Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts

Friday, June 6, 2008

Muscle Cramps Are Sure To Occur

Monday, June 2nd 2008 at 1:48am


So much for everything.

I’m still going to try the marriage fitness program, but after the fourteen weeks are up, if things are looking anything like they are now then this will just never work.

I’m hurting myself with all this misery. My muscles all over my body are cramping because I’ve let myself get cold in my desperate actions. Crying naked on a cold tiled floor is not generally good for your health.

In this last week I’ve thrown my keyboard into my monitor causing a scrape in the monitor. I’ve also stayed up until 9:00am arguing and crying. I smoked weed for the second time in one year. I spent a good deal of time on the floor naked. I banged my head into the wall about twenty times, and on the floor around six or seven times. I screamed out the window “I hate you” to no particular person at the top of my lungs in such a high pitch that my words were indiscernible. I’ve spent countless hours trying to find a solution. I’ve spent countless hours crying.

These are all very bad signs, and while I’m fully aware of all of the implications behind all of those actions I’m still unsure how to salvage myself best in this situation. I care too much for Crusifer to leave him when I know he wants to be with me so badly. It was hard enough with Tre, but with Tre I had several advantages. One of those advantages was that I realized I was with a thief, and there is no way I could ever stay with someone who is stealing from me. Another was that I wasn’t as attached as I thought I was because a lot of the connection was placed in the weed. These sorts of things do not apply to my relationship with Crusifer. I’ve been nuts about him since the start. I have never stopped loving him, though I have drifted more and more in the last few months. I have never really hated him. I have never really said “It’s over” and expected and wanted him to leave at that very moment. I proposed to Crusifer because I thought for sure that it was the right time, and what we both needed and wanted.

There are a couple things I can focus on to force myself to leave him. For one, he confessed to me this morning that the letter he wrote me about having a drinking problem was bull shit. He doesn’t believe he has a problem. So this tells me that he lied, that he won’t quit drinking, and that he did things just to make me stay. I resent all three of those with equal disgust, anger and depression. Another thing I can focus on to make myself leave him is the fact that he almost invariably ignores me when I cry now. The part of him that cares about my feelings seems to have retreated beyond my reaching. And thirdly, he’s told me he’ll continue to drink and hang out with his friends even if it causes us to break up.

There is an abundance of other things pissing me off, like his lack of trust in me, his continual proclamations that I’m lying or “full of shit,” the fact that he doesn’t call when he’s gone for a long time, that he doesn’t care if he breaks a promise to me, the fact that he finds comforting me something he shouldn’t have to do or doesn’t care to do or find worth while to do or whatever. The fact that he considers his own pain before mine in all situations even including situations where I’m obviously the one in more physical or emotional pain. He tells me that I come after his work and his art. He told me today he’ll try to put me first. We promised to try some more. I think this might be our last dance of trying, but nevertheless I still am going to give it everything I got. I won’t fall hypocrite to the very things I’m accusing him of by neglecting him.

Crusifer told me today that he feels like he’s two people... The one that likes to drink and hang out with his friends, the him that he is at work and the him that makes me miserable. We’re calling that part of him Cav, cause that’s what they call him at work. Crusifer however always cares about how I feel and is always striving to improve himself, be productive and spend time with me. Unfortunately he’ll always be more Cav than Crusifer because of his work life. That means that he isn’t ever going to be mine. Let me tell you, that’s heartbreaking. I feel wrung out to the point where I’m not even holding my head up straight. I don’t shift positions when my foot goes numb. I don’t cover up when I get cold. I keep shaking... I never shook so much or so violently as I have these past couple days. Unless I shook like this when Jeremy left me...

Needless to say I’ve been thinking about Jeremy a lot. Feeling so desperate always makes me think about him, partly because I associate the desperate feeling to how I felt after he left me. I also think about the fact that him and I could have been together this past year and a half. I was seriously considering it before I went out with Crusifer. I love the experience I’ve had with Crusifer. It’s had so many, many good times, and so many lessons and new ways to express myself and my love and find who I really am and what I really want on levels I never touched before... But I sometimes wonder if this was the choice that would bring me the most happiness...

