt about me. but he seemed touched by me but still left. and in my dream, I missed him.
I don't miss him that much when I'm awake anymore. I remember how hard it was to get him to talk about anything. I remember how dispassionate he seemed about most things. and the most telling thing, I can't forget his silence. his silence that has stretched now for four months. in my dream it had been much longer. my therapist taught me to take silence as an answer. I have been steadily killing my persistence. it's hard. but I'm doing it.
these dreams are the last-ditch effort of my psyche to hold onto something that used to comfort me. this happens. it has happened before. it will happen again. it happens more strongly when I start to get close to someone new. maybe it's my brain trying to remind me of the last person that hurt me? I don't know.
I have said it so many times... someday I'll find a love that doesn't hurt.

simplicity without remorse

my ipod had it out for me tonight while I was painting. it kept playing sexy song after sexy song while I tried to concentrate on whether the color on my masonite was neutral enough or not. I found myself squirming on my stool, paintbrush in one hand, while the music creeped over my body. I cursed it and my lack of a sex partner. I cursed it and the combination of nice weather and the hormonal influx that PMS brings.
it's been a while since Spring felt like anything to me. well, it's been a while that I can remember. maybe it was only a year ago. but I wear blinders when I'm with someone, and this time last year I was with shiny. the year before that I was desperately heart-broken. the year before that? ex-otter. and on and on, back to when I was 20. ten years since the last time Spring felt worthwhile.
or at least that I can remember.
maybe I wrote about it. I don't feel like checking. that's a lot to climb through, and it's not that important.
I just want to be excited about things again. a new friend told me that I'd lost my enthusiasm, that he could tell it used to be there. he could hear it in my laugh. the word I would use was "passion," but his phrasing works too. a lot has happened to squeeze it out of me. it gets to the point that life feels grey and the bursts of color amaze me. but I've stopped looking for the color. I let it find me now. I used to make my own color, I think. even though I've always been sad.
it used to be a different kind of sad.
things change, people change, people leave, people die, nothing stays the same.
the Spring is coming, and I wish it could always be that way. that sense of standing on the edge of hope. just a nudge could send me careening either way. but over all, things have been improving. I'm trying. and I'm trying not to be quite so hard on myself. I'm working against a lifetime of conditioning, though.
things help. like family, and friends, and my cat. seriously. I love it when she sighs. it makes my chest feel like it's going to explode, but in the best of ways. maybe someday I'll get to feel that for a person that can return the sentiment.
how many times have I found peace in watching someone breathe?
at least once for every person I have loved.

I'm essentially a lazy person

last night I dreamed my sister died in a car crash. but later on, I realized it was just a dream (a dream in a dream, how poetic). maybe that's my wish for my mom's death.
I remember, after ex-otter left me, I spent months in a daze. I kept thinking I would wake up and it would be october again, and dru would be alive, and ex-otter and I would still be together. nothing felt real. I remember a classmate, in the last week of school, finally convincing me to get high with her, and I spent most of the time crying because I missed ex-otter. she and I haven't talked since. that's probably just coincidence.

last night I dreamed that my teeth were falling out. but they weren't rotten, or merely loose. they were my baby teeth, and making way for new, stronger teeth. so maybe that's what I'm doing too. but one of the teeth got stuck on some skin in my mouth, and it wouldn't come out cleanly. so there's always a catch. it's never entirely easy. some of the teeth crumbled, but I still got most of the pieces out. what I couldn't remove, the new teeth would push out.
maybe I dreamed about that because I was talking about dentistry with a friend, or maybe it's because I've been thinking about getting older. maybe it's because I've been stressed (when am I not?), and I'm about to make some changes in my life. maybe it's because I've gained some weight (no more than in the past) and now I'm a little more self-conscious about my appearance. Maybe it's all of these things. but in my dreams, the teeth coming out is almost always a relief. so that is something.

last night I dreamed that I hung out with the person that's supposed to be moving in. I dreamed that he was skeevy and I didn't trust him. I dreamed of an apartment with two floors, and a boyfriend who let people walk all over him, and a group of people who decided to have a party in our apartment. I dreamt I was angry and felt unsafe and just wanted people to leave. there was somewhere I wanted to go. I didn't want these strangers in my house to steal my stuff. I didn't want them there at all.
So what does that mean?

last night, so many dreams. family and friends and weirdness and the crushingly mundane. school. riding a donkey. getting lost. missing class. pulling teeth. finding out a crush is married. how to reconcile? I can't be attracted to the attached.

