Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Together Forever?

Tuesday, April 29th 2008 at 2:37am


Boredom comes from not being obsessed with something. I wish I was obsessed with something. I want to be obsessed with something creative, productive, engaging, and skill enhancing. I guess that’s a bit much to ask though, isn’t it? I’ve gone back to working on my computer-game-design, but it’s not very engaging. There is nothing exciting about it. It’s just a bunch of text and concept art. Tables, and descriptions and stats aren’t very easy to be obsessed with.

Crusifer isn’t here often enough for me to really obsess over him, and even if he was, he never wants anything. I could shower him with affection, attention, and doing what he wants to do, but it hardly makes a difference to him at all. I mean, he’ll notice, but he’ll say “it’s nice and all, but not really necessary.”

I have anime music blasting through my headphones right now, so that I don’t have to hear the music emitting from Crusifer’s headphones. He’s drawing, looking adorable as he does so. He’s drawing a chick out of a magazine for “anatomy practice.” This is something he does periodically, usually filling an entire page with random sketches. I don’t have the type of drive to do something like that. I’m all about a finished product, when the finished product is disappointing or long in coming I tend to have a habit of quitting.

I suppose that’s one reason why art appeals to me. Why ever quit a picture? It won’t take that long to finish it. And, it’s more appealing to look at every moment that you work on it (to a degree).

I’d like to complete this computer game design and submit it to a company... After some research on how that’s done. How do you submit something without them just stealing the ideas they want and then rejecting your proposal? I know there are ways, but of course I don’t really know much about it. Copyrighting your work and such. It would be nice if they would steal the entire thing and do it just the way I outlined it, but more likely they’d steal several key ideas and dump the rest, and then I couldn’t even prove they ever “stole” anything.

Anyway, say I could submit it without it being stolen, then there is fact that they probably won’t even give it a second glance because I have no degree or work experience in the field. Yet, there is a chance someone might look at and take in the uniqueness of the ideas presented, and see that there is a good sized market for such a game. But that chance will hang in impossibility without a complete design to look at.

I won’t consider the design complete until all aspects of the game are covered, all races, all items, all spells, all functions, all abilities, all disciplines, all realms and terrains, and maps and so on. I’d like all the concept art to be all complete too, but that’s a lot of concept art. The interface design is not a problem for me, but the concept art is really more than I could hope to accomplish. Crusifer and I together could probably do all of it, but relying on Crusifer for something like that (I’ve learned) is folly.
There is no point in asking myself if it is worth it or not to complete the design, because it most certainly is even though the chance of it ever being used for the template for a real game is slim. If but nothing but for my pride.

There is also the chance of putting together a team to design it with me with an agreed about of percentages of payoff (if and) when there is one. My major issue with that is how low quality the game would be if I managed to do that. Saga clearly took a very long time in the making and it’s coding is clearly crap because the load times are terrible for a game with low graphics and small playing fields. This leads me to believe that they have the inexperienced coders as well as average-joe modelers. And while Saga’s game concept is very good, the whole game (as it is now) doesn’t have draw after a certain point in the game for the economical strategist. I want this game to be made much more professionally.


Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 12:06pm


I’m getting that sick to my stomach feeling again. I get it every time I start to believe that Crusifer and I might not be... Good for each other?

He said to me last week (and has written on several occasions) that he wants to quit drinking. This morning he said that he doesn’t want to quit. I think it’s over, that’s what I think. Not today, not tomorrow, but soon enough. As fast as life flies by it’ll be over and in the past before I can really comprehend why.

What happened to all of his talk of forever? What happened to all of mine? He’s not willing to budge an inch for me. Well, I guess a few inches. I don’t have enough time with him to prove my points to him. I don’t have enough time with him to really understand him, to really understand where our relationship stands.

He hardly ever admits to changing his mind, or tells me that he has changed his mind. It’s always “well I think...” or “I feel...” about whatever it is, and it’s almost always different than the last time. I don’t think I know him as well as I thought I did. I don’t think he wants this as bad as I thought he did.

In the middle of February, when I was the most happy with this relationship if he had threatened to break up with me I would have bent over backwards to change his mind. I would have given up anything, picked up anything, given him more freedoms, done anything but feel the heartbreak surely to come. I see so much of myself in him that I expected him to be the same way. I thought if I expressed that I felt it wasn’t working... If I told him I was having second thoughts... If I made it clear that his actions were upsetting me, depressing me and pushing me away... I thought if I told him those things that he would suddenly be a panic to keep me, the way I would be and have been over him.

I was sorely wrong.

He barely seems to care. I want to say that this is because he hardly shows any emotions, but perhaps it’s because he doesn’t feel things. He says things like “I’m human too you know” but how can I remember that when he hardly shows it?

I don’t believe that I’m not crying right now. That shows how close to the end it really is. I’m already starting to accept my heart cracking down the center. I’m already beginning to accept that I need to find a life outside of him. I’m already accepting the fact that I have to be independent... Some part of me (that I don’t know to well) is preparing for it, some part of me that is wiser than the part of me that has control.

How can I leave him? He’s a good man. He is. He’s a beautiful artist. He’s beautiful in general. He makes good money with his talent. He has worth while goals. He has stamina. I want to say he’s passionate, as I’ve said before, but I’m not sure that word applies so much anymore. I see it more and more as lust and not passion. Passion implies emotions, and deep emotions at that. Oddly I see him more and more as a less emotional being, and more robotic and cruel.

Why do I see that? It’s not even a logical assertion! He’s not violent (like Tre was), he’s not messy (like Tre was), he’s not a drug dealer (like Tre was), and he is logical (like Tre wasn’t)... Or is he logical? I’m having trouble with that one these days too. So have I just scratched off passionate and logical with one blow? That certainly is a lot. If I scratch those off it’s a lot harder to make a good case for him. Have I deluded myself into thinking he’s more than he is?

He did buy me a laptop. He does give me incredible orgasms. Why don’t those things matter in the face of how he speaks to me? I’m so word-oriented. I keep believing his words. Perhaps out of spite for him not believing mine?

I want to sink into being suicidal. I want to declare that my life is over!

I also want to be more mature than that.

So is maturity... Break up? It’s tempting in the way that I wouldn’t have to keep trying to work it out. It’s tempting in that there would never been another screaming fit. Christ! When did breaking up with him become tempting? My love, my future, my plans and attachments are slipping right through my fingers! I’m standing in sand. I’m in quicksand. And I’m sinking, sinking, sinking... Sinking out of love with him?

I feel the beginnings of tears. I don’t want to cry, oddly. I usually can’t wait to cry when I feel like this. Just get it out you know? But I know once I start to cry the little negative voices will chirp up. The ones that say things like, “this is all your fault,” and “it’s because you’re ugly,” and “if you weren’t such a retard, like he said,” and “if you weren’t such a needy baby,” and “you just don’t love him enough,” and “if only you’d just let him drink,” and “maybe you can settle for less,” and “maybe if you change and adapt enough you won’t feel this way,” and “maybe if you were more considerate,” and “maybe if you lost weight,” and “maybe if you gained weight,” and “maybe if you had sex with him more often,” and so on, and so on, and so on!

I’m trying to be rational here. If I keep being rational I can hold those thoughts at bay. Why is this really happening? It’s because I have needs that he can’t satisfy. I want a companion, for several hours a day, (preferably more, but three or four is a good minimum) that will give me affection, talk to me, kiss me, possibly sleep with me (at least once a week, preferably two to five times) and tell me how wonderful I am, (while I tell them how wonderful they are) who will work with me on a project (the actual content of the project not being half as important as the fact that we’re doing it together) and then another project and then another over time and years, who will comfort me if I cry, who will care for me (instead of saying I’m a pussy, or that I’m weak, or that I’m being a typical woman), and who will make me feel special. And at least one day out of the week, (really the minimum is more like two days a week, I guess I made an exception for Crusifer) spends time with me all day long, where we might go out together, where we get dressed together, brush our teeth together, hold hands along a nice walk, wash each other’s faces, take a bath together, clean each other’s toe nails, scratch each other’s heads, watch a good movie, draw together, read together, write together, play video games together...

That’s what I want, most simply put.

He has needs that I can’t satisfy as well. He wants to listen to loud rap music. (It has to be loud, it has to be rap.) In the future he hopes to have his own room far away enough from mine where he can blare his music loud as he wants. (He’ll never understand that I can’t stand it no matter what I say. He won’t believe it. I’m just being a pussy after all. (This is a moment where you’d think I roll my eyes, but rather I’m too upset to stop staring blankly at the screen.))

He also needs his friends. This one is hard to argue with really. Everyone has friends. Everyone but me. And at this point in my life it’s actually my choice. Perhaps I’m so used to not having friends that I’ve become comfortable with it?

It’s occurred to me that his quest to not being enslaved (as he puts it) is leading him to try and enslave me. He told me this morning that men have more say in the relationship, and that is the way it’s always been, and always will be. I tried not to hear him. I was disgusted, but I tried to pretend that he was kidding. He started laughing afterwards, like it was a joke, but it wasn’t a joke. He’s trying to pin me under his thumb. Once I let him listen to his blaring loud rap music, and let him drink, and let him bring friends over, and let him go out with friends, then he’ll be excited to marry me. And then I won’t be interested anymore.

I never thought these issues would escalate. I remember saying to Crusifer, “I can’t imagine what problems we’ll have,” and he replied, “We won’t have any.”

What a naive reply! And how much denial it really shows in him. Or hopefulness?

Perhaps he’s in denial that this isn’t working. Or perhaps he’s just quietly separating himself from me, the way I know I am somewhere deep inside of me. That’s that pain we feel in our chest. I’ve concluded that feeling is the soul ripping apart. My soul is slowly, one tiny spot at a time tearing away from his, and the change in energy is centering in my stomach, making me sway with uneasiness, making my chest vibrate and ache. If I cry, I’ll try to heal the tear inside of me, I’ll try to calm my restless energies. Perhaps I shouldn’t cry yet. I need to keep tearing, tearing, tearing away from a man who wants to control me. A man who wants to party, drink, smoke, blare his rap music and “chill wit da boys.”

I can’t believe my own thoughts! I’m thinking about the fact that I ought to try dating a white guy. I’m thinking about actually trying to find someone else! God help me! Someone help me!

I will. Not. Cry. Yet.

I think I understand something about him now. Why he doesn’t cry. Crying leads you back to safety. I’ll cry my way back into Crusifer’s arms and peacefully forget how I felt, and why I felt that way. Tears lead me back into my emotions, back away from logic, they allow me to let go what I’m holding back right now so that I can analyze.

Right now I need to choose. To pull away from Crusifer, or to try and mend it. Again, again, again. I’ve tried this before. I’ve tried mending it several times. We tried the compromises. Sadly it’s not even what he does at the moment. It’s the things he’s said.

I don’t want to keep being called a retard (even from the same man that calls me a genius – neither of which I am I suppose) and I don’t want to be treated the way I was this morning. The way he cut me off, the way he wouldn’t listen, the way he called me full of shit again.