Hard to say. I’d be a whole person right now if I had spent this time with anyone other than Crusifer. Really issue is that Crusifer and I identify in each other something that we can find no where else. I can find love with another man, but I might not be able to find the incredible relate-ability I’ve found with Crusifer. But while I’m on that thought, perhaps we don’t relate as much as I thought anyway. Those incredible discoveries in our first few months revolved around sex and art. Two incredible aspects of life, but not the most important aspect of life. For him, those are the most important aspects, for me, they come after my health, and after love.

I used to think I wasn’t right in my head because of the emphasis I put on love, being in love and the effects that love had on my life. Because other people didn’t relate to my affection need and because other people don’t feel the deep pain that I feel when I feel a lack of affection, I thought something was very wrong with me. Mort Fertel explained to me why I’m not a freak of nature. It’s not the affection that I want so bad, it’s the love that it signifies. I feel that if someone isn’t willing to move their hands about my body for ten minutes or so, then surely they don’t love me. The joy of touching is universal, and it’s easy and it’s enjoyable. If you’re not enjoying it, then either you’re not in love with the person, or you’re upset with that person at the time.

I can follow this same logic to uncover everything that Crusifer does that bothers me. By not calling me he’s saying a lot of things. He’s saying that he doesn’t believe that I care enough to worry, or that he doesn’t care that I’m worried. He’s saying that he doesn’t really miss me, or that he doesn’t think I’d like to be bothered with his call. He’s showing a lack of caring no matter the circumstance. Even if he’s busy, and even if he’s got other things on his mind, then this still shows a lack of priority. If I was his top priority, like he is to me, then he would never forget to call me, never lack of missing me, never neglect to touch me or talk to me.

A huge thing that bothers me is that I can’t get out of him anything he wants. Mort suggests intimacy interviews to uncover all of your partner’s desires. This interview should last for an hour or so, and hundreds of wants should be uncovered in detail. To my dismay I uncovered nothing new at all except for the lack of my priority in his life. I want opportunities to show him how much I love him, and to give to him. Part of the program is to pick three things from the list you’ve uncovered to do every day. One of these three things might be the same thing everyday. I have so little to pick from that it’s impossible without doing the same things everyday.

Pedicure, manicure, massages, cooking, and sex. Nothing else makes the slightest difference to him at all. And as Mort says, you can’t give something with having a willing receiver. Therefor if he doesn’t want it, then I can’t give it. Since I should spread my “gives” throughout the day, all I can really do is wake up, give him a massage, visit him at work and bring him lunch, cook for him when he gets home, and/or have sex with him. What a dull selection. Doesn’t he like it when I write him letters? *sighs*


Tuesday, June 3rd 2008 at 7:18pm


My mind has been turning to Jeremy a lot lately. I keep expecting to see him for some reason, and then feeling out of place when I don’t. I want to talk to him about the issues I’ve been facing with Crusifer and with myself. I’d like to hear his perspective. I seem to have lost my security in my relationship, because I don’t feel that “safe” feeling a lot, and perhaps I wish to see Jeremy to see if I feel “safe” around him.

I can’t say I don’t feel guilty about this. Certainly it’s not a socially acceptable thing to want to see your ex. It’s even less acceptable when your current relationship is shaky. I can blow this off by saying that I always wish I could make Jeremy into a friend, but clearly the meaning behind my desires in much deeper, and to deny it would simply be dishonest to myself.

More than anything I want to put the past behind me and start a family with Crusifer. Short of that I want to at least get most of the past behind me and be married to Crusifer without regret. Short of that, I’d like to at least find the deepest truth of the matter within myself and put the past behind me including Crusifer if need be. Short of that, I’d like to at least use a part of my past – Jeremy – for comfort through the hard times the future may bring. Short of all of that, perhaps I can write, write, and write my misery away until I feel much better.

I feel so utterly drained. I can’t seem to find a creative scrap inside me. I have no drive to create anything right now. I have no burning craving to do anything. I have no thought nagging to be written. I have no obligation to fulfill... Why does Tina never call me?

I wanted to be there for Tina after her baby’s birth and to visit her a lot and to babysit for her...

Why do I feel so blasted empty and heavy? Surely I’ve slept well enough. It’s not lack of exercise because I biked to see Crusifer at work. I did that today and yesterday in the spirit of Marriage Fitness. Three “gives” a day, and five “talk-charges...”

I’m really lost right now. Not sure why. I suspect a shower would help...