When I was dreaming of my teeth, I asked my mom if I shouldn't have lost my baby teeth a long time ago. she shows up like that. on the periphery. like she was to me in the years before she died. there to answer my questions. there when I called.

I wish I'd treated her differently. I wish I'd touched her more. I wish I'd asked better questions. I've never really known how to act around people. I guess because it always felt like acting.
last night, all those dreams. and when I wake up, I'm still in the same place where I fell asleep.
mostly I wish I could be someone else's dream.
it would be so much less work than being the dreamer.

disjointed

I have been writing unpublished posts lately.
last night: dreamed about shiny telling me he wants to get back together. dreamed he wrote me a letter and explained it. dreamed he came over and he was different than he used to be. he was happy. he wanted to be with me. he wanted. I guess that's the kind of dream I get, so vivid and aching, for me just repressing all my thoughts of him lately.
dreams of a desired reconciliation? and I dreamed I was in a car with ex-otter and deafgirl and I mouthed the words "I hate you" to her. she made a shocked face and when she turned around to talk to me, I hunched down in my seat and said I didn't want to talk. no one else had seen the shapes my lips made. no one else saw what she did.
dreams of getting something back, but improved. that's never happened for me and I don't think it will now. every time I find myself thinking of shiny, I drown the thought. so it surfaced when I couldn't push it down anymore. I wondered if I'd hear from him or ex-otter on my birthday. I didn't. but my brother wrote.
can't remember the last time he did that. he didn't reply to my response, but at least he wrote to me at all.
I don't know how to kill hope. I don't know why I feel like shit today, or why I'm missing spanish class again. I don't know why it's been so hard for me to do anything. yesterday I felt fantastic and I thought, "why not just feel like this every day?" because I can't maintain that high. because people don't call me or text me every day. because 50+ people don't write to me every day to say they are glad I'm alive. because that isn't normal. it isn't normal for anyone. and I forgot to take my medication all weekend, but I felt fantastic. so today I crashed.
what do I need? more sleep. friends around here that are dependable, creative, fun, and outgoing. more time to relax. better focus. something to look forward to.

ugh.
I need a better distraction.

noticing as I pass on by

burnt you in effigy. in five inch, papier mache, marker-decorated effigy.
the past few weeks I have been trying to break myself of the thinking-about-shiny habit. last night was a good culmination of that. I was surrounded by people that I love and that love me, and I burnt up his memory.
symbolism has always been important to me. two years ago, I burnt my own huge effigy so that I could try to move on from ex-otter. this year it was about getting over shiny, whom I have not heard from since december.
let's learn from this. let's try. let's be bigger than our own lives.
it's so easy to forget that suffering is suffering, no matter the source. no matter the size.
I turn 30 tomorrow.
every landmark that I pass, I wish my mom was here to see it.
I hope I never burn her memory from my brain.

more moping

I think that this is what I would like, in my romantic brain, though I am unlikely to receive it:

someone who likes the way I move
someone who thinks my laugh is great
someone who takes pleasure in my presence
someone that loves me for my idiosyncrasies rather than in spite of them
someone who notices the mole on my cheek
someone who adores small things
someone who wants to know me. all of me
someone who reads these entries
someone who keeps in touch with me
someone who wants to know how my day was
someone who wants to make it better
someone who lets me help
someone to be open and honest
someone that loves my cat
someone that has lost someone, too
someone that wants to hold me
someone that misses me sincerely
someone that feels
someone that talks.

