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.