He’ll never keep his promises, will he? It’s been a year and a half and he’s still drinking, and I’m still a liar, and he still won’t believe that the sound of music is really disturbing enough to matter, and I feel more and more and more alone. I feel so lonely I could burst.

I will. Not. Cry yet. Not yet, not yet, not yet.

He’s been better than Isadora’s Josh. He’s not a big baby. He started off like Isadora’s Bean. (I’m talking about Isadora Wing, from the three-book series by Erica Jong.) He started off making love to me in the most amazing ways. We were sex maniacs together, and after the sex we talked and talked and talked until the mornings. He was understanding. Our pasts related to each other. I understood him in ways he had not been understood before, and he did the same for me. We were so affectionate. Oh how I miss how he used to touch me!

I will not cry yet! Not yet! Not yet!

I miss being happy with him. I miss being sure. I was so fucking sure! I was sure! I wanted nobody but him! I wanted to marry him! I wanted his kids! I did this all over again! All fucking over again! (Not yet!)

Why is this all in past tense? I have not given up, have I? Christ, I’m not even sure about that! Please forgive me for my sins, for I am thinking this isn’t going to work, and I’m thinking that I should cut it off sooner rather than later, and my heart is pounding, and my face is contorted from holding back tears, and my lips are fidgeting, and I’m paralyzed from the neck down aside from my fingers, clacking, taping, jittering, pressing, moving, like spider’s legs across the keyboard, finding the next letter, seeking, searching, searching, searching the way I am for love, for affection, for companionship, for someone to feel the way I feel.

I want him to feel how I feel.

I just want him to fucking feel the way I fucking feel.

I’m degrading, I’m falling apart, my logic is failing me, my heart is burning. I want to curl up in his arms and I want to cry. I want him to tell me I’m beautiful. I want him to tell me he’s sorry. I want to believe that this will work... Will work... Will work... Will work...


Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 5:42pm


Predictably, I left my entry this morning to sprawl on my bed and cry. I think I wept loudly for about five minutes, quietly for another five, stared at nothingness for around ten minutes and then I decided to focus my entry into the drawing I’m working on. It’s an anime rendition of Crusifer and I together. What I like about the picture most is that it actually looks like Crusifer, and it kinda really looks like me too. Except that we both have big anime eyes, and our heads are rather large for the bodies, and the bodies are longer and thinner, and the necks very thin, especially mine. I love how the picture is coming out.

Crusifer inspires my art time and time and time again. I don’t want to give up, but I also don’t want to “waste” my time with him. Not that I really believe it’s a waste, because after all we’re learning from each other (from the negative and the positive experiences). I still have hope for our relationship, but this morning was another punch to the tit. Telling me that I was full of shit again really socked it to me. And then bringing up the music thing again... Telling me the man should have the say in the relationship... Telling me that I shouldn’t go take a college class because one class is useless and a waste of money. Telling me that I’m spending all his money and preventing him from saving. Telling me he’s not very sure about marrying me, at all. And the real whopper, he doesn’t want to quit drinking, and doesn’t plan on it. He said that he wrote that he wanted to quit because I got the idea in his head, implying that I clouded his judgement. (As if beer doesn’t cloud one’s judgement...)

I’ve considered all the possibilities that I can, and I’ve come to a conclusion. I will take the summer college course (sculpting – mostly because that is the only art course there was that was at a somewhat reasonable hour and that sounded interesting enough and was at an entry level) and I will soon have my bike in the mail. When my bike arrives I will bike to and from work with Crusifer, which may improve our relationship, or it may not. Either way, I’ll get exercise and see the outdoors and will be exploring another possible area of our relationship. That would add another hour onto the amount of time we spend together each and every day that I bike with him to and from work. In addition, taking the course will give me something else to learn about, something else to focus on, and somewhere new to meet new people interested in similar things.

Another measure I’m taking is that I’m halting all the wedding and children talk. The man I saw this morning was absolutely not the man I’m going to marry. This morning did serious damage to my opinion of him, and this time I think the damage is more permanent than before. Previously I’ve been able to forgive him, to let him redeem himself with promises and kisses. I won’t take promises and kisses as redemption for the things he said to me this morning. I will not marry a man who drinks, no matter how little, or how often. It’s a disgusting habit and if he can’t kick it for me then I’m obviously not worth it to him, thus making him not worth it to me.

I’m in no hurry to get out of this relationship, and at the moment I don’t even feel like I’m in a hurry to have kids and get married. I’m in no hurry to do anything in my love life at all. At the moment it’s functional, though somewhat upsetting at times. If I drop the marriage talk, the drinking talk, the kids talk, and an assortment of my other complaints about video games and people and such, then perhaps the arguing will stop, and perhaps things can mend from there. Perhaps biking with him will rekindle something between us that I feel is dying. Does he feel this way about to me too? I really believe that he does, based on the things he’s said and done. He just doesn’t seem committed, or sure that he wants this for himself, and that alone is enough to make me wonder if I’m with the wrong man.

I’m not putting him on some sort of trial, and I’m not going to test him. I don’t believe that he’s going to change. I’m going to push myself to socialize and find new avenues for myself this summer.

I’m going to try to adapt. If I can’t adapt, then I guess that’s that.

You know what really makes me sick though? I don’t feel like he’s really truly tried to do this my way, even under threat of breaking up. Perhaps February was a fluke and he was really just rushing home because it was cold. The back-rubs have stopped. The giddy cuddling is down below the minimum required for sanity in my life. The conversations become more and more argumentative and less and less productive (or even funny or thoughtful.) He doesn’t compliment me half as much as he used to. I get a “you look cute today” in a standard tone, with his standard admiration look... Sometimes he’s not even looking at me when he says it.

Oh, and I forgot the other sock to my guts he gave me last night. He brought up us having a girlfriend... After all this time of having dropped the subject, after ruling it out, after mutually deciding that it would ruin our relationship he brought it up again. I don’t really think it’s that bad that he brought it up, really. I mean, so it’s a nice fantasy and all, but it’s just so impossible to bring to reality, and if it did become reality I know we’d breakup over it. How do I know? I can imagine it clearly now... I know my jealousy better now...

I can see this pretty white girl, blond most likely, sitting on his lap while he’s at his computer. (I’m imagining this in print here, for the benefit of future recollection of my point.) He let’s her distract him from his computer (the way he would get mad at me for doing) and they kiss and kiss and kiss (the way we did when we were a new couple) and they sleep together often (making me feel out of place, jealous and angry and neglected) and she leaves most of the day, comes home when he does, and then they’re all over each other again, talking, laughing... It wouldn’t work unless I loved her too, unless she loved me too. Chances of that? Zilch.

Just thinking about it makes my blood boil. I want him to behave that way towards me again, not watch him behave the way towards a new woman!

I want his love and affection and attention so bad that I’m a wreak. I’m so blasted lonely in here that I could just set myself on fire. (That would take more guts than I really have.)

I’ve been working every single day towards getting that office done in the back. And it’s coming along quite well, as I’ve said before. It’s a good project to keep me distracted. All the boxes of books are out of there. All of the boxes of papers I have sorted through (tossing 90% of it – magazines and pamphlets and other text not written by either of my parents). I kept the stuff that had their signatures or handwriting and carefully filed it into a bin. The materials for my binders about my parents that I will create in the future.

All the tools I found I put in one box. I painted over the plain soot-covered shelves that the boxes had been on. The shelves are built into what is usually the knee-wall. They’re on both sides of the soon-to-be office. On the one side I’ve finished painting them black and there is the CD player, cleaning supplies, the bin full of old papers, trash bags, an assortment of now-empty binders, a box of reader’s digest magazines (from the late 80s and early 90s) and the box of tools.

The office project brings me closer to making Crusifer more comfortable and happy with our arrangement. He’ll probably be able to play music on the whole opposite end of the attic while I’m on the bed if there is a fan going in between, which there will be in the summer time. That would allow him music time on Sundays. I’m not too happy about not being with him during any part of our time together in the house, but then again, I’m obviously not happy about a lot of things, so compromises of any kind are helpful at the moment.

I’m not going to tell him about how I feel about this morning. I can’t really see the point. He knows what I want from him. He’ll notice that the chain I gave him (where he puts his engagement ring) is missing along with the bracelet, and promise ring are missing. He’ll notice that I won’t talk of marriage or kids anymore. It’s clear enough, just like it’s clear that I’m not his ideal wife either.

Monday, April 28, 2008

And so the little voice in my head says....

Thursday, April 24th 2008 at 3:07pm


Some say that "we're all going to die someday" and use this as a way to live their life however they feel like living it. They use this as an excuse to do drugs, to hurt people, to hurt themselves, to eat poorly, to not vote, to not care, to do whatever floats their boat for the next day, the next hour, the next minute.

Even if I'm going to die at the age of twenty three, I'm still going to eat healthy, I still won't party, I still won't hurt other people, I'll still vote in the election, I'll still be kind to my family and myself, I'll still write, I'll still love and make love, I'll still draw and create, create, create.

It's not how long you live, but how you live. And to me, the most important parts of living are love, respect, health and creation. And I can't live my life without all four of those, and it's pretty hard to live without pride too.

Let everyone else drink soda, eat cake, white bread, ice cream, margarine, and smoke cigarettes. Let everyone else drink and drive, and drink at all for that matter. Let everyone else beat their wives, feed their children junk food, work a job with no pride, put other people down to make themselves feel better, neglect voting the same way they neglect their mind and body and loved ones. Let everyone else put money before self satisfaction, creation and love.

Hopefully if I write it all down, and dance my heart out, write my heart out, and give my heart away as often and as much as possible, then hopefully I won't slide into apathy. Hopefully I won't become old and bitter and uncaring. Hopefully I'll always care about my health, and my art. If I start to slide, then hopefully my readers will save me. Won't you?


Thursday, April 24th 2008 at 8:23pm


I keep thinking that if I create some perfect system for things that everything will run smoothly. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) we’re organic beings and so our lives and relationships and actions. We’re not robots. Oddly, my boyfriend has difficulty following a system (or at least a compromise he agrees to) but aspires to be a robot. That’s a hard chunk of hypocrisy to swallow.

Latest compromise was so much for me to give. So far from once a month, I’ve backpedaled all the way to twice a week, as long as he doesn’t drink. How could that be too much to ask? I love him as the person, and I love his hobbies, and our morals match, and he’s fun to talk to, and he’s fun to be around, and our sex is like magic, and he’s the most affectionate man I’ve ever met, and he can learn anything he puts his mind to, so why, why, why isn’t this working?

I’m starting to think that it isn’t me who wants too much, it’s him. I think he’s still feeling cheated on the aspect of not fucking other girls. He says that he doesn’t care about fucking other girls, but then why does he bring it up everyday? Why does he write about it? It’s not as though he’s going to find any other girl who wants an open relationship. I stopped being able to handle it because I love him so much, doesn’t he understand that?

Of course fucking other girls is just a drop in the bucket. The major thing is his friends. If twice a week with his friends isn’t enough... Then that leaves me wondering what he really wants for himself. Perhaps all this talking about aspiring to be some great artist is just that... Talk. Then again I don’t see him at work all day drawing and tattooing. I feel so left out of the picture. Sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m a part of his life. I feel like I have no influence on him at all. He always has some realization about his life while he’s at work, never while he’s with me...