I used to think these things were obvious until I started meeting people that didn't do them. our own experiences and needs are rarely apparent to other people. this surprises me. because I can tell when someone wants me to leave them alone. so I cease my interaction. and I can tell when someone wants more from me. that's when I tend to pull away. I am distance.
I have crushes on people and I don't pursue them.
there's just no point anymore. everyone is disappointing.

all this, all the time

when shiny and I were first together, I spent a lot of time online so that I could talk to him. constantly. I neglected the real world for the sake of being around him. since I couldn't do it in person, due to the distance, I did it online. it wasn't healthy. I knew it wasn't. but I liked feeling desired and I liked that someone that I thought was so amazing thought I was pretty awesome, too. in time, he faded, and stopped being so responsive. my passion didn't wane, but his did.
and I have to remind myself that people change.
he is not the person he was a year ago.
neither am I.

to think about the way things were is self-defeating. to think about how he used to be is self-defeating. to think about him is self-defeating. even to write these entries is self-defeating. it just reminds me of a past I thought would be my future, but died. it died.
and I make myself sad. and I make myself remember things I'd be better off forgetting. I might hold onto these feelings just so I feel something. but maybe being empty is better. it's more honest. what I'm doing now is like eating when you're not hungry. it's a habit. my sadness is habit.
I want the spring to come.
I want to push these memories from me. they serve no purpose but to hold me back. hold me back from what? from moving on. moving on to what? I don't know. a lack of attachment would be nice.

lacking motivation

curled up inside myself. found chat logs from over a year ago, when shiny and I were first falling all over each other. and I wonder what happened to him. and I wonder why it still hurts so goddamn much.
it doesn't hurt, it aches. it's a fresh scar that throbs when the rain comes. it's too many memories that play back over and over at random times. I still look for any sign of him. there is none. there is no one.
I hold onto these feelings because I don't feel much anymore. he was the last thing I felt passionate about. I make masks and art as a way to distract myself. I have a show coming up in less than a week. I'm going to be 30 a week from tomorrow. the age isn't a big deal. it's just another year gone by.
when I used to lay in bed at night, I would think about him. and before then, I would think about Pants. before then, ex-otter. before that, von. buttercup. ex-husband. various other partners. there's always been someone. I'm trying to clear out my head but when I get rid of those desires, it feels like there's nothing left. I don't know what to think about. tasks. stresses. school. throughout my life, who I love has always been the most important thing to me. it sounds fucked up, but what can I say? I'm a romantic.
my passion has always been people. it seems strange that I keep myself so separate from them now.
not that strange, actually. I realized that the bulk of the important people in my life that I have lost happened in the grieving period after ex-otter left me. I fucked up a lot and people walked. troy would say that means they weren't good friends. troy over-simplifies. they were some of the best friends. but things were strained anyway, and my inability to see beyond my own grief just exacerbated things.
I want reasons. I want logic. I believe there are reasons. I need that kind of sanity.
I don't know how much I really miss shiny. he was very sweet and open at first, then closed up. I know that I miss feeling adored and wanted and special. I really miss feeling special. I miss being in love. I miss passion. but these losses breed desperation and that is terrifying to people. I still have stupidly rigid standards, luckily. otherwise I'd be a much worse mess.
I know I should delete the chat logs. otherwise I'll just keep reading through them, and they're all over a year old, and I'm not that person anymore, and neither is he. I want to stop falling for emotionally unavailable men who aren't self-aware and don't share and won't ask for things.
and women still scare me. go figure.
there is more to me than who I love. I just feel so alone. I know that I'm not, that there are people who care, etc etc, but I don't have anyone to talk to about this stuff. no one that won't try to give me advice. I am doing what I can. it's just not enough.

