Matt & I

Monday, December, 1st 2008 at 9:50pm

I guess Crusifer doesn’t want a ride that badly, since he hasn’t called me and isn’t answering his phone. If he doesn’t call before ten-thirty then he’ll just have to find his own way home. It really irks me that he... Oh, everything about him irks me about now. Why bother writing about it?
I’ve been listing things on e-bay all day long. I’ve made $47 minus whatever it’ll cost me to ship these items tomorrow. Some guy in England was like “hey, I don’t have my paypal account running yet, can I just deposit the money in your paypay and trust you’ll send the stuff to me?” And I was like... “Sure...” So he paid for three items, and I’ve got them boxed up downstairs. I’m expecting shipping to come to $15 or so, since it’s England and since the box is of a fair size; like a shoe box. Though it’s pretty light.

Tuesday, December, 2nd 2008 at 12:07am

I’ll give this to him when I’m ready...

Crusifer,
It’s not that I don’t care about you. It’s not that I’m unwilling to forgive and move forward. It’s not that I’ve changed.
It’s that you’re so completely inconsistent. One moment you don’t care if I drive or if you drive, then next you’re so angry over it you wish it’s over. One day you beg me to come visit you more often at work, another day you curse me for visiting you at work. Sometimes you’re willing to do anything to have a life-long companion, a life-long mentor and student, lover and friend. Other times, you’re not willing to do anything at all.
Sometimes you want to become a renowned tattoo artist. Sometimes you want to work for Square Enix. Sometimes you want to move to Mass. with Mike, and sometimes you want to move to Cali to go to the school of Noman. And sometimes you’d rather go out and do nothing worth anything for hours upon end, without calling, without warning, without thought.
Sometimes you tell me you need to hang out with El less, and focus on us more. Sometimes you tell me that losing your friends isn’t worth it. Sometimes it doesn’t matter if we never have sex again, because you love me. Sometimes you’d leave me just because we haven’t had sex in three days.
Sometimes you can’t live without me, and sometimes you can’t live with me. I hardly know what to think now. Are you the guy who’d throw me on the floor? Or are you the guy who’d spend the entire day beside me, talking to me, rubbing me, creating and absorbing? The answer is complicated, but it’s also simple. On the one hand, the simple hand, you are both. On the other hand, the more complicated hand, you are neither. You are becoming the person that you’re going to be one second from now every moment, are you not?
Perhaps you’ve changed. Perhaps you’ve had a realization. You know, I changed before Jeremy broke up with me. I changed a hell of a lot more after be broke up with me, but even before so I had changed. And he didn’t know. Only I knew, and there was nothing I could do it prove it. His trust for me had run out.
I’ve been afraid to do the same thing to you. The only problem is, I was fifteen. You’re twenty-six. You’re probably not going to change, based on all logical probability. But I’m not a robot. I’m not probability. I am an individual, and I don’t fit into the majority and so many statistics that it breaks all of my own reason to follow them when making all of my choices.
Food, that’s one thing. I can drop sugar and bread. It’s not going to change.
You, are human. You have emotions. You make mistakes. You will chance. You have to change. You can’t help but change, because every moment you have experienced something that one moment ago you had not experienced. But how long can I hold on based on the fact you will change? And what are the chances that you’ll change for the better of us?
Those chances aren’t good, not good at all. Not unless you’re making a conscious decision every day to become a better half of the two of us. You have to have that in mind no matter what you are doing in order for us to grow together.
But you’re not doing it at all. You’ve already expressed that you’ve given up, even though just a short week ago you were not going to let me go. Remember that? You said that. You acted on that. We had a lovely five days together. And then I told you I didn’t want you to drive, and you snapped.
Why?
You snapped entirely. You didn’t just yell at me, or argue with me. You gave up on me. You pushed me. You screamed at me. You tried to take my things. You said awful things. You made me so angry I was ready to let you leave. And you have not tried again since. It’s 12:25am and you’re not here.
I can already see it now: You come home at four in the morning. You boast about how much fun you had. You pull out your laptop and play video games for half an hour. You insist I make love to you. You get angry when I refuse. I get angry because you demanded it and then got angry when you can’t even spend an hour with me.
How is this supposed to prepare me for making love to you? These are the thoughts I have while you’re doing whatever it is that you’re doing. This is how I feel when you don’t call me. And you waltz in here like I owe everything to you. Well, I don’t.