Surely my love is worth what I’m asking for? And if it isn’t to most people, then surely it is to someone. The question is, is it worth it to my boyfrined? I really don’t think it is. I don’t think I’m worth it to him. That’s the real crux of the problem. Who the hell knows why. For goodness sakes, giving up drinking and coming home to me more often than going out is all I’m really asking for here. Everything else would be the same for him or much worse if he was on his own. He wants to get laid more often, but I seriously doubt he could get laid more often from another girl, or while being single.

I don’t understand it. Maybe he just doesn’t really want a relationship. Maybe he’s just looking for sex? He’s also said/written that he wants a companion, but apparently El makes a better companion than me. I feel like meeting me was enough for him. Perhaps meeting me justified his personality, fantasies, wants, and thoughts and now he can move on alone?

How can I be so difficult to deal with? How is that possible? I do woman’s work, I’m inspired in the bed, I’m talkative and I’m quiet, I’ll watch TV, or not, either way is fine. I can be at my computer, I can be on the bed, I can go for a walk. I’m not even that picky about what we do. Sure, I’m picky about what I eat, and what music I listen to, and what I watch on TV, and what I write and read, but none of that really affects Crusifer other than the music. So I can’t stand rap... So what? He’s got an ipod and he’s got twelve hours away from me every single day. Why should I have to listen to it while he’s here? He can’t seriously consider that a disadvantage to being with me, can he?

He says my body is perfect for him. He says I’m the only woman he’d be willing to have kids with. He says he wants to marry me. He says a lot of things, so then why does he write that he’s not sure he wants our relationship to continue? He’s not sure if I’m worth it. And why? Because I ask for affection? Because I don’t want him to drink? This is just plain ridiculous.

I’m not going to give in anymore. I’m already crunching my feelings to offer all that I have. I’m not going any further. Dealing with his work hours is enough. I’m not going to let him drink. I will not marry a drinker, and if that means not marrying my boyfriend than that’s that. It makes me sick to my stomach, and it makes me angry, and it makes me sad, and it makes me depressed. Christ it makes me feel worthless! A goddamned bottle of fermented crap with sugar thrown in is better than a whole goddamned person!

How can he continue to choose drugs and partying over me? What the fuck am I thinking? A year and four months... No, a year and five months and he still hasn’t quit? I’ve got to be stupid! I should... I should have just broken up with him the first time I said I’d do it if he kept drinking. Why am I so blasted forgiving? At this rate I’ll be married and have kids to a drunk. Aha, that’s why it’s gone on so long, because I keep giving him credit for not getting drunk. Well hell with being drunk, why can’t he quit cold turkey? Why can’t he just be done with it? He can’t be serious about marrying me. He can’t be.

I can’t believe this. I’m so stunned. But little by little over the last month it’s starting to hit me. Between the lies I’ve caught him in, and the drinking that hasn’t ended, the broken compromises, the meaningless arguments, the repetitive conversations, his avoidance of important topics, his coldness, his quickness to accuse me, his lack of trust of me... It’s really starting to occur to me that this isn’t working out, and I want to deny it, but that would be foolish, and getting myself into this was foolish enough...

No, I haven’t given up, but I don’t know what my next move is. If I was a different woman I’d just dump him today. I’m not that sort of woman though. I’m the type that’s too stupid to realize that men don’t really change. I’d like to believe that they do, but maybe they don’t. Or at least, men don’t change for someone unless than someone is themselves.

I feel like I should go puke. I also feel like I should jump out the window. I also feel like I should forget everything I just wrote. I feel like I should call him, and scream at him, and bribe him, and placate him, and treat him like a king, and tell him he’s a piece of shit who doesn’t deserve me...


Friday, April 25th 2008 at 2:16pm


Everything bubbled to the surface last night. All the pent up worry and fear and emotions smoothed out into a stream of liquid words.

“I feel worthless when you chose to drink over being with me. I feel like I am less than a mere bottle of alcohol,” I told him.

“I need to you to prove to me that you really want me long before we get married. And I’m not going to wait for years while you get yourself together,” I told him.

“My father paid less and less attention to me from the cusp of my puberty. He started drinking more and more often around the same time after having quit for years. I don’t want to see my children neglected in the same way,” I told him.

Crusifer doesn’t actually cry, but he goes into a state where his voice changes in pitch, and his cheek muscles rearrange, and his chin pushes up. He looks miserable wearing this expression, especially because I know that’s about as miserable as he ever allows himself to look.


“There is no point in making more promises, that I may or may not keep, so I could either quit and things may then work out, or I could not quit, and we may break up. Let’s just leave it at that,” he said.

“There is no point in me consoling you with my words,” he said.

“I can do it right this time. Are we done talking about breaking up now?” he said.

“I won’t drink any more. I promise. Really, I won’t,” he said.

I go mad as he touches me, verging on tears, grasping him, afraid, nervous, partly relieved, partly comforted, and simply mad with love and lust and fear. We kiss each other, hold each other, talk and go quiet, and talk again, and go quiet again.

“Do you have anything you wish to say to all of this?” I ask.

“I’m thinking,” he replies.

And we’re quiet again.

I scratch him, I groom him, I rub his back, I clean his nails. I give him soft kisses all over, and he touches the back of my head tenderly, the way he knows I like, the way he knows comforts me.

“All of this time,” I say, “I’ve trusted you one hundred percent. I’ve put faith in us getting married one hundred percent. I’ve held nothing back. I’ve given you everything. I haven’t doubted you, and I’ve forgiven you, and I’ve given you second chances. From the beginning of our relationship I’ve given and given and given, and shrugged my shoulders thinking that you’d pay me back. I’m still waiting for my payback. Sure, a laptop is a huge sign of commitment. Buying me things is nice, but when I think about the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for me I think of the letter you wrote me, the one like a poem with a porcupine on it. I think of the two drawings you drew for me. I think of the time you made me cereale with too much milk in a large bowl with way more than I could really eat.”

“But you still doubt me,” I say, “You haven’t invested in one hundred percent. You don’t fully trust me. You still think I lie to you. You still believe I could make fun of you. You still believe you need your backup plans, your friends, your drinking. And it’s making me stop feeling like I should put my one hundred percent in. I feel like I’m a fool to continue trusting you, to continue loving you and believing in you.”

And so we try again to start again. And so we make love. This whole discussion took place by candlelight. The entire time I rubbed him, soothed him, stroked him, groomed him, and then we made love. It was like the first time I slept with him, only much, much, much better. Every worry was banished. I came twice, then he did. Then we cuddled, made chicken wings, and he ate me out to another orgasm even better than the first two. We ate chicken and I had lima beans too. We drew together, and we smiled again, and laughed again, with no TV, the way things should be.


Sunday, April 27th 2008 at 2:34pm


So I wash my hair in the sink downstairs, after dealing with soot covered boxes for over an hour. I decided to wash my hair because I had washed and washed and washed my hands and arms, only to discover that they were still discolored. Perhaps washing my hair (the shampoo, the longer exposure to water) would clean them further, and also, get my hair clean. The lack of having a bathtub and fully functional bathroom in general makes the discovery of having clean hair like a miracle. The silky smoothness of it against my face is incredible after being so dirty.

So I say to my fiancĂ©, “Look at my hair, it’s so silky. Touch it. Touch it!” I offer it to my fiancĂ©, getting my head close to his hands as he sits as his computer.

“It’s just hair,” he says. I frown as he doesn’t touch me. Am I silly for wanting to appreciate this small miracle or he being cynical (or mean? or neglectful?) for not appeasing me by touching it and appreciating it with me?

He sits there downloading porn, and I sit here working on “our” game design. I say “our” because many of the ideas are his, I put “our” in quotations because I’ve most certainly done more work on this design than him. I feel so smart when I work on the game design. I’m amazed at my own wealth of ideas over and over again. I’m amazed at how much I know, the vastness of my own vocabulary, the numerous resources at my disposal with my gaming experience, the internet and the synonyms that my word processor has to offer. I amaze myself at the efficiency at which I can make use of these resources and put them together.

Him and I overuse the word “genius” and so I say, “I’m such a genius” looking at my own charts. All my work, which I can’t make use of because I don’t have a degree, because I don’t have the requisite experience, because you have to work from the bottom up, because everyone has ideas, and so on and so forth. I want someone to appreciate it. I want someone to work on it with. Who better than my love? So I say to him, “Aren’t I genius? Isn’t this nifty? Isn’t it cool how I thought about that? Babe, come on,” I say giggling, “pat me on the head,” I offer him my head, obviously being a goof-ball, “pat me on the head and say I’m a genius.”

“You’re being annoying,” he says.

And with that statement I’m dumbstruck. My ideas are not genius, they are annoying. It takes me several minutes to realize that of course it’s not my ideas that are annoying, obviously is constantly asking him to look, look, look at me, my ideas, and me again. I’m such an attention whore that I disgust myself. But what’s wrong with wanting his attention? Am I such an alien?

On a totally different topic I saw Tre for the first time in over a year yesterday. I expected to feel odd, displaced, upset, or possibly turned on, but surprisingly I felt utterly nothing. Just amused that he does exist, amused that I was with him in the past, amused that he’s married to Danya. I should have asked to see his ring, I never noticed. I was too busy talking and looking at his car. He’s got a nice car now, unlike the hunk of junk he was driving when we were together. He’s almost got his associates degree now. He’s doing well, but I’m still glad I’m not with him. Oh the multitude of problems I had with him, and it still makes my relationship with...

Now I’m a retard. All the way from genius to annoying to retard in less than half an hour. I have to lock my journal now, because Crusifer doesn’t want “his shit on Broadway.” For years I’ve been told I can’t write about this stuff. For years I’ve been slapping everyone in the face with the raw truth about myself and my life, and now, I lock it up for him. I hope I’m not wasting my time on this nigga, because I’m sick of feeling the way over him, waiting for the “good times” when they come... For shorter and shorter periods of time, less and less often.


Sunday, April 27th 2008 at 10:09pm


(These are real quotes between Crusifer and I, but bear in mind that in all three of them we’re kidding more than we are serious... Well, okay, about as serious as we are kidding.)


“In your pictures you look so young. Now you’re old and wrinkly with titties flapping in the wind,” he said to me.


“Denial is key,” he says.
“Sure is sweetie,” I reply, “Denial is key to breakups.”


“You could just stay here and draw,” he says.
“No, I can’t,” I reply. “You see there is this little voice in my head, and it says ‘don’t you want to go be with Crusifer? Don’t you want his prescience? His smell? Don’t you want to be near him and hear every sound he makes?’ and I reply to that voice passionately; I do, I do, I do!”


Monday, April 28th 2008 at 8:40pm


Letter to a girl with a blog,

I bet you everything I own, every cent to my name, and my body, flesh, health and love that if you changed your diet, your entire life would change.

You are what you eat, literally.

It's not about how much you eat, it's about what you eat, plain and simple. And if you only eat things that are truly good for you then you will never become over weight, and you'd never fall underweight either.