oh sure, but maybe they could tell me

I can't sleep. so I figure it's a combination of hunger, the chocolate I ate, the nap I had earlier, and maybe the amount of time I spent staring at a screen this evening.
I can't sleep, so I keep thinking about how I've been asking troy to come over to take care of the cat, since he moved out before the new roommate could move in. no reason for it. not that I can see. other than the aforementioned chick.
can't sleep so my mind wanders to shiny. wonder how he's doing. but not enough to call, or ask our mutual contacts. not enough to actually want to know. thinking about the silence my therapist told me could be an answer. thinking about how I hate passive aggressiveness. even more than I hate passiveness.
can't sleep so I'll probably miss spanish class in the morning. couldn't sleep last night either, thanks to cramps and the neurosis my cat now possesses. I don't blame her.
can't sleep so I started thinking about the shit I need to do. call my psychiatrist, call my doctor, call the gas and electric company, make all these calls I find impossible to make. thinking about the painting I need to work on, and the paper I need to write, and the book I need to read. trying to figure out when I'll have time for it.
can't sleep so I was considering how I could get a medical marijuana card. not so I can smoke, but so I can cook and have little treats that help calm me down. you know, help me sleep.
can't sleep so I wonder how people are doing. wonder where they are. wonder why I don't hear from them.
can't sleep. I miss everyone.
can't sleep. I wonder if sleep can't me.
I wonder if people miss me.

care about me

since troy moved out, my cat won't leave my side. This is unfortunate, since I'm not home very much and when I am home, I don't necessarily want a cat attached to me thanks to the homework I'm probably doing.
troy and I have texted a little, but he's really severely distanced himself from me. this isn't much of a problem, honestly, except that I had fun hanging around him and I thought we would continue to hang out. oh well.
I am still waiting to feel something other than the usual loneliness. having him around really helped me out for a while. his way of approaching things was sometimes a little brash for me (pot, kettle, black, what?) and we are both defensive people so I think some situations ended up in places they need not have gone. it's easy for me to talk to him about things that don't have anything to do with him. you know, like missing my mom. but if it touched on him at all, it was very difficult to bring up.
I am in between things right now. I am essentially living alone, since the new roommate isn't moving in until april 1 and the other one is only home twice a week. I wish troy would just come over and hang out, just to keep my cat company. just to have someone to come home to and hug.
been wondering lately why I miss shiny. kind of a nice thing to wonder.
trying not to be bitter. it's difficult.
a lot of school things stress me out right now. but it all feels so transitory. it's hard to get too upset about it all.
after all, nothing lasts.
realized today that I have been the only constant in my cat's life for the past two years. and even I've disappeared for weeks at a time. poor kitty. but I always come back.
I miss having that sense of security.
I miss mutual love.

this is probably self-loathing

lonely. alone. the words have become synonymous to me, though they weren't always. back to being alone again in my apartment. roommate moved out yesterday. guess I have to name him now. let's call him troy. good ole troy-boy.
he chose yesterday to move out because chick came to see me. last time chick and I hung out was new year's, when troy overheard us having sex. sex is a problem for me, I guess. it always has been. it's how I've gauged my self-esteem. it's stupid. I don't really do that anymore. but that's not what things were like for chick and I, nor for troy and I. so let's change that to past tense. sex is how I used to gauge my self-esteem. now I think I do it for comfort and to get out of my head for a couple minutes. it's still a little self-destructive for me. but is it as bad as drinking? is it as bad as cutting? is it as bad as sleep-deprivation? I don't think so. at least I know the people that I sleep with. it isn't strangers and one-night-stands. I've only been sleeping with friends. and with troy, it was always sober.
so troy moved out yesterday. no warning. I was relieved, actually. I feel less relieved right now, because I'm alone, and my other roommate (you know, the one I've probably never mentioned) isn't here. she's rarely here. I saw her for about 30 seconds today. when she's home, she's in her room. I hate it. if I had someone else to take her place, I'd ask her to move out. she's nice, but I hate being left alone. I hate it. I hate being left behind. I hate feeling like nothing.
but really, who likes that?
maybe not everyone has the opportunity to know how that feels. maybe people put themselves in those positions. maybe that's what I've done. I don't know. my sister thinks I think too much. I think I'm alone too much. but I'm not willing to do enough about it. I just expect someone to swoop in and save me. there is no one to save me. I know.
I still miss shiny.
I don't really miss my roommate. I just miss having someone around. and I feel really awful for my cat. she loved troy. he was home a lot, and he played with her, and she cuddled with him at night. she was so content. she was so happy. she stopped crying. she stopped being neurotic. now what?
I hate how much I can relate to that. you get used to someone, you think they're staying, and then they're just gone with a shitty explanation. and how can you explain to a cat, anyway? how can you say, "it isn't you, it's me?" so that she'll understand?
I don't know. I told her again that I would never leave her. I told her again that I will always return. I hope that I'm not lying.
my old roommate, the one that bought Luca with me, hasn't been back to see Luca once. Hasn't written. hasn't called. nothing.
I hate this horrible, stupid world. I hate how heartless people are. and I hate that I let them be that way. I hate that I let myself be heartless too.
I hate that I keep expecting things to change without my actually doing anything to change them.
I stress myself out. I wish I could just relax. I'd get more done that way.