I did your laundry today. I cleaned up the plates and food you left out. I picked up your stuff off the floor. I didn’t eat a damned thing all day except a cup of tea which I made myself, and finally just now, I ate eggs. Oh, whoopy, eggs. Why? Because you have no intention of giving me grocery money because you’re still mad about me driving you around!
And I’m supposed to make love to you?
I know you’re reaction to this too. You’ll get really pissed off right about now. You’ll let it get to you. You might stop reading this. This might curse at me. You might declare that you give up. I’m too difficult. I’m a bitch. I demand too much. I make your life difficult. I act like I’m so perfect. Here I go, trying to play you again. Those are your thoughts, aren’t they? And I bet you still think I owe it to you to fuck you?
I’ll tell you what Crusifer. I can be your whore, but I won’t be a dumb slut. A whore gets fed. A slut just gets a dick in her ass. A dumb slut gets the cock of a dick-head in her ass. I won’t be a dumb slut Crusifer. I won’t. Right about now, being your whore is the best offer I have for you. I can’t make love to you, because I don’t feel love between us at all. I feel an aching emptiness where there ought to be love. I keep telling you I love you because I still care a hell of a lot. More than I probably should.
I still want what’s best for you. I still want your company. I still want you to be a better person. I still want to give you another chance you don’t deserve. I still want to touch your hair and make you smile. God fucking damn it, I want to do things for you still, and I don’t even know why! You clearly don’t want to do a damned thing for me!
But here is something you never get. I keep telling you over and over again. It’s not that you’re not doing enough for me. It’s not that you stay out late. It’s not that you don’t know what you really want above all else yet. That is not the problem. Can I say that enough? It’s NOT what you’re doing for me or not doing for me. It’s NOT about being late or on time. It’s NOT that you’re unclear about what you want out of life.
Here is what it IS:
It’s about you loving me the way I love you. I love you enough that I want to do things for you because I enjoy doing things for someone I love. I like to please you because I love you. I like to make you smile because I love you. I like to touch you. I like to hear you laugh. I like to watch you do thing because I love you. I love to make love to you because I love you. I love to kiss you because I love you. I call you when something makes me sad or happy because I love you. I am always here for you because I love you. Because I love you.
I cook for you because I love you. I clean up after you because I love you. I go places with you because I love you. I answer the phone when you call because I love you. I tell you how I feel and what’s on my mind because I love you. I ask what you’re doing because I love you. I think about you all the time because I love you. I’m writing this letter because I love you. I cry because I love you. I want to be around you because I love you. I ask you how you are doing, how your day has been, and what you’re up to because I love you. Because I love you.
Not because I want to get something back. Not because I want your money. Not because I want your cock. Not because I can’t wait to hold it against you. Because I love you.
What upsets me is not the actions themselves, but how they reflect how you must feel about me. If you loved me, then wouldn’t you call me to let me know you’d be late because you’d care about my feelings? If you loved me, wouldn’t you try not to be late, instead of purposely going out? If you loved me, wouldn’t you be honest with me? If you loved me wouldn’t doing small things for me be a matter of enjoyment not exchanged favors?
I feel like you care a lot. You care as much as most guys care about their women. You care even more than many, probably most. But I don’t believe most people are really in love by my definition. Just like most “friends” are not really friends by my definition either.
Love is not about taking a bullet for someone. Love is about taking out the trash because your loved one is tired. Love is rubbing their head because it hurts. Love is making them coffee or tea because they have trouble waking up. Love is calling whenever you’re happy or sad or going to be late. Love is not being embarrassed, not having to lie, not feeling stupid. Love is putting that person first in your life. Love can’t survive anywhere but first in your life. Do you understand? Do you agree?
I’m guessing that you do, but that you don’t know that you do. Or you’ll say you agree, but then won’t act on it. I think your emotions are true. I think your logic makes sense. But I also think that you deny yourself the truth when you’re scared, or hurt, or angry.
I feel stupid for writing this. I feel embarrassed. I feel ashamed for caring so much. I’ve been telling small lies to avoid arguments. I’ve been trying to hurt you just to see if you’d care. I’ve gone against the spirit of love and because of that, I don’t feel the same. Unless you want to step up to the plate... Then this is goodbye.