How do I know? I was 155lbs, and I was depressed, and I was miserable, and I hated myself and my life. I was lazy, and I started smoking pot on top of it. My memory went to hell, my self respect went to hell. I was losing myself and everything, including my health and my body. I had muscle cramps, head aches, and then I started getting terrible stomach aches, I started burping, and the burping became painful. This went on for over a year of my life.

I knew I had to do something, but what? The first thing I did was dump my abusive boyfriend. That was a good start, but it wasn’t enough. I was less depressed, and I was less moody, and my memory improved, but I was still depressed, moody and my memory was still terrible, it was just better than it had been. But the most concerning was the pain in my stomach when I woke up every morning. The painful burping that went on all day everyday.

I read an article about what sugar does to the body by Dr. Mark Hyman, and that was the beginning of my path to a whole different life. I started by eliminating High Fructose Corn Syrup from my diet. I lost five pounds, I started sleeping better, and I found that I had much more energy. Though the stomach aches and burps continued. Because Dr. Mark Hyman’s article helped me, I read more of his work. He said to try eliminating all sugar, all bread, all meat and all dairy for one week, and also to take long relaxing baths, and to reflect everyday in a journal.

I tried it. It was hard to figure out what to eat at first. I ate lima beans, potatoes, tortilla chips, and fresh fruit at first, because I didn’t know about all the organic options out there. I lost another ten pounds, gained a boost of energy, and the stomach aches went away completely, and the burps reduced dramatically. I slept through the nights, my depression receded, the health of my skin and hair improved. I felt like a new woman, and I became more confident.

I fell in love again with a wonderful man, one who isn’t abusive. I was 140lbs then, and I still wasn’t in the best of shape, but I was doing so much better that I felt on top of the world. I stopped eating out. I stopped smoking pot, which made me able to remember so many things that I couldn’t believe what good memory I actually do have! I quit eating white bread and pasta for good. I replaced milk with rice milk and almond milk and added organic granola to my diet. I added long-grain brown rice to my white rice with organic chicken dinner. I added orange juice and water to my fridge and drank as much fluid as I can. I started taking two-hour long baths where I meditated and reflected on my life, often by candle light. I quit drinking as well.

I lost another ten pounds, gained another boost of energy, and began to start seeing life as a challenge that I could handle. I became a person that I loved. I became more creative and got back into my artwork. I was more interested in being active, and less lazy.

I’m 125lbs now, and I eat all day as much as I want. I eat salads, potatoes, yams, lima beans, chickpeas, carrots, peppers, organic granola with rice milk or almond milk, tortilla chips, rice crisps, other organic chips (with no added sugars), all kinds of fresh fruits, all kinds of teas, home-made popcorn, corn-based spaghetti, grass-fed organic meat, grass-fed organic yogurt, and the list of wonderful foods goes on. And I will tell you personally, what you eat makes all the difference in how you feel and look. It changes everything.

Try one week, like I did. If you’re not impressed, then go back to life the way it is now.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Cleaning My Closet... My Attic, My Relationship

Saturday, April 19th 2008 at 6:00pm


Strange that as soon as I don’t have a video game I’m addicted to anymore I turn right back to my writing. Then again, I was writing very long winded suggestions in the Saga Forums.


I have cramps, though not as bad as last month. I suspect they could have been, but I did take those pills this morning, and I got some exercise today, and the heat might actually help a bit since applying heat to the stomach (as all women know) soothes cramps a great deal. I’m really too hot to apply any more heat than I already am feeling throughout my body, but they aren’t so bad.

I drove (with my mom in the passenger seat) out to Wegmans to pick up some more organic grass-fed goat-milk yogurt (sweetened with a bit of “organic cane sugar”) as well as some things I’m going to give Tina tomorrow. On the way I stopped at My boyfriend’s work place and gave him some hugs and kisses. Outside Jeremy was there playing hacky sack with Chuck and two other guys I didn’t know. (The card shop is actually attached to the tattoo shop.) I gave Jeremy a quick hug and told him he should visit me sometime this week. I didn’t hear a response to that. Since I wasn’t exactly parked legally I didn’t have time to lag.

I just now returned. The attic is at least ten degrees hotter than the rest of the house even with two window fans on exhaust, foil on the windows, the attic door closed, and another fan blowing towards a window fan. The heat from two desktop computers and two laptop computer probably doesn’t help. I hope the heat doesn’t do anything to the new alien ware laptops. Did I ever mention My boyfriend bought me a laptop? I think that’s the biggest sign of commitment a man has ever showed me before.

Odder than writing so much again, and odder than My boyfriend buying me a laptop, and perhaps odder than Tina having a baby (well, no, not that odd) is that today I saw Jeremy for the first time in months (even if for the briefest of moments) and I spoke to Tre on the phone for the first time in... a year? Yeah, must be about a year. It was shortly after my road trip that I spoke to him last, and the road trip ended in early April of 2006 so that would be about right. I explained to him about not wanting him to come here, and not wanted to meet him in a hotel, even if he is married, I don’t think My boyfriend would go for that, and personally I wouldn’t either.

I told him that I wanted to go to Delaware park. He said he didn’t want to be in public, and I suspect it’s because he doesn’t want old drug customers to see him, but I explained to him about Delaware park’s location, and how it has more private and more public areas to it, and that it’s very large. He sounds just like I remember him, and doesn’t seem to have changed at all really. In a way I’m glad he hasn’t changed, it just goes to prove how right I was not to stay with him (even not counting the fact that I’d rather have My boyfriend over any man I’ve dated, or even met) but in another aspect it’s kinda sad. But what can one really say from a short phone conversation anyway? I’m glad he’s married though, that means he won’t even try anything, and I know I certainly won’t.

It seems like an innocent thing to see him, so why do I feel so nervous about it? They say go with your gut, but my gut has cramps right now, so I can’t really trust it’s inclinations. Well, surely over the next week I’ll have more time to think, to de-cramp and to write some more.

Right now I think I will lay down and read. This is proving to not be enough distraction from my cramps.


10:30pm


Jeremy and Chuck stopped by today. We talked and goofed around for an hour or so, and then they left on their way about an hour ago now. I just wrapped Tina’s presents for tomorrow. I can’t wait until My boyfriend get’s home tonight.


Sunday, April 20th 2008 at 8:13pm


Happy 4:20! I think this is the second April 20th I’m not smoking for. Yeah, go me! My boyfriend celebrated over a blunt with some random people while I went to Tina’s baby shower earlier today. I gave her infant diapers, rice crisps, organic fruit bars, and baby wipes. My mom got her two baby outfits, hair spray and a baby bath with toys. It wasn’t an exciting affair, but it was enjoyable enough. There was fruit to eat and not just junk food, though the only beverages were Soda which I of course did not drink.

Other than that My boyfriend and I have spent the day playing Final Fantasy XI. His white mage is only one level higher than my red mage so we’ve been able to party together, though we were not getting far because of the poor exp from killing the weakest creatures in Kazam. We left our party to go cook apple, sausage and yams together, but as it turns out my Mom already put a container in shortly before we came down. Since we couldn’t just log back into the party I figured I’d work on my game design.

I had severe cramps yesterday, glad they are pretty much gone today. I actually vomited yesterday which is a period-symptom first for me. Though I ate a lot of yogurt (completely organic of course from a grass-fed cow) yesterday which is undoubtedly related.


Wednesday, April 23rd 2008 at 4:37pm


I’m exceedingly worried about my relationship with My boyfriend. I want to say that there is nothing “wrong” with it, that there is nothing to “fix” because nothing is “broken” but clearly there is. I feel the patterns creeping in from the past. I feel my emotions in constant deja vu. I told him last night that I felt that we weren’t going to make it through the summer at this rate. He lied to me. That’s really depresses me. I’m not even angry about it. I’m just exceedingly sad.

In this very strange way I sometimes think that I want it to be over, but then I realize it’s just because I’m afraid that it’s work. I’m always scared of something being work. (Aren’t we all?) Every time I get that inkling in my gut like I just want us to go our separate ways I think realize how much more empty it would feel to be alone, and that’s when the deja vu hits me. I recall having those thoughts about Tre, and then I recall how happy I was to be separated from him. That’s when the analytical and logical self kicks in and starts saying things like “But My boyfriend is a more mature, practical, loving and wonderful person. And Tre was selfish, manipulating, immature and dangerous.” And I listen to logical and analytical self, and I push the feels aside. But the little voice asks, “Then why do I feel this way?”

Is this the same feeling I felt as a precursor to leaving Tre? It’s hard to remember. I’m talking about exactly two years ago, and a completely different mind set than the one I have today. So logical and analytical self doubts that I could feel the same way. I prefer comparing this relationship to my first love... Except that I’m playing Jeremy’s role, and My boyfriend is playing mine. Of course none of that is right, because I’m me, and My boyfriend is him, and now is not then. But logical and analytical self can never stop comparing and contemplating and computing, can she?

I find myself jealous about everything now. I find myself going from apathy to annoyed more and more often, and less and less do I suddenly become happy, and it’s so short-lived. I ask myself if I can break the two year barrier. Perhaps that’s why I insist our wedding date be in April of 2009, because after all, if we’ve made it to two years and four and a half months then surely we can make it for the rest of our lives, right? Perhaps just because it’s uncharted territory it seems like if I can make it there I can do anything.

I find myself having thoughts like “if I just can make it through the summer” a lot. What happens in summer that I’m so afraid of? Bugs? Heat? No, I’m afraid of being social, especially of My boyfriend being social. The more dissatisfied I become the more he will pull away, and the more he pulls away the more he’ll notice all the attention from girls he’s getting. The hotter is gets the shorted our fuses will become. Relationships start up in summer and then fall out the next summer. Why? Because the first summer you’re on the hunt, and then you find them, and then you’re blissful in love, enjoying parks, and walks, and talks and sex. The next summer you’re bored with each other and looking at everyone else wearing the summer clothes at parks, in stores, on walks and you talk to them, and perhaps if you’re the cheating type you have sex with them.

That’s why summer scares me. Summer to me spells hanging out, drugs, sex, staying out late, and laying around because the heat is killing you. Summer is sticky with sun block and sweat. Summer is painful with the sun in your eyes and the stones in your heart. Summer is crushing with all the rush to do things, and all the broken hearts. Summer is crazy with people falling for new people, people lusting after new people, with concerts, parties and weed circles growing, growing, growing and staying out later and later and later.

I had hoped to “tame” My boyfriend with “husband boot camp” before summer. It seems like just last week it was snowing, and now it’s already summer. (I must have missed Spring entirely. If this is spring, then I dread summer even more...) It’s hot, and the flowers are blooming, and I’m seeing more bugs crawling around the room daily. And I feel like the cold is slipping through my fingers with My boyfriend in toe.

Why do I feel this way? He’s upset about what I said last night. He wants to be with me. He’s not considering leaving me. He wants to marry me. He wants to support me. He wants to let me live the type of life I want to live. We both enjoy art, anime, sex, and video games. So why do I feel like something is wrong? I feel like this is the calm before the storm. I feel like I’m anticipating the ground opening up beneath my feet.