I've been worried about my lungs.
the pneumonia was back in october and I still don't feel completely recovered. it's been five months. I developed asthma at some point. the wheezing when I ride my bike is not only embarrassing, but it makes my heart's job a lot harder, too. I tire easily. I'm not sure what to do.
even before the pneumonia, my lungs weren't functioning optimally. I don't have asthma attacks, but it's definitely not easy to breathe deeply. I don't know what it means.
my heart hurts sometimes. is that related?
my well-oiled machine is lacking parts. my well-oiled machine is running dry.
I want something to feel hopeful about.
I want to function fully.

not anything

shiny used to lick my wrist. I loved to watch his tongue press against my skin as much as I liked the feeling of it. my roommate rolls his Rs at me because I become transfixed by the fluttering of his tongue behind his teeth. he looks at me with heavy-lidded eyes to gauge my reaction. it is hard for me to not push him back against the couch and beg him not to leave.
but the truth is that I want him to leave. what we do, what we are doing, has only ever been temporary. and he teases me with the mention of love but I do not give in. I deny his jokes. I know the power words have. I do not want to go down that path. I'm not sure what I would do if he told me that he loved me. he's not the type to say it first, luckily.
we were lounging in the living room yesterday. he played with the cat. I worked on a paper. I called him by shiny's name. "you think about him a lot, huh," he said to me. "I guess I do."
still haven't heard from shiny. probably won't. can't kill the hope, though. not sure why it stays. I'm illogical. everyone is illogical. nothing can be predicted. say "I knew this would happen," but you didn't. if you knew, you would not have needed to do it.
I've been sad and lonely and looking for something to hold onto. I freaked out badly yesterday and tore through the cabinets in my bookshelf, desperate to find something with my mom's handwriting on it. handwriting has always been important to me. I found the card from her memorial service and the envelope with the lock of her hair in it. I was sobbing when my roommate came in and put his hands on my shoulders. I was inconsolable.

I found a birthday card she sent me several years ago. I want to get "mom" tattooed on me in her handwriting, under an elephant. I like getting other people's handwriting tattooed on me. at this point I have von and ex-otter's handwriting. I have some of buttercup's ready. I would like shiny's and ex-husband's too. I don't even know what shiny's handwriting looks like. that's bothered me for a long time now.
I left the card open on my bedroom floor. there are things that she left behind when she visited that I've been unable to get rid of. it took me months to move the book she left in the living room.
can't let go.
can't get over anything.

who's listening?

two guys today that made my heart almost beat. one at whole foods. he was ringing up my food. the other one at the bike rack. he had a bike and was singing to himself. not my type, so to speak, but maybe the other guy was.
and I found myself thinking, "why let yourself get worked up over a guy? it's women you should be pursuing, not these men that will only misunderstand you and break your heart." and besides, in this town people don't make the first move with me. I have to do all the work.
so fucking frustrating.
haven't heard from shiny. oh well. big surprise there. I guess it's time I let go of that. it's hard, though, since he was with me when my mom died. since he held me at 2am when I was sobbing over her. since he was so many thing I wanted.
hard to be alone. hard to be here, alone. another friday night and I stayed at home. I could have gone out. I could have. but I didn't. so sick of people. so sick of not being around people.
tired. just tired. mostly of everything.
I need hope to come back to me. I need it to come back and stay.