2008-12-02 17:43:30 Someone - Somewhere
Your letter is nice and all but in the end, pointless. You should tell him to fuck off and move on. Do not think of it as giving up but as standing up. If he then comes crawling after you, you go from there. Wasting your time on wishes and tears isnt going to show him anything except that he has the "hold" on you that you would like to have on him. While you may argue that a "hold" isnt what you seek, bare bones - thats just what it is. When you argue with a fool, he is doing the same.


2008-12-02 22:58:05 Hallie - Somewhere
I thought the letter was really beautiful. It was expressive. I see Someone's point about the futility of it, but I think that person is missing the value that it has for you. I'm guessing it was very cathartic to write that and that giving it to Crusifer, when you're ready, could end up providing you with closure. And whatever he does or doesn't get out of it now, the impact it has on him could still become apparent later.


Someone who didn’t leave their name,
Yes, the letter changes nothing. I’m aware of that. It wasn’t for him, it was for me. I don’t expect to give it to him until I’m pretty much done with everything, probably around January 2nd or so, and I’ll probably write another one before then. I’m kind of obligated to wait until Christmas for a number of reasons. For one thing, my mother has bought him an expensive gift that I do see much value in giving to him. I want to end this on the best foot possible. Obviously, a ‘good’ breakup is nearly impossible, but I’d like to get as close as I can to it. There was value in our relationship, and I’d like to honor that in every way I can, even in the very last hour.

Hallie,
You’re absolutely right. I actually didn’t write it for him at all. I just was feeling so down and out and confused and lost that I just needed to write, and because an entry wouldn’t come to me I decided to write a letter. You know what’s really interesting? First, I typed, “Jeremy...” because I was going to write a letter to him. But when I tried to think of the words, nothing came to me. I backspaced it, and tried “Crusifer...” instead, and suddenly a rush of words came to me. In other words, I went to write because I knew I had thoughts I had to let out, but I didn’t even know what they were until I found the right catalyst for them.
By the way, you’ve taught me a new word. Cathartic. I like the word. I need to use it sometime in my novel. I love using all sorts of words. The more broad the vocabulary I use the more alive I feel when I write. Repeatedly using the same words, especially cursing, while can still give me release from my thoughts, it doesn’t give me that uplifted, alive feeling that writing can and often does have.
Also, yes, the future impact. Assuming I give him the letter, and he tries once again, and fails, and we split, he may keep the letter and look back on it. Or, he may not try at all and just take it as a goodbye letter the moment I hand it to him. I don’t know. Either way I’m prepared for either scenario. I might not even give him that exact letter. There is a good chance that I’ll edit it a lot between now and then. There is also a good chance that he’ll read part of it and never even finish, because he is like that.
Only time will tell. Every time I wish it could last a little longer, or have a little more beauty in the end... He says something or does something that reminds me why I don’t want him. It’s sad but true. And here he is... At long last.


Thursday, December, 4th 2008 at 5:41pm

So like... I feel like shit. And I want to fall in a ditch. Got any ideas for not feeling like that? The funny part is, I have lima beans. I just ate a nice big yummy plate of them. I accomplished stuff today. I played Race for the Galaxy with my mom, and won. (I had 110 points, she got 60.) I wrote two whole pages on my novel, which I feel were two brilliant pages.
Yet... It all feels empty, just because Crusifer left this morning and hasn't called at all or answered mine... It's his day off you know. He said he wanted to spend it with me. I shouldn't care anymore. It's not like I'm sitting here crying. But... I still feel so... lost.
He was looking really sad last night. I think it’s because I ditched him. He told me El and Connie invited him to “go to Niagra falls” after work. I told him to go ahead. It saved me from having to pick him up and I wanted to get some writing done if I could. I left at midnight, crossing him practically on the way in. I left anyway.
I came home at 1:50am. I wasn’t even gone a full two hours. He’d been ‘gone’ from 9:00pm when he got off work until midnight. So technically he was the one who sacrificed more hours of ‘our time.’ I don’t know if that’s what he was looking so down about or not. He wouldn’t talk to me. I have not given him the letter or any other letter or talked to him about anything of that sort. Perhaps it’s that whole thing about actions speaking louder than words?
I never have just walked out on him before like that... I mean, I have, but not really in that way. I’m resisting the urge to call him again. I’ve called three times, and left one message, and for like the first time in my life, sent a text message. His phone makes this totally different, and loud sound, when he gets a text message... So perhaps that would get his attention...? I don’t know. He’s probably doing this on purpose so the best thing I can do it not let it get to me and then let him believe it got to me a lot.
This sucks. I hate that I’m not working towards having a family right now. I hate that so much that I could just... Fall in a ditch.