The odd part is that I felt the same way four days ago but I couldn’t stop crying and crying and crying about it. Now I feel so ambivalent and near apathetic that I’m more worried. I don’t feel worried, I’m just thinking like a worried person. If that makes any sense. I feel... Timid. I feel very timid and small and insignificant and unimportant.

I think I’m feeling failure. I have not made him completely give up drinking. I have not proved to be more fun than his friends. I have not made him understand that I don’t lie to him or ever make fun of him. I have not made him trust me. I have not made him compromise with me and stick to it. I have not found a system that works. I’m still a shitty girlfriend. Somehow, despite all that logic and analysis implies, I just suck. I feel the suckage.

Oddly I don’t feel ugly, I just feel stupid. I feel like I’m missing the key to my life. I’m standing in a room the size of a closet, and there is a trap door beneath me, but I’m not strong enough to pull myself up off of it with my arms on the walls so that I can open it. And I just know that under the floor I will find the answer... When I’m strong enough to lift my own weight with no firm holds. When I can just push against the walls and seems to levitate... But that will never happen.

Instead I’ll need a pick axe and a ladder. The pick axe to open the floor, and a ladder to climb back out when I have the answer. I’ll probably just find that the entire world is under my floor and that I’d just been in a small closet my whole life... For some reason I feel like that statement should have been funny, but I’m still staring blankly at the screen.

I can’t say I’m depressed. Just nervous. Jittery. Scared of something unseen. If I go on feeling this way I’m likely to start seeing things again. I want a psychiatrist, but somehow I don’t think I could find one that could really help. They probably prescribe me a walk everyday, to make friends, and to take yoga. I can prescribe myself to do that if I wanted. So why don’t I?


Thursday, April 24th 2008 at 12:13pm


Last night something happened that makes me have to question... Things. It’s so odd that I don’t even know how to justify it. My boyfriend got home from work at 11:05pm yesterday, which proves that it only takes five minutes for him to bike home from work. (Which I knew.) And that his nonsense about taking another fifteen minutes to bike home is to stall and smoke a blunt with his co-workers. (Tuesday he didn’t get home until 12:20am, which was a direct violation of the compromise we made three days previously, which was so generous that I couldn’t believe he had already violated it. I’m offering both Fridays and Saturdays with his friends on two conditions, no drinking and staying with me the rest of his time off of work. I’m flabbergasted that he violated it so soon. Not just by not coming home after work, but by drinking and then trying to lie about it!)

Anyway, after he got home he felt like drawing. I told him I wanted to cuddle for a few minutes first. He undressed and crawled onto the bed with me. He’s been like a lump lately, so cuddling consists on him laying near me and me touching him. This is dissatisfying to say the least. Worrying is another term that describes it. But the way his distance makes me feel is impossible to ignore. It’s causing a nervousness in my very center. It’s like my spirit is shaking, because my body refuses to.

After several minutes of trying to get him to show me some love I gave up and we went on to drawing. Drawing... (as he calls me – and we have the best phone conversation we’ve had in days – one that leaves me cheerful instead of sad.) When him and I are both drawing next to each other I get this immense sense of pride and belonging. I feel so completed, so honored, so lucky. It’s not that he’s being cold to me, just aloof. I was able to suck in a lot of that affection that I crave, (need, want, lust for and need at all costs) just by drawing beside him. Especially because he acknowledged my current artwork for it’s amazing qualities. I’m truly amazed at myself.

I’ve learned to put depth into the eyes of my characters, how to put expressions on their faces, how to use positions to evoke a feeling, how to complement their bodies with appropriate clothing, how to shade metal to make it look metallic, how to shade fur to make it look fuzzy and touchable, how to shade cloth to make it have weight, how to make up muscles and bone structures on mythical creatures, how to shade in perspective so you can tell what is closest to you, how to fill an entire sheet of paper, how to put in highlights where the belong, how to draw a woman’s profile... And it’s all because of him. I probably would have gave up art altogether if I had not met him.

When he tires of drawing he pulls out his journal (which reminds me that I need to see what he wrote) and he writes for around ten minutes, scratching away... He obviously knew exactly what he needed to get off his chest when he got his journal because he barely paused at all the entire time he was writing. Then he pulled out his book and read for a bit. I felt close, even though he was distinctly distant... Not sure how that works, but I could feel his love through his mask of melancholy.

Then we agreed on playing Final Fantasy XI together, and since he knew he was a long run from where I was (and we wanted to party together) I told him I’d cook for us while he ran to where I was. I don’t like cooking alone without his company, but last night that didn’t really seem to bother me. I cooked myself one sunny-side up egg with a slice of toast while cooking him three eggs with chopped peppers, bacon bits, two slices of cheese and a myriad of seasonings.

When I returned he was sitting at my computer. And oddly a folder named “Tre” was up, and I was confused at first because I couldn’t figure out what folder it was. He said to me “I was just looking at it because it was up” which then really confused me. How does a folder called “Tre” with four files in it (his journal entries copied from his diaryland journal written in 2005, and saved to my computer in January of 2007) just get opened? I was bewildered and told him I didn’t open it.

He didn’t argue with me and call me a liar, but I know he must have been thinking it. I can’t imagine that either of us (as computer illiterate as we are) would accidently open such a folder. Odder still it was open from the “my computer” application, not “windows explorer” which is what I use. So the only logical conclusion is that he was snooping my files and lied about opening it. But why would he do that? I’m more apt to think that I somehow accidently opened it while using Word Perfect... I mean, if he was snooping my files I really wouldn’t care, I have nothing to hide.

But if it really was up when he sat down here, and he didn’t open it, then he’s going to wonder why I would lie about opening it. I feel like somehow some silly mis-click is going to backpedal all my work at proving that I would never lie to him.

Did I mention we made love before that? We made excellent love last night. My period came on Saturday or Sunday, I forget which, and not that I mind the blood at all, but some odd reason sex on my period is painful and scratchy. I wonder if the blood drying against the friction causing the pain? But that can’t be it because it still feels that way a day after the blood is gone...

Anyway, it was right at the cusp of a new menstrual month, the bleeding gone light, and I was going to wait until tomorrow, but oddly I was overcome all yesterday. I masturbated twice in one day which I never do. I mean, perhaps once in six months. And odder still, I was still aroused when he got home. I suspect it was a combination of a few things. For one thing, I forget that I have not lost my sex drive entirely, it’s just that it seems nonexistent next to My boyfriend’s ongoing desire that only takes a break for about half an hour after sex. Half an hour later he has a boner again, and really would prefer us to make love again.

In light of that, I realize that whenever we don’t have sex for four days, I’m ready to go, which means next to his preferable three times a day, mine is once every four days. And compromising down to once a day is our usual, but it leaves him less than satisfied, and it leaves me more leery towards sex because I don’t enjoy it as much... It’s hard to want sex when you feel like you just had it, like you’re already full from the last time.

Last night though, I was on fire in a way I have not been in a long time. I was kinky in a way I haven’t been in a long time. Was I craving him all the more because of his recent rejection of me? Can I call it rejection to refuse to caress me?

This brings me back to my mental illness. That’s how I think of it now. It’s a mental illness the way I crave to be touched. My entire childhood I rejected hugs, I rejected touching, and then around thirteen I became a touch-aholic. What happened? I was so depressed, so hateful towards myself until I feel in love with Jeremy, until I had someone to touch me, but it was never enough... They always get sick of me, every one of them. And they always say the same thing “I like to be touched now and then, but you always want to be up under me. Maybe I don’t want to be up under you all the time!” Jeremy said it, Tre said it, and recently even beloved My boyfriend said it. And now it’s really pissing me off. My boyfriend, Mr. Different, Mr. Right, Mr. Perfect-for-Me, is falling out in one of the things I fell in love with him for in the first place.

Finally! Finally I had found a man who never grew tired of me touching him, who never grew tired of touching me! I was saved, my illness was being treated, and I became so blissful and so happy. Little did I know it was just that normal “I just met you, so I’m crazy about you, so I need, need, need to touch you right now, and now, and now, but in a few months I’ll stop” that happens to seemingly everyone in the beginning of a relationship.

To hear those words out of his mouth was like a slap to the face. I raged at myself “You stupid idiot! How could you believe that he really was like you! Atara, you’re a really stupid bitch aren’t you? You fell in love with another man who will never feel like you do, who will never understand, never care...” I think the pit of my nervousness is how he doesn’t want to touch me. I feel sick.


Thursday, April 24th 2008 at 2:12pm


Nothing like some hard work and music to make you feel better. The office is coming along quite well if I don’t say so myself. As some of you may not know, when I was fourteen we had a house fire (due to an inhabitant of the attic who was an attractive lady of thirty who thought she was another fourteen-year-old, perhaps my twin sister in her eyes, but in mine... Well, let’s skip what I thought of her) that burned off half the attic. The part that burned wasn’t much of a loss to my family, just to the rambunctious inhabitant of the attic. She lost everything she owned, as well as all the things she “borrowed” from me and my family. The 8-balls, my favorite scarf, several pairs of my jeans, and so on. The real damage was from the smoke and water. What the fire didn’t do to the rest of the house, the water (from the firemen’s truck) did. The smoke got the rest of the attic in a thick coating of black soot, and the floors and walls on the second floor were completely ruined from water damage. The living room towards the front of the house, and my parents bed room, also at the front of the house were the only things virtually undamaged.

The dining room floor and walls, the father’s office’s floor and walls, and the hallway’s floor on the second story of the house all needed to be torn out, and rebuilt. And my crafty parents did this themselves instead of hiring a contractor to do it with the money allowed from the bank. Most of this money, unfortunately was spent on paying various cousins and friends ten dollars an hour to sit around and smoke cigarettes, eat our food and do a half-ass job of everything they were supposed to do. (Come to think of it, they did redo the walls in my parent’s bedroom, I remember Roy – my half brother – coming down to Buffalo to do it.)

The first floor of the house, the dining room that is, was the first thing to be done, which became my cousins bedroom while he worked. My cousin Trevor used to be a serious druggie at the time, but he seems to be doing better, no he’s engaged to some woman with a young girl in Texas, and currently my brother Roy is staying with him, now that he’s separated from his third wife, luckily he has no kids with this one. (Incidently he had to leave because of her kids disrespecting him, and her not stopping them.) Then the second floor was done, and the location of the laundry was switched with the location of the bathroom, and the laundry (the previous bathroom) is no longer really a room, but rather an open area conjoined to the upstairs hallway and front stairwell.

At about that point we moved back in from the temporary apartment we lived in for nine months. My parents moved back in a week before I did, and during that week I met Tre, and we enjoying living in “our” own apartment for a week. I felt like an adult then, I remember. When I moved back in I didn’t move back into my own room, and I’m not sure why. I don’t really remember the details of it, looking back on it, it doesn’t seem to make any sense at all.

I moved into a room adjacent to the dining room on the first floor, and made aspirations of moving into the attic, which was one thing that was not done at all. I aspired to more space, and more separation from my parents. My old bedroom was adjacent to my parent’s bedroom, the next door down the hall from them. Perhaps it was the lack of a door on my old bedroom? I doubt it though, probably was still under construction, but I really don’t remember.