I miss things

a little more bitter, a little more sweet. add lemon. add maple syrup. whiskey and tea. mix it. drink it. but it doesn't fucking matter.
I've needed so badly to get out of my head. so badly. and I haven't been able to figure out why the art doesn't work any more. then tonight I realized that it's because I lost my passion. all my life it is what has sustained me. now it's gone and without it I have nothing.
not have nothing. am nothing. I don't know who I am now.
haven't known for a while.
don't know what to say anymore. the words were all there just a minute ago.
too much sweetness. too much. the whiskey helps fog me, but it doesn't take away the melancholy. the loneliness causes that.
drinking doesn't take that away.
but if I drink enough, I don't care.
usually I keep myself from getting to this position because I know it will be bad for me the next day or so.
look, I've been drinking. I'm sad. not as sad or despondent as I've been in the past, but still there. sad. I miss people but I don't miss myself too much. I just miss the passion I used to have. but isn't this where I wanted to be, anyway?
didn't I want to be more consistent?

telling myself what I already know, but now you know it too

last night I invited my roommate to share my bed with me. it wasn't for sex, it was for comfort. he held me and when I sighed and started to attempt to control my breathing, he asked what was wrong. "I miss my mom," I replied, and realized I was crying.
It still feels dumb that I cry because I miss her. that I am nearly 30, and I cry over my dead mom. it feels dumb that I have so much trouble accepting that she is gone. my birthday's in a few weeks and it's going to be the first time I haven't heard from her on that day. part of me is numb. part of me is screaming.
I can't get outside of myself to see this from another perspective. I can't look outside of me to say, "it's ok that you are sad. that is expected. it's not dumb. death hurts. permanence is hard to wrap your head around. loss is devastating." I always expect myself to accept things immediately, despite the fact that I have never done that.
like this shit with shiny.
every time I hear his name, it feels like a tiny piece of me withers and dies. every time I say his name, I am emptied a little more. maybe I need to talk about him to someone that can listen, instead of just typing here. but people always want to give me advice. I don't want advice. I just want someone to listen and empathize. to say, "that sounds hard," not "you'll be fine." because you don't know that. you don't know that I'll be fine.
when my mom was in the hospital, I said to her, "you know that you'll be fine, right?" and she nodded. nodded because the tube going down her throat didn't let her talk. well, she wasn't fine. she died.
she died, and then shiny left me, and then I got poison ivy, and my step-dad doesn't like me, and my friends scattered, and I got pneumonia, and I had to go to the hospital, and I missed school, and shiny led me on, and the year ended. I let it take some of my sorrow with it. I let it take some of my self-pity and self-loathing. but it couldn't erase all of it.
it takes me a long time to process these things. my sister once told me that I shut myself off. it's true. I can't handle it all at once, so I let it out a little at a time. it took me four years to process my dad kicking me out of the house. it took me five years to get over California. I don't know how not to put things away into boxes. I don't know how my sister deals with the loss of my mom. through her kids, I think. it's different when you have people depending on you. I have my cat. she helps a little. but she didn't know my mom. and she can't commiserate.
I try to throw myself into self-realization but it can only take me so far. looking in the mirror doesn't change things, it just makes you aware of your appearance.
of course, admitting there's a problem is the first step.
I have made admission into an art form.