Thursday, December, 4th 2008 at 9:20pm

I called Frankie’s phone and asked to speak to Crusifer. I asked him if he was coming home. He avoided answering the question. I asked him if he was ignoring my calls, he lied and told me he didn’t know I’d called him. That’s impossible. I called every hour all day, and repeatedly for half an hour and I sent a text message. So the only way he could not tell if I’d called is if he literally hasn’t used his phone since he left the house, and that’s truly impossible.
He says he misses me, and then he doesn’t hear my reply because he’s talked to other people. They’re having some sort of debate. Loud voices and music can be heard. Then I hear:
“If you became the world’s best at everything, would you cry? Of course you’d cry,” Crusifer says. Someone in the background says, “Tear, nigga; not cry nigga.”
“You’d cry if you was a bitch ass nigga,” Crusifer says. Someone else says something.
“If you wouldn’t cry over an orgasm then you wouldn’t cry over being the best at anything,” Crusifer says. Someone else says, “Over an orgasm?”
“An orgasm is the best sensation in the world,” Crusifer says. It sounded like he said after that, “I’d take an orgasm over anything, being the best, whatever,” or something along those lines. Then he went on to say, “There is no better feeling than having an orgasm.”
He was obviously ignoring me, and on top of that, he was saying such complete petty bull shit that I had to hang up. An orgasm? The best feeling in the world? Do men really feel that way? Does Crusifer really feel that way? Better than feeling like you spent your day well? Better than giving someone a gift they really wanted? Better than drawing a masterpiece? Better than writing an amazing poem?
Seriously, an orgasm is really far down on my list. In fact, if we’re talking about just any orgasm, I’d rather ride a roller-coaster, get a foot rub, or go out to eat. The only reason an orgasm is even ever worth having in the first place is when you’re either in love or if you’re so helplessly horny that nothing else is going to help. Otherwise, what’s the point?
Just hearing him say that snapped me out of my depressed state. That is not, and will not be my husband. My husband will not value an orgasm above all else! How shallow! Can he really feel that way? Or was he just saying that? Is that what the real Crusifer thinks? Oh, what’s it matter? How he feels deep down on the inside doesn’t matter anymore, because it only leaks out through all his surface garbage every once in a while.
I really cried today. My Dad sparked it. My mom and I were having a nice conversation in the kitchen. We’d made a lot of progress in sorting and organizing in the old craft room, has-been storage room, new-sewing-room. (Also used to be my bedroom when I first moved back into this house after the fire, where Tre moved in with me.)
Dad comes in to hear mom correcting my grammar on something. Dad remarks that if I had ‘ever learned a foreign language’ then I’d not think such things were strange. I lost my temper on that one. I’d been learning Japanese. I was serious about it. In fact, trying to learn Japanese is was brought me to a deep realization about the ‘support’ of family and friends.
When people say they have a lot of support they don’t necessarily mean financially or physically. They mean that they have a lot of people saying things like ‘you’re a good person and you’re doing the right thing’ and ‘I believe you can do this’ and ‘Is there anything I can do to help you accomplish this goal?’ and so forth. That is support.
That’s what I’m lacking that drives me crazy. I get no support from my parents or from Crusifer or from anybody. Nobody is interested in the things I do. Nobody is just waiting to see my next artwork. Nobody is waking up bright and early just to read my blog posts every morning. Nobody is just rushing to get home from work to write me a letter. Nobody is calling me on the phone asking me how my novel is coming. Nobody is asking me if I need help with anything. Nobody asks me how my day went. Nobody remarks that my room is dirty or that I need a shower. Nobody asks me if I’ve been working on my board game lately. Nobody asks me if I’ve had another one of my crazy ideas. Noone asks about my utopian creation; D.D.P. Nobody supports me in anything I do. I think that may be why I feel this way. Because for a little while I felt some of that from Crusifer... Not a lot, not all of those things, not even a good many of them, but just enough to feel like someone. Enough to stop feeling ugly for a time. Enough to feel like I could be an artist. That was enough.