It took another six months to move into the attic, and at that time I merely was able to throw a knee wall up (with some help from my mom) and lay some floor tiles (with some help from my dad) and throw some drywall up (with barely any help at all) and plaster (with a lot of help from my mom) and paint (with hardly any help at all) and to finally move my things up there (by myself of course) and pretend that I had more room. Of course I didn’t, and at the end of the floor tiles was boxes of who knows what, tools, materials, and all sorts of junk.

Slowly I’ve crept half way through the attic, the part with the higher ceiling. I have a makeshift bathroom that only gets hot water (which means it’s icy cold until the hot water arrives and then it’s steaming hot) because my Mom hasn’t had the time or energy to string another pipe for cold water to come up here as well. There is a tub sitting next to my toilet, but it’s not functional in the least, and it’s full of my cleaning supplies and other tools. Over the couple years I’ve lived up here two sets of shelves have been put up, and everywhere but the bathroom has floor tiles, and I’ve attained a large amount of plastic sorting drawers, two tall ones for my clothes, several half the height filled with gift-wrapping supplies, cleaning supplies, my stone collection, more clothes, sewing supplies, scrap-booking supplies, markers, tape, pencils, pens, scrap paper, sketches, printer paper and so on and so on and so on.

My room is organized, it’s livable, it even has a tiny office. The office consists of my desk (bought at a second-had store for forty to one-hundred dollars, I don’t remember how much, but it was a steal) which is designed for the times before computers, so it’s small and simple, and My boyfriend’s desk, which isn’t a desk at all but rather it’s made up of two of my mom’s old identical coffee tables sitting next to each other. You can’t get your legs under it, which is the real problem with it. This allows My boyfriend and I to be close while we’re at our computers, but it’s a rather pathetic and annoying set up.

But there is still one part of the house that has never been redone. We call it “the back” which is short for “the back of the attic” which doesn’t really mean anything, because it’s actually at “the front” of the house. It’s above my parent’s bedroom which is above our livingroom. It’s only “the back” of the attic because the stairs to the attic are located in the back of the house, making it feel the actual back of the attic is the front, especially since it’s where I live.

The back of the attic (I’m not going to start calling it the front just because it is the front, so from now on, just know that I mean the front of the attic in reality) was in total shambles when work began on it over a year ago. It was piled high with garbage, boxes of books, assorted tools and all sorts of other junk all piled high on top of each other. The worst part? All of it filthy with black soot from the fire. Even the inside of the boxes is covered with soot. It smells, and it’s dirty, and your hands turn black within five minutes of work, and your nose clogs up with black soot from ruffling things, and you blow your nose to find that the tissue is turning black, and you cough up black spit. It’s disgusting, and no one wants to do it.

Tre never really helped with any of the household work. He avoided it like the plague, and I don’t blame him for not wanting to do it, but I do blame him for leaving me to do it. Let the white girl who grew up in this filth deal with this filth forever why don’t ya? No, no, Mr. Strong Ninja Jamaican Man can’t put his manicured hands on that sooty old crap that belonged to my parents, not even if it would benefit him in the long run. (I’m actually snickering as I write this. The same guy that’s going to college to architecture and construction now...)

My boyfriend can actually see much more space we’d have. Our living area would actually double. True, the walls are slanted, but so what? That just means we walk down the center of the room and store things at the triangle-shaped edges of the room... The real prize is the area right above my parents’ bedroom. At the very “back” of the attic there is a flat wall, and the floor is much lower, creating more head room. That is where our new office will be. The entire path through the back of the attic at the moment has boxes or storage on both sides, but it used to be much, much, much worse. I can finally say that the soot is only left in about three boxes, and on one wall. That’s all that’s left of it!

My boyfriend carted out about fifteen, perhaps twenty soot-covered boxes last week, and about six months ago (maybe earlier, I don’t remember) another twenty to thirty were taken out. Now on one side of my future office it’s clean all the way to the very corner where the slanted wall meats the floor. I’ve painted the old shelves black after scrubbing them clean this week, and now I’ve moved my CD player back there. Yes, it’s moving along nicely if I don’t say so myself. Mark my words, I will have my dream office built before October.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

The brink of Summer or Doom?

Thursday, April 17th 2008 at 10:51pm


I’m back around to this again. All this time and I’m still coming back around to friends. I don’t want to go through the effort of creating and maintaining friendships when I could just be with My boyfriend, but I can’t just be with My boyfriend all the time. He wants to have friendships and go through the effort of maintaining them. It’s worth it to him.

According to what he’s explained to me (partially in the past, but more throughly today) is that when he was with Brianna she didn’t have or want friends in the beginning. And then she changed, and she started going out with her friends and leaving him behind. He says he felt the way I feel, and that’s why he hasn’t been going out as much... But he still wants to go out.

I just don’t comprehend why. I can’t understand it. He says it’s just because I’ve never felt it. He says he felt this way too, but he changed, and says I’ll change too. I don’t want to change. I want to just be with him, and leave it at that.


I just want the world to swallow me up. Swallow me into the ground, and then devour me instantly and painlessly. Then this ticking would stop. I can’t honestly say I want to die, that’s not the truth. I’m just so tired of exploring myself. I’m so tired of wanting anything. So needy for affection, do desperate for creation, so down on the world, so up when he is up.

“There used to be such happy banter between them, Josh and Isadora,” says Erica Jong in parachutes and kisses. And there is happy banter, there is, there is, there is. And that’s just about to describe it: happy banter. Joking, and laughing, prodding and poking, giggling and snorting, talking and kissing, fucking and making love. All of it is so wonderful that it leaves everything else to be dust. Everything else just melts away in “maintenance.”


Why does it hurt so much to watch him leave? What’s underneath everything that makes it so painful? I don’t want him to get frustrated with me.

“I can’t leave you when you cry like that,” he says.

“Not now, but eventually you’ll just call me a big baby and storm out on me anyway,” I say, on the verge of tears for at least the fifth time.

“Nah, not even. It was hard today, but I can’t leave you when you look like that. I really wanted to go out, but after that one time I left when you were crying, I can’t do it again.”

This cheers me, but I’m still afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to make him snap someday. I’m afraid I’m asking too much, and that I can’t give enough.



Friday, April 18th 2008 at 1:37pm


Nathan,

I happen to believe that Elijah is gay not because anyone says so, but because I’ve seen footage, her dialogs, and listened to my mom’s testimony, and read blogs which all point out and show a large number of facts about Elijah. Personally, I don’t care if he is or isn’t gay. But I do believe that he is, and that he doesn’t want anyone to know because it could (and probably would) ruin his career. Furthering the argument doesn’t really have much purpose.

Tater,

My father has helped some with the bathroom, though not a lot, but he does work during the day and morning when my mom has the most energy to work on it herself. When my father gets off of work she picks him up, cooks him dinner, and sometimes they watch TV together. From what I can tell, that pretty much sums up their relationship.

As for being controlling... I can see more and more clearly how controlling I really am, and more and more clearly I can also see why. My own psyche is probably my favorite thing to study, and I usually do this in the form of talking, writing and mentally asking myself a lot of questions and then trying to answer them as fully and completely as possible.

My sex drive (incidentally) is rising at the time being. Not at all sure why. My diet and my emotional state seem to be related, but not very directly it seems. My moods are certainly directly related to what I eat and the events in my day, but if the sex drive is just as directly related then it’s in such a way that I can’t comprehend it. It used to be I couldn’t stand morning sex, now three days in a row I’ve had morning sex with My boyfriend and found it to be the most pleasing sex in months.

I have realized however (just as you have) that I don’t want any sex while resenting my partner, just as you said. And I like that you used that word, because usually I’d say “upset” and that wouldn’t be completely true, because sometimes I’m upset with him but still want him. It’s specifically the resentment that makes me not feel in the mood for sex.


Hallie,

Nurture versus Nature is probably the oldest argument of psychology. Since I believe in souls, I think that we’re born with some of our soul’s natural instincts and understanding. For example, some children listen to their parents and are very obedient from birth, and some take much more harsh discipline – even siblings with the same parents often have a drastic difference. People can of course argue that this was a difference in how those two children were raised, but often twins come out with very different personalities, even conjoined ones.

That said, I think that our environment can completely change us from our initial inclinations. If our initial inclinations prove to work against us at a young age, I believe they can be completely wiped from our personality.


Friday, April 18th 2008 at 2:00pm


I can’t believe I haven’t written about this dream yet, since I had it probably a week and a half ago. Perhaps because the dream disturbed me so much? Well, here is all that I can remember at this point.


I was carrying groceries in with my Mom, and My boyfriend was leaving for work. The door was open for long periods of time as my mom and I were in the kitchen, and this bothered me. What if the cat got out? What if something got in? I’m not sure if I went upstairs to check if someone was there, but I went upstairs and into my parent’s bedroom and Tre was there. Oddly, in the dream, this didn’t startle me.

I laid down next to him and we talked. I didn’t tell him, but in my mind I was guilty that I had let him in by leaving the doors open. I felt more and more sick and upset and desperate as I talked to him. This anxiousness was overcoming me. (I don’t remember a word that was spoken.) I told him that he should go and I stood up, and I hugged him, and then my father beckoned me. He told me that I needed to bring Tre downstairs because it had to be done.

He didn’t specify what needed to be done, but it’s as though I felt that they were going to do something awful. I felt trapped though. I couldn’t sneak Tre out, because that would make it look like I purposely let him in, that would make it look like I wanted him there. I couldn’t let that happen, so I led him by the hand down the back stairs. When we entered the dining room my heart began to sink. I remember my father said something about paying people, and how it would be a waste if I didn’t cooperate.

So I walked into the living room tentatively where there was a number of people gathered. There was some sort of filming equipment. I caught a glimpse of someone hidden partway behind a large chair. Something was in their hand, something deadly. I grimaced, not knowing what to do. Tre seemed to take this for some sort of party and tried to get people dancing. Dad seemed to go along with this idea so I began dancing too. And then someone says that they need to do Tre’s hair and makeup for the movie, or whatever they were doing.

Tre kneels on the ground for this, for some odd reason. The moment he’s down someone leaps out with a huge syringe filled with black fluid and stabs him at the base of his neck and then quickly pushes the black fluid in. Tre looks shocked for a moment, and then slumps forward.

In total shock I scream, not really expecting him to just die in front of me. Who can ever expect someone to just die right before their eyes? Shocked that my father would hire people to kill someone, shocked at seeing murder, shocked at the harsh reality of how flesh and blood is just a shell we hide in for a time I dash into the dining room screaming, collapse to the floor, and begin kicking wildly. I smash through the legs of the table with my feet, and my arms shatter boxes full of things (totally unlike real life where such antics would only leave me bruised and a few things displaced) and the world seems to whirl around me.


Of course I wake up at this point, sweating and freaked out. I feel like the dream means something deep. What it means is completely up for debate. Usually the feeling of a dream is more relevant than anything. If I break it down into feelings I felt guilty, then anxious, then scared and then horrified and disgusted.

The other thing to analyze is the main characters, myself, Tre, and my father. I think my father holds a large significance in this dream. Perhaps he’s representing some sort of fucking up heartless justice, and Tre is representing a past I’m afraid to remember wholly, afraid to admit is mine wholly.