passengers in training

Boston yesterday. lunch with one of shiny's roommates. hung out with puppy. went to the museum of science. and I missed shiny. went to the planetarium and fell asleep thinking about how once upon a time it would have been with his hand in mine, or my head on his shoulder. I missed his bigness, and his quiet, and his smile, and his warmth. I missed his presence.
on friday I went to see my therapist. "I sent a letter to shiny." she was surprised. when I tried to explain, I told her I felt foolish for wanting him back. I told her that I was trying to remember the things I didn't like about him.
"how about his communication?" she asked.
I thought that was something that could be worked on. I thought I had time. just like I thought I had time with ex-otter. I thought we had the rest of our lives to work out our problems. but that wasn't the case.
so many people I have lost. so many people gone. and I am so resentful for the absence. I am so angry.
I told my therapist that, too. that there are people that I just can't forgive for not being there for me when my mom died. I can't let go of the sense of abandonment. and I feel guilty because I know I have been unavailable when people needed me. so maybe I deserve this. maybe I should be alone. why would I have good friends when I myself am not a good friend?
see, there's that selfish thing again.
the thing about being alone is that, sure, you don't get hurt by people. but things hurt a lot more when there aren't people around to support you. so my therapist told me to think about who of my friends I would like to get close to again. To whom do I want to express my disappointment? I don't know. I can't let it go. I can't let anything go.
I tried to tell joy, once, how difficult it was for me that she tried to convince me that my mom wouldn't die. I have tried to tell people how their blind optimism makes me angry, angry, angry. how believing that things will be ok just doesn't work, because I have lived that lie. my mom didn't get better. shiny hasn't come back. my relationship with my dad is still ghostly and my brother is still absent.
I write here because I have so few people I can talk to about these things. maybe no one at all. the times when I write the least are the times when I have someone to talk to. the times when I write the least are when I'm happy or when I can't feel at all.
I am not as despondent as I was at the end of 2010, but I can feel that something in me given up. given up on people, on life, on myself. I still act like the same person, to some extent, but I wonder what I'm doing as I'm doing it. Why am I laughing? I don't really feel joy. Why am I talking? I have nothing to say.
mostly I think I'd rather sit alone in silence then be with someone and have to pretend I care.
lately I've wanted to get fucked up. then I remember that the thing I used to do to keep that feeling at bay was art. I used to make those masks. I just don't have time anymore. I don't have time, and that hurts too.

melodrama without the --

against my better judgment, I sent the letter. I think I know what I hope it accomplishes. I think I want him back.
so to temper myself against disappointment, I have started thinking again of all the things I didn't like about him. the physical and emotional attributes. and this is what I mean when I say I'm stuck between letting go and hanging on. I don't know why I give him so much power over me. power he doesn't want or utilize.
sometimes I feel so young. (like the way I let this all affect me. like the way I write letters to him. like the way I write about all of this at all.)
sometimes I feel so old. (like the way I feel when I think about how much I miss my mom. it feels like my skin is hanging off my skull, like my face is sagging, like everything aches all at once. I can feel everything pressing in on me and the weight is like being hundreds of feet underwater. the weight is like walking against the wind. the weight is like laying down in the shower and wanting to never stand up again. there is timelessness at the same time as feeling the inevitable crush of age.)

and sometimes, thankfully, I don't feel anything at all.
my passion has all been bled away by living.
it's so hard to miss something that only ever caused you pain. that is a thing for younger, less lived-in people to do.
I am not old by years. oh no. I will be thirty a month from today. that is barely any time at all. I have not lived as much as some people, but certainly more than others. and I have felt more than some will in a lifetime. and it has made me tired, and cold, and it has killed parts of me, and it has made me entirely the person that I am today.
sometimes I am thankful for that.
other times I wish I could have been more evenly tempered those years ago when I was screaming out my passion.
it's too late. all I have to work with now is what is left. and I still wish for pills to take the feeling away. I still wish to be numb. just to get through the next few years. until I can move away and start everything all over again.
I cannot stand the new england life.
it only furthers the death of who I used to be.

when I think about you, it hurts like a dream.
like a dream does when I first wake up.

letter in limbo

caught hard between letting go and hanging on. type-type-typed a letter to shiny but I haven't mailed it yet. it's all stamped and addressed and ready to go. it's in my bag, with my bills and my rent. it's waiting for me to drop it in the slot. I don't know if I'll do it.
it says "I love you and I want you." it accuses and soothes and bounces from here to there. it infers and asks. it wants to know why why why I wasn't enough.
I hate that I even want to know.
It says "because someone else fell in love with me and I couldn't love him back the same way, I understand better what happened with you and me." paraphrased. that this gives me hope in some ways.
other parts of me know that this is pointless. know that nothing will come of it. but I can't help but hope for more than that.
if I send the letter.
in the mean time, I've taken males off my menu.
of course, the past three times I've done that, I've ended up dating men.

ha. ha. ha.