I have no words for how hurt I was when I asked my mom to help me learn the Japanese characters by saying the sounds out loud and having me write them down to see if I got it right... And she said it was boring and she had other things to do. I’m crying over again damn it. I cried then too. I never told her how upset it made me. Of course she has other things to do, but... When I was small... My education was so important to mom... To both of them. Dad always wanted to teach me something too. There was always so much to learn. Where did it go?
No one is ever go to teach me like that again... I’m alone. I have to learn things on my own or just be like everyone else and only learn way mundane day-to-day life has to teach. It hurts... In a way that is so beyond other sorts of hurts. Abandonment. I feel abandoned.
And anyway... Where I started with this. My Dad, one day when he was tipsy or drunk or who knows, maybe he was sober, I don’t know. But one day he came upstairs and he said something... I don’t know what exactly, something about me being in college. I’m not sure if we exchanged anything before he brought up college. I told him about not being able to afford it and about how I still wanted to go in the future and then I went on to say things about creating a board game and learning Japanese. He told me I was jacking off, and he made fun of my statement by repeating ‘learning Japanese’ in a high-pitched winy voice several times, and then told me I was jacking off again.
Again, I was hurt. It felt so meaningless. Everything I do, and everything I’ve done was dismissed just like that. As far as my father is concerned I’m just sitting up here jacking off. I’m nobody. Guess how much Japanese I’ve practiced since those two incidents?
And now, a very interesting Instant Messenger Conversation:
5:30pm
Me: So like... I feel like shit. And I want to fall in a ditch. Got any ideas for not feeling like that? ...The funny part is, I have lima beans. I just ate a nice big yummy plate of them. I accomplished stuff today. I played Race for the Galaxy with my mom. I wrote two whole pages on my novel. It all feels empty, just because Crusifer left this morning and hasn't called at all or answered mine... It's his day off you know. He said he wanted to spend it with me. I shouldn't care anymore. It's not like I'm sitting here crying. But... I still feel so... lost.
7:10pm
Matt: stop feeling like shit
8:30pm
Me: That didn't work... I hate life... I wish I could tell my father what I think of him. But he'd just do something stupid if I did. I've officially accomplished a lot of shit today. And somehow I still feel like shit. Men. They have a way of sucking. (psst, you don't count as a man, you're androgynous or something... you only half suck, and the other half is a bitch.)
By the way, both Ergo Proxy and Gunslinger Girl I find interesting... However after watching an episode I feel lost and depressed; that is, when watching alone of course. This probably applies to most animes, but I notice that with the show Legend of the Seeker that doesn't happen... God damn it, talk to me
Matt: Alex and Ashley are here.
Me: I said, drop a rock on my head. Along with, pushing me in a ditch. Same stuff.
Matt: yea no doing that... alright... im going to get people to leave soon and go into the woods. I feel bad that I don't have time to just hang with you online or otherwise... we need to paint sometime though... bug me about that in the future.
Me: Music hurts now. That's one thing I hate about break ups. Music hurts so bad that I can't bare it even for a moment. Especially music that can be connected with him in any way. Well, I can see you're not going to talk to me. Man that episode was depressing. It's the one about Elsa.
I... am a pig?
9:30pm
Matt: not remotely
Me: I am. I'm a pig. I'm writing an entry about.... everything
Matt: fuck... that’s how I feel right now
Me: What? oh... You feel "fuck" Want to come hang out with me tomorrow? I expect people to gather around 7pm to play games, but I'd like you to come sooner if you could...
Matt: this isn't directed at you... but this is what I wrote: fuck you I want to talk to my sister fuck you I want. Fucking. I fucking want to. Fuck you fuck you want. I want to talk to my sister get the fuck out I want to talk fuck. Fucking. I want to fucking talk I want to fucking calm the fuck down fuck you, I want to talk with you I want you out of my life I want you to be right I regret it all fuck you I want you to understand fuck you I want you to feel fuck you I fucking want to talk with you fuck you fuck games fuck fucking gymnastics fuck you fuck your petty games fuck her. Fuck her fucking bullshit. Fuck you all. Fuck you fucking fuck you.