Friday, April 18th 2008 at 2:27pm


Angel writes:

“I’m sorry to hear about you and My boyfriend’s relationship. I have to point out something; you once told me that you have to find a partner who is not different from you. From my viewpoint, I’d say that My boyfriend and you are very different but I’m sure you know that already right? For example, he’s more socialized and you’re not so socialized. He likes to party, smoke and drink (though I don’t know how anyone could take such pleasure in something so horrible) whereas you are not into it at all.”

>

I reply:

That’s the funny part. That we are so much alike, but from that perspective is sure doesn’t look like it. And what’s even more ironic is that if we both go out together I do 80% of the talking between us. I behave more social than he does, but he enjoys being around people more than I do. He tells me now that he doesn’t want to drink anymore, but that he misses the sensation sometimes. And I did used to want to party, smoke and drink, I just quit all of that. What’s funny is that he used to never have an interest in doing that stuff, but after his last relationship went bad he got into it.

The reason My boyfriend and I get along as well as we do, and are as happy as we are (when we’re happy, which is probably 85% of the time) is because of how many things we both enjoy doing. Reading, digital painting, drawing, web design, video games, goofing around with each other, anime, cuddling and sex and grooming each other. We both are very passionate about sex in a way that a lot of people are not. We’re more affectionate than other couples. We cook together, and then we watch shows we both enjoy together, whereas many couples can’t agree on what they like to watch. We disagree about what video games to play, but we agree on playing them in general. We both love all forms of art, except for writing. I love writing, and it doesn’t interest him very much.

The only thing we disagree on besides going out, drinking and smoking and socializing is music. I can’t stand gangster rap, and he loves it. But we can agree on metal music and anime music. So we’re really not that different, but our small differences are enough to cause a lot of arguments.

However, personality-wise there are some things that need to be different. For example, two quiet people in a relationship can make a relationship spoil because of lack of communication. Two loud people in a relationship can cause arguments because of cutting each other off, always waiting to speak, not listening because of having too much to say, and so on. In that way, My boyfriend and I compliment each other. He’s quiet if I’m quiet, but I’m usually talkative, and I can get him talking. If I was quiet too, it wouldn’t work as well, and if he talked as much as I do, that also wouldn’t work as well.


Angel writes:

“You also once told me that the next relationship I jump into, I should inform the guy that I do not want to be with someone who wastes his life on alcohol and drugs, it makes me wonder why you didn’t tell My boyfriend that in the very beginning of the relationship. Unless you did tell him and he couldn’t manage to stick to his compromise (if there was one) In that case couldn’t you predict from that moment, that there’d be problems? (I feel like I’m making no sense here…… but I hope you understand me.)”


I reply:

Actually I didn’t think drinking and smoking weed were a big deal when I met him. I didn’t quit until about four months in our relationship actually. However, I did make it clear that I wouldn’t date him unless he quit smoking cigarettes, which he promptly quit and has not turned back to since.

When I went on my road trip with my father (and left My boyfriend for an entire month) there was one night where I got very drunk and fucked another guy (mostly just because My boyfriend said I could, I was testing the boundaries) and it was bad. The sex was bad, the night was bad, how I felt was bad, waking up with bad, and on top of it I vomited over and over and over again. I have not drank even one little sip since that night. And over the next month to come I gave up smoking, trying it again on and off for a while before I just quit entirely.

However My boyfriend’s drinking is a more serious problem because he becomes so dramatically different when he’s drunk. He’s not an violent drunk, but he’s an angry drunk. The more he drinks the more irritated he acts, even though he feels good, so he says. However he hasn’t gotten drunk in months now, and he hasn’t drank anything at all for about a week and a half, which goes to show much he’s cutting back. And a week and a half ago he had one beer, which really isn’t much compared to the six beers I watched him drink towards the beginning of our relationship.

But you’re right, I couldn’t predict how many problems the drinking and partying would cause. When I met him I believed that I was the party person, and he was the quiet indoor person. Funny how that reversed so quickly.


Angel writes:

“You know when I was younger, I always told myself not to give out advice until I learn to follow my own but as I grew I always wondered that just because I’m not capable of following my own advice doesn’t mean that I can’t help someone else. Who knows they could be a lot stronger and wiser than me, which means they would do a lot better at taking my advice and doing what I couldn’t do. Then they would be my inspiration. Are you following this?”


I reply:

I completely agree. It’s great to follow your own advice, but not always possible. And when other people do it when you can’t, it can be inspiration. Honestly, I’d advise all young girls to go out with a lot of guys while they are young, but not to have sex with them until being in the relationship for at least one month. One month gives enough time to prove the man actually likes you, and doesn’t just want you. It gives enough time for you to stop looking at his body and start seeing the guy for who he is. Going out with a lot of different guys while you’re young helps you develop your preferences before you get old enough to make a serious commitment. I think a bigger mistake than sleeping with too many men is marrying your first love only for it to all fall apart because you didn’t know what you wanted yet.


Angel writes:

“Anyway, when I fall for a dude, I fall hard. And I fall harder each time. I don’t know why; I hate it but that’s a cycle I never seem to break but so far I’m getting a better grip on it. What I mean is, you’re confused about what you really want from a man but I know what I’m looking for. It’s true, over the years my mind could change and I’ll end up running to someone who isn’t my type. I’m so aware of that.”


I reply:

I think more times we fall in love the more we realize how much we don’t know what we want. Especially when you find exactly what you thought you wanted. I thought I wanted a man I could have an open relationship with until My boyfriend and I tried it. Turns out we’re just as jealous as everyone else, but I didn’t know that until we actually tried it. I also always wanted an artist, and I do love it now, but at first it was hard for me to swallow that I wasn’t the artist in the relationship, that I wasn’t the talented one. It was a lot to chew at first, but now I love learning from him.


Angel writes:

All I know is I’m not going to get married. Ever. I made that decision based on a majority of the marriages that I’ve seen. The husbands usually beat the wives, cheat or suffer from some sort of alcohol/drug addiction; in general the husbands usually turn out to be bad guys. My father is a mean man; I grew up witnessing a father who I never f#cking asked for, you know? He’s the main reason why I choose not to get married. I think my greatest fear would be … me getting involved with a man like my dad. Someone who beats their wife (he doesn’t do it anymore), someone who fights with his children, someone who drinks obsessively, and damn the list goes on. I don’t want to make the same mistake that my mother made. She knows that he’s bad but she doesn’t want to let go because she fears solitude. She doesn’t know how to raise us on her own. She doesn’t have a job so she depends on my father on everything. When I grow up, I want to be nothing like her. In my past relationships I relied on my partner for my happiness. Once I realized that was a major problem, I tried to quit it. Each time I got a bit better but now I think it’ll be something I’ll always struggle with.”


I reply:

Relying on a relationship for happiness is still something I’m struggling with. In fact, I cry when My boyfriend leaves sometimes. I mope while he’s at work at other times. I wait at the top of the stairs for him to come home some nights. I call him obsessively at work.

In terms of marriage, don’t cast it away so hastily. Just because so many marriages go bad doesn’t mean yours has to go the same way. Some people marry two and three and four times, but eventually still find happiness. I know someone on their third marriage who is now very happy with their relationship. My mother might not be the happiest, but my father doesn’t beat her or anything else awful. If anything, he’s hard-headed and neglectful and a little distant. And this is my mother’s second marriage.

If getting married to the wrong man is a huge concern to you (as it should be, and is for most people I imagine) then I’d advise to not marry anyone you have not already been with and lived with for at least a year, probably two or three years. Once you’ve lived with someone for enough time you already know what their habits are, and how they affect you, and how you affect them, and then you can properly assess whether getting married is a commitment you want with that person. Chances are that you will fall for someone so hard that you’ll change your mind.

I don’t want to make my mother’s mistakes either. I want a more loving and romantic husband than my father is for my mom. I want a more considerate man than he is. And it seems to me that My boyfriend is. I want to marry him in April next year, one year from now... That’s the plan. I must admit that I’m not 100% sure that it’s the best idea to be married so soon, or that My boyfriend really is the best person to do it with, but I also don’t want to wait longer than I should, I don’t want to be too scared to do what I should, I don’t want to not do it just because of the risk of heartbreak. And I honestly feel like we’re good for each other, even when we argue.


Angel writes:

“Yeah that realization hit me while I was sitting in my aunt’s room thinking about life. If I were to beat the sh#t out of them, that would mean that I only cared about everything so I decided it wasn’t a good idea. I learned that those girls are all talk and no walk though so whatever. ROFL, I’ll most definitely use that line the next time someone calls me out because of my journal. Yeah I know what you mean about the whole karma thing. I don’t include anything personal in my journal anymore and when/if I do, I keep it private.”


I reply: I most certainly can’t seem to stop writing personal things in my blog, but I do try to careful.


Friday, April 18th 2008 at 7:48pm


Is this an imbalance in my brain caused by lack of b-vitamins? Why do I feel like it has to be more complicated than that. I feel so restless. I feel this burning ache to create something. But it can’t be just anything. I want to create something fun to create, something worth creating, and something that will be appreciated by people besides myself. I have this nagging feeling that I’m supposed to get a job or go to college, but that would being so much change to my life that I really don’t want. So much drama that would be for not.

My legs bounce as I sit in one place, my brain is bored as I attempt to dance, to exercise. Perhaps I have that womanly want of “excitement” or something. A little romance and excitement could sure go a long way... At least the romance part, we can skip the excitement and replace it with surprise. I love being surprised, so why does no one ever surprise me? How come Tina never drops by to catch up? How come Mom never suggests playing a game with me? How come my father never suggests doing anything, and worse yet usually rejects all offers to do anything? That seems more crushing than anything. Do I still have that missing-daddy syndrom or what? Perhaps my hormones tried to replace him too young, and he felt the push and he let me push him away instead of reeling me back in (boyfriend or sans-boyfriend).

I have this nagging habit (which I recently confessed to My boyfriend) of thinking to myself “I wish I would just die” which is such a bad habit. What a negative thing to think to myself! What could I possibly think to myself less productive than that? Is that an exemplar of my poor mental health, or my poor source of vitamins or of the actual condition of my life? But what on earth is missing from my life? I have time to myself, time with my lover, time with my Mom, time spent creating, time spent gaming, time spent learning, time spent working (though on household things.)

My mom says my life is lacking in challenge and that this is why I seek video games for life sustenance. It makes sense. But this is what I opted for, a life free of drama. I hated my life back when I was working, in school, was around people and their lives full of drama, and of course the most difficult aspect was having someone as demanding, immature and lazy as Tre as a lover.

Speaking of Tre, he left me a comment on here asking if I wanted to meet up with him in person to say hi. Strange, the thought is mostly amusing more than anything. After a year and four months of dating My boyfriend (a year and five months since Tre and I broke up, a year and three months since I saw Tre last) I’ve cast away all remaining emotions towards Tre (except those mingled in my dreams which make no sense to me at all) and I feel like seeing him can’t possible hurt me or my relationship. All except for the detail of what My boyfriend thinks.