I love you but I've got to leave

had a dream about my mom last night. she was tall, young, slender, and calm. she didn't look like my mom all the time but I knew it was her. we were talking on the phone at first and we were in the country where she raised me. I walked along the road and asked her if she wanted me to play my trombone. she was so patient. finally we caught up to each other and walked to a park where she was going to be having a party for a friend. she needed to weed some gardens and set up some kind of picnic. but when we got to the gazebo she wanted to use, there was a homeless man there sleeping. as we approached, he woke up, farted, belched, and stretched. for some reason we were both very alarmed by him. stepping into the gazebo felt unsafe. In my dream, I knew I was being ridiculous. I knew I was being discriminatory. but this man ... it felt like he was going to hurt us.
so we stood on the edge of safety, there beside each other, and we watched this man and hoped he would leave. my mom was patient, like she rarely was in life. she was content to wait while I fretted.
I don't know why I woke up. it was an unresolved dream. but what dream isn't?
I made my way into the living room where my roommate was playing a spy video game. I pawed at him until he moved back and let me put my head in his lap. I cried, but he must not have noticed because he didn't say anything. I left tears on his shorts. I wanted to tell him about my mom. I wanted to tell him how initially it was so nice to have had this dream of her, to have spent such mundane time with her, to see her in a different light. but then the grief hit me. it took me over. it made me something else.
I couldn't talk to him like I used to, because he started wanting me more than I wanted him.
because he started touching me in a way I wanted to be touched, just not by him. and I remembered how it felt to be wanted. and I remembered how gentle someone can be. and it has felt so good over these lonely months to have someone to soften the pain. but he's leaving.
and he and I aren't right for each other. because I want something more from life that what I have right here. I crave stability and progress. he didn't finish the ninth grade. neither of his parents graduated high school. he is unemployed and the only job he wants is to be a bike messenger. he can't look ahead of himself outside of the immediate. today he asked me if I would be going to south county with him over the summer to hang out with him and his friends and go to the beach and ride bikes. "I'll have school," I said, and he was shocked. "I have school and work. I take classes in the summer." "but you'll still have the weekends, right?"
I feel so critical of him, but at the same time I do love him. I am beginning to understand what happened with shiny. I feel like this is how life works. it keeps giving me impossible shit to deal with, and then shows me the other side of the situation. like dru's death, and then scant years later, my mom's death. so that I would understand.
sometimes it's comforting to think there's a reason for things, but mostly it feels like there can't possibly be some thread that ties this all together. it is maddening to think it's all random, but it's just as maddening to believe it's all connected.
my roommate wanted to have sex with me, and I told him no. he asked why. so I said, " because I think it means more to you than it does to me." and it's not that it's because sex means less to me. it's because it's so clear that he is in love with me and I am not in love with him. I care about him. I love him as a friend. but I absolutely can't see myself being in a serious relationship with him. I told him that I would have been really into him four or five years ago. before I went to college. before I found purpose, basically. when I wasn't looking for forever. "we are on very different paths." and he agreed.
I want. I used to want with greater passion, but I suspect that time has tempered me. The most important thing I've learned over the past few years is how to be alone and be ok with spending time by myself. that's been the hardest thing. that and, of course, all the grieving.
but the understanding that has come to me lately about these different kinds of loves has further cemented in my brain that I shouldn't contact shiny. it would continue to not accomplish anything. and yet I still want to contact him, because I want us to be together. maybe I should just accept that I feel that way instead of trying to shame myself out of it. I still keep my eyes open to potential others, but he is my default desire. he is the one I continue to want, and the one that I hope someday comes around.
I wonder if I'll ever hear from him again.
I wonder if, at the end of everything, any of this will have felt worth all the pain.
lately I feel so much older.
another half-wasted day.