Punctuation is important. what do you think? this is one of those where there is no where to turn. you probably feel similar right now. I am alone, all the time. I cannot be anything else because im unwilling to lose control. I need to be myself not the fucking character in my place, not the fucking guy on the screen. im in the audience.
Me: Come over here and I can... do nothing I would normally do to try and help a male.
Matt: I can't lose control or im good as dead. I want to be alone, but its masochistic.
Me: Honestly, I understand the concept, but that's what sex is for. Really. I mean, on an "emotional" level it's for bonding or whatever. But on an intellectual level, it's to let go of that control so that you can relax and pick that control back up when you need it.
Matt: I fear loss of self awareness so much more that being alone is on average such a good thing... I can't. there isn’t anything else.
Me: And that's why you are the way you are about that sort of thing.
Matt: if I play the part im as good as dead...
Me: It really makes sense now.
Matt: I can't play that part. I can't relax. or im just the fucking guy on the screen.
Me: Take a bike ride... In this direction, lol.
Matt: how often do you sit back and realize, you're just watching a movie; you're the main character, its like you told the director your name and he made the movie
Me: You want to be the director not the actor
Matt: he asked you your favourite color and number and made the rest on his own... I am not the director, I can't be... all I can do is walk out of the theater. anything else is an illusion.
Me: Right now you're having one of those rare moments in life where you see things very clearly from a very particular angle. I think I've had that exact same feeling once, the one you're having now.
Matt: I've had it countless times before... I used to more often
Me: You should write it down in detail, so you can mock yourself later, and wonder at the things you already know. (I’ve had the feeling many times before too, but from different angles. Each time was completely clear, but only from that angle.)
Matt: lol, these are the only times I admire myself for. I don’t think I ever want to leave this state; perfectly alone.
Me: The thing is, while what you're saying is completely true in one aspect, there are other ways to look at life which can completely change the overall effect.
Matt: I think I want to break something
Me: I'd love to break you. In the sense, you're the ultimate fantasy. The hardest challenge. There are way too many guys who'd jump right under the covers without caring my name or age. I want someone to care enough that I have to work magic.
Matt: I pity you then
Me: I want it to be special enough that I need every bit of romantic manipulation up my sleeve.
Matt: I don’t believe in magic
Me: oh, psh. You're in a state of mind.
Matt: You can't do it
Me: And you take my words way too literally when you know exactly what I mean. That's Matt for you.
Matt: No, I understood. I was extending the metaphor
Me: Please, make an ass of me in front of everyone again just because you refuse to know what I mean.
Matt: You can't break me. I wish you were right.
Me: Like I said, that makes you the ultimate fantasy.
Matt: That’s why it’s a fantasy, an fiction within the movie i'm forced to watch
Me: I'd have to become your intellectual match, and see things from the 'correct' perspective in retrospect to your perspective to gain your interest highly enough to make you reach for me.
Matt: It’s just as real. when you replace bullshit with bullshit its just as good as when you started
Me: But isn't that what life is? Replacing bullshit with bullshit? Just hoping that the next bullshit is slightly less bull than the last?
Matt: there is something else
Me: Like psychology- it started out as bullshit and evolved into bullshit and then into other bullshit and now it's not half bad. So we think.
Matt: its too bad I am where I am, its likely the best it'll ever get
9:50pm
Me: I could write a book with you and I as the two main characters. Our outlooks in constant argument. We'd capture the audience of the world. Probability says otherwise Matt.
Matt: I would type "lol" but I'd be lying... fuck