If indeed Tre actually follows through with coming to Buffalo and seeing me (which I have little confidence in looking back on his track record of following through on anything) I plan on seeing him at a park, probably Delaware park. I’m not so paranoid as to think he would actually try and kidnap me or something as insane as that, but I am paranoid enough to believe that bringing him into this house would be a bad idea. My parents and aunt would have a fit, My boyfriend would have a tantrum, and I would be even more uncomfortable than all of them combined in all honesty. I don’t want him to see what was “our” room that is now My boyfriend’s room. I don’t want his energy to mingle with the energy of my home. That is something sacred and something peaceful that he would most certainly rupture... Or maybe I’m paranoid on that one, but my own emotions about it are certainly the most relevant ones.

Of course then there is the major reason I wouldn’t want him there. I don’t want him to sit on the bed (even in the form of a couch) I sleep on, or to gaze at drawer with my vibrator’s cord hanging out of it, or to see the things My boyfriend has bought me. For some reason that would all be way to personal for an ex-boyfriend, and I know My boyfriend would agree.

Being in a park seems like a safe neutral location. There would be background noises that have nothing to do with me or my family or him or his life. There would be things to look at that have nothing to do with either of us. There would no temptations (mostly I’m worried about his temptations because I fully trust my temperament to not be fuddled by looking at him anymore) and there would be nothing to do but talk, which means that once we grew tired of talking there would be nothing to do but to both go our separate ways, which all in all, is ideal. As indifferent as I feel about seeing him, I do feel curiosity. What has changed in his life? Has he married Danya? Is he happy now or does he wish he never royally screwed up his relationship with me? And actually, what I’m most interested in is what he’ll notice about me. Do I look different? Do I speak different? Do I act more mature? Do I seem like the same girl that broke up with him? That would be very interesting to know just because for him I am only what he remembers from over a year ago, which means everything that has changed about me in the last year will stick out and be obvious to him. I’d like to hear how much I’ve changed. Validation always feels good, even when it comes from strange places. Will I beam from being filled with My boyfriend’s love? Will he feel My boyfriend’s energy mixed with mine? I hope he can, just because I want to be “My boyfriend & Atara” to the world, and he is one person out there who will always remember me as “Bante & Derly” – this makes me chuckle at the memory.

I look back on the person I was just a short year ago and I openly laugh. She was so confused, so misunderstood (aren’t we all, and aren’t I still?), so lost, so on the verge of transformation... Back into myself. Those two years with Tre will always stick out because of all of their oddities. I was high all the time, I spoke differently, ate differently, and listened to different music. (Then again my music taste has changed nearly ninety percent in just the past few months.) I had different sexual ideals, and different life goals. My entire perspective has shifted. I don’t view men and women the same way.

So I left a message on Tre’s phone saying I’d like to go for a walk in a park with him if that was along the lines he had in mind, and mentioned that he could not come here. I then called My boyfriend and told him about it (not wishing to hide this for even the length of an hour, because I need to make sure he trusts me and has no reason to doubt me) and he says he doesn’t trust me with Tre. This hurts, but then again, what did I expect? Did Tre ever trust me with Jeremy? No. So what could I expect? Perhaps that is just another reason why I want to marry My boyfriend next year in April and no later. I want to prove to him that he really is the center of my world. I want to express that commitment to him, to myself and to everyone. I feel it, but that doesn’t mean anyone else can see it. Marriage makes commitment visible, and over time, it makes lack of commitment a sore thumb in your life.

I really don’t see the harm in spending a few hours with Tre after it’s been over a year. It may be a small blow to My boyfriend’s ego, but only for a short time before he recovers and realizes that after all, it was only a conversation, and that I’m soon to be his wife. I wouldn’t stop him from seeing Brianna after all, not that he would ever want to see her. But I don’t hate Tre, at least, not anymore. Then again, it’s not like after all this My boyfriend hates Brianna. I’d be afraid for his mental health if he held a grudge on her for that many years.

Ah, writing feels good, but I still feel restless. Somehow I suspect the heat is getting to me. I’m sweating almost everywhere. Time to go wet my hair and chest in the sink again.

My boyfriend should be home soon. There has been a plumbing problem at work, and he got off early on Wednesday, and he stayed home all day on Thursday, and today they called him in to “help out” and he left here at one o’clock. He called me to let me know he’s on his way home now. I resent the fact that he’s been hanging out with El and everyone all day smoking blunts undoubtedly and has ignored all of my calls. I know he did that on purpose to get a day away from me. I feel angry about it, but I also understand that he feels he needs friends in his life, so I won’t make a fuss about it.


Saturday, April 19th 2008 at 11:50am


I feel like I’ve been kicked in the teeth by a wash of sudden icy realizations, amid a blast of humid heat allowing me to sit here in my underwear and bare feet.

Last night My boyfriend proclaimed that he didn’t believe that I really wanted to have sex with him, that I was just doing it to placate him. In terms of seeing Tre he reiterated that he didn’t trust me. And this morning he asserted that now that it’s summer time, there is no way he’s going out less than once a week. I think an icy kick in the teeth is an understatement for how I feel about that odd assortment of statements.

Of course we argued, of course I cried myself to sleep, of course he woke up and had sex with me, of course I didn’t feel better, of course he tried to comfort me (belatedly) of course I expressed my concerns that this is the turning points in my two past relationships where things went bad until they eventually ended all together. Of course he thought that meant I was breaking up with him. This is all a rumble-tumble game. Who can adapt? And who can adapt to what?

Who is stronger? Him to not go out? Me to cope with him going out? Who is going to make the bigger sacrifice? Will he quit drinking? Will I give up and let him drink, smoke and party? Will we compromise and get married and putt his in the past? Or will we fight it out to the bitter end?

These were not questions I asked myself a short couple weeks ago. Getting married was a sure thing, and so was him quitting his friends and his drinking. He has asserted to me that he will not give up “chillin’ with the boys” for me. He has asserted that I’m immature for not having friends, and that in the future I will have friends, and that he will not be the person left at home.

That’s just lovely. I want to duplicate myself so I can hit myself over the head with a shovel! I feel like such a blasted idiot. Either deal with him going out, go out with him, or go out and make my own friends, or try one last time to force him to stay home with me. I hate all options. I’ve hated all of those options from the moment they arose. I hate summer. I hate the heat. I hate myself for not seeing this coming. I hate myself for loving so goddamned much. Why couldn’t I just love myself for myself with the validation of some blasted male? Why couldn’t I stay single and hug myself to sleep?

Erica Jong has written three books about Isadora Wing, and how she wanted love and validation just as much at forty as she did at twenty-nine. So I guess since I’m still only nineteen there is no way in hell I can escape this burning need for love and companionship. Of course Isadora also has friends. What the fuck are friends good for anyway? Chewing up all your time? Making you feel guilty? Telling you how to live your life? Getting fucked up on drugs with you? Carrying you home when you’re drunk? Giving you bad advice? Calling you and using up all your minutes? Walking in and our of your life like it was a bathroom for them to shit in and leave without even spraying air freshener?

That’s what friends are in my experience and I have no interest what-so-ever in going and making my own friends. But who can live on socializing one day out of the week? He socializes all day at work, and with me on Sundays, and when I proposed once a month he socialize with his friends he agreed, but he never stuck to it, not even for one month. At least, if he did, it was such a quick and blissful month that I missed it in a blink of my life. And now, after already going out one a week, (sometimes skipping a week) all winter, now he asserts that he will go out once a week all summer like I bloody believe that. He’ll be gone on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays too if it’s anything like last summer. Last summer I didn’t believe we were going to make it to January. Now I’m having trouble believing we’ll make it to his birthday (in July) after last night.

All this time, and I have not told him a single lie and he still doesn’t “believe” me. All this time of trusting him despite everything and he has the nerve not to trust me.


Saturday, April 19th 2008 at 2:00pm


Tina’s baby shower is tomorrow. Her baby is due in a month. Since I agreed to be her baby sitter I guess that means I’ll have something to do with myself that feels meaningful. I just haven’t seen Tina in a while so I kinda forgot that she was pregnant even though all this time I’ve been keeping in mind that on 4/20 she was having her baby shower. What a funny date to pick for a baby shower, huh?

It’s only supposed to be for a few hours, and My boyfriend has previously told me that he would stay here and just listen to his music, but considering the heat, somehow I doubt that he’ll feel like doing that. I’ve progressed from sitting here with wet hair being enough to putting foil (shiny side towards the glass) on the windows, making damn sure the attic door is closed, putting both the window fans on exhaust, wetting my hair, stripping down into my underwear and putting a fan directly on me in order to be comfortable and it’s only April. I can’t bare the thought of June where I’ll do all of that in addition to laying nude on the bed with the air conditioner on high right beside me.

I hate summer.

This morning I thought I felt cramps coming on so I took two calcium-magnesium-zinc complex pills, which usually help considerably especially if taken before the cramps really start. I don’t want to even think about cramps in this heat. What’s worse is thinking about My boyfriend going out while I have cramps in this heat. That would just be so miserable...

I looked up some things, regarding how often My boyfriend really goes out. If I average the last 35 weeks together (since I’ve been tracking every hour of his life so that I can prove my points in arguments instead of being told that I don’t know what I’m talking about) which goes all the way back to August of 2007, then I get 2.6 times a week that he’s gone out. If I then average the hours out over the weeks I get 9.5 hours a week. Now this really isn’t a lot, but he works sixty hours, and on top of his working hours he leaves an hour before he has to be at work and he gets home half an hour to an hour after he gets out. Which means he’s gone seventy-two hours a week just on account of work. From midnight to one o’clock in the morning we spent an hour together, from eleven in the morning to noon we sometimes spend an hour together, but other than that, there is Sunday. I’ve been complaining about this since the beginning, but what else can I really do but complain? It makes me miserable and I’m helpless to stop it.

But that considered, I’d rather he went out on a regular scheduled basis than on a whim, with no call, with me left here to just wonder. The drinking has improved but is not completely to be rid of on top of it. Last night he drank one tilt. Okay, not very serious, but also not very serious about quitting. Perhaps he just wanted to see if I’d notice, and I did! I smelled the difference in his sweat, I saw the way his eyes shifted as we had sex, I felt how much more tired he was, I saw the variance in his expressions, the taste of saliva, the slightly different movements of his lips, the slightly different twitches of his eyes, the way he looked more agitated than usual, and slightly guilty, and the fact that he protested having sex on the account of the likelihood of falling asleep afterwards, as if he ever cared about that before. I’m not stupid, I can read the person I love the most in this world. I can see the difference than even one tilt makes. The part that really pisses me off is that he was trying to hide it from me.

“But you would be mad” he protests. Yeah, and what did I do the moment Tre asks to see me? I call him, despite the fact that he’d be mad. In fact, I called him because he might be mad. The nerve!

The lack of trust he has in me is killing me. His lack of faith in me is burning me. The way he doesn’t believe my words are knifes in my heart. The way he gets restless and bored and wants to go out, and eventually does go out leave me high and dry and swirling in insecurities. The names he calls me leave me feeling worthless. I can’t believe I’m sinking into this same pit again. It’s about that time, one year and five months. This summer will makes us or break us once and for all.