Me: Besides, it's like Crusifer said, wait until you're 20. I'd never guess two years ago how much difference there still is between 18 and 20. I thought I'd covered the major gaps in life. I expected things to change much slower. I was wrong. (I'm 20 in two months, woot)
Matt: they suck
Me: "they"?
Matt: he's not living up to the expectations I put out for him
Me: "he"?
Matt: she's failing by night and crying by day because of it
Me: "she"?
Matt: my existence keeps her from falling away... I need a Saturday.
Me: I'm going to be vain and assume "they" is Crusifer and I, and he is Crusifer and she is me.
Matt: I can't let this contrived bullshit go on... they're not
Me: lol, I’ll be vain again assume that was a response.
Matt: I was going to help Jimbo... I haven’t even saved my friends yet.
Me: Saved... When did I give up on saving the world? I've been asking myself that question lately.
Matt: It’s like hate... when you fucking convince yourself of a fiction just to feel the fear; you get high off of the independence.
Me: I might have done that a few times in my life.
Matt: The lack of anyone else
Me: I can't imagine that feeling. I'm so low for that exact reason...
Matt: The trolls behind every tree keep me sane
Me: That was genuinely funny there.
Matt: I imagine that they're scraggily little creatures; with little mouths on big faces; rows of sharp teeth
Me: I wonder what you'll be like at 25...
Matt: they snap at your fingers; when you grab and throw them off of you; little things... only a foot or two tall, green and wrinkled. fat with scrawny arms and legs; claws too large for their hands
Me: That's an ugly image.
Matt: they scratch at you and bite at you endlessly
Me: And of course, I'm the one living in a fantasy of pink and black.
Matt: when you grab them off, the others chop out little chunks of flesh from your back
Me: You have trolls in your meaty soup, that's normal.
Matt: they're always there; threatening
Me: In the meaty soup.
Matt: every little thing is threatening. ever dark corner, hidden spot
10:00pm
Me: Trying to give yourself bad OCD?
Matt: its not safe; it doesn't need to be
Me: Trying to hold control all of the time is going to make you crazy, mark my words.
Matt: It’s ok to be threatened at all times; that’s how it works
Me: Just like Crusifer refuses to cry. And he has anger issues. No surprise there.
Matt: There are trolls everywhere; but its ok, because its just a movie
Me: ...Oh Matt. I'm supposed to be the one ranting and moaning about now.
Matt: there are only two things I want to do right now
Me: Yeah?
Matt: Yea
Me: I want to stroke your hair, and I want you to like it. A lot.
Matt: fuck you fucking both... not you... them.
Me: You know your eyes scare me?
Matt: only one person here is worth anything... and only because they're regretful.
Me: That's why I'll stop and look at them sometimes, try to seal what they look like in my mind...
Matt: I wish you were in the theater.
Me: You have this expression you always make... It never matches what you're saying - your eyes that is. But the stuff you're saying now matches that look in your eyes you have. I wish I owned the theater.
Matt: thank you; that means that there's hope.
Me: eh? Here, let me destroy your hope by telling you what gave me mine.... Oh screw that. I'd rather not.
Matt: if anyone knows what’s in my eyes, its you; and now it matches my word; hat means that somehow I always feel this way.
Me: Well, should I feel flattered? I guess I'm going to go ahead and feel flattered.
Matt: it may be possible for me to live like this
Me: That's exactly what I was thinking. Matt is secretly manic. And violent.
Matt: im smirking now
Me: I'm actually laughing. You're being very entertaining. If a bit disconcerting.
Matt: The rational pacifist is an insane sadist.
Me: This is much better than sex, really. Very, very, true. Did you make that up? I made up something brilliant recently
Matt: yea; its not brilliant at all; cheesy
Me: There are two types of manipulation... (Fine, this is cheesy then too.) One type is a cruel play on psychology. The other is romance. Crusifer always thinks I'm trying to manipulate him. When I'm just doing things out of love. I told him if he thought I was manipulating him then he should do the same back. I said I wanted to be manipulated. He said I was crazy and a liar. I realize now, that being romantic is just manipulating the other person into deeper feelings based on what you know about them. I love it.
End IM Insertion.
Last remark made at 10:08pm. Finished editing at 10:40pm. Holy crap that took forever.