Wednesday, June 4th 2008 at 3:29pm


Preparations for Crusifer’s birthday have begun. Despite the stress in the past few weeks between him and I, I’m still determined to give this my best shot until I don’t see any decent options other than leaving him. Crusifer is following through with his promise to listen to the CDs and to do what they say to do. He keeps quoting, “put you first” in reference to me to remind himself, and I find it absolutely adorable. He even answered the phone in the middle of a tattoo to say hi to me when I called.

His actions the past two days prove yet again that he does want to make this work very badly, but it’s nothing convincing because I’ve seen him put forth a lot of effort before when he thought it was either put forth the effort or get dumped (and of course, it was a matter of putting for the effort or being dumped.)

I discussed with him the night before last the fact that I don’t even approve of him smoking weed. Ideally, he’d quit doing that too. He of course looks at me in exasperation for a moment, but also with questing. He is curious as to know why, and not jumping to conclusions, not accusing me of trying to make him a slave.

Somewhere along the past few days I pointed out that he’s a complete hypocrite. I was able to quote at least five things he said and then contradicted within the past few days. He wasn’t able to deny his hypocrisy, but together, we were able to explain it. He doesn’t have a split-personality, but he does have two sets of values. He adopted the second set of values (he says) in seventh grade in order to fit in. The second set of values are the common values of a low class black male living in Buffalo. These values include:

Drinking, partying, not caring, fighting at the drop of a hat, demanding respect from those around you, smoking a lot of weed, listening to hardcore music, staying far away from anything homosexual and generally being a homophob. They also include not taking any “shit” from your “bitch” and “slapping a hoe” if she gets out of line, and many other things along those lines.

We gave this set of values a name; Cav, which is what they call him at work. It makes perfect sense for them to call him Cav, because he is Cav while he’s at work. This worries me because he spends so much time there. Visiting him for several hours on Monday at work made a dramatic difference in his day and in mine. He felt like he had an ally and wasn’t afraid to be the “self” that he is around me. I felt like I had my soul-mate and was drawn out of the depression I’d been in for two days if only for a few hours.

Because visiting him helped so much on Monday I visited again briefly on Tuesday, both times bringing him a sandwich. The first one just meet, cheese and vegetables. The second one included meet, eggs, cheese and vegetables. Needless to say, the eggs were much appreciated.

So this brings me back to the conversation I had with him about the weed. Smoking weed once or twice a day is not something the Crusifer I know would do, it’s something that Cav does. I brought up that this is why his mother looks down on his job. She doesn’t understand that art is all Crusifer is about, and all Crusifer will ever do for a living and that tattoos is the best way for him to turn his art into cash, at least for now. Because his mother can’t understand those things all she can see is the ghetto customers, the ghetto co-workers, the foul language, the drug usage, and so forth. I agree that those things are hard to deal with, especially when someone you love in working in those conditions day in and day out. I’m more aware than anybody the toll it takes on his personality, ego and pride.

I explained to Crusifer about the values I wanted my children to have, and the values that I have. Those values don’t include associating with people who throw their lives away, who don’t care about their health or the health of their families and friends.


My values place compassion and love far above pride and material possessions and drugs and parties. My values place health far above the temporary enjoyment of any unhealthy activity. And I want my children to share that, and my husband. If my husband doesn’t share those values than my children will share those values about fifty-percent of the time, and that would be that.

After I explained in detail about that, he nodded and agreed, and said, “I’m not ready to just quit smoking weed. What do you want me to do?”

“Start small. Don’t smoke more than once a day, and don’t smoke near the time you come home from work. I want to see you sober.”

He agreed easily, because not that many days does he get the chance to smoke twice in a day. The only problem is, despite Crusifer’s ambition and understanding of self-improvement and of love, Cav has no respect for my values or for self-improvement. Is Cav the problem?

According to Mort, he explains that in every marriage there is Rachel and there is Laya. (Refer to the Bible, and to Jacob and his two wives.) Rachel is the person you want to marry, the person of your choice and desire. Laya is the person of your fate that comes with your choice no matter what you do. Mort says that Laya is not the problem. Cav is not the problem. How I react to Cav is the problem. I certainly don’t react well. I used to I think, but I’ve been losing my patience. It’s been too long to still have this problems in my opinion. But this isn’t about “me,” it’s about “we.”

Using Mort’s principles certainly steer away from breakup, and they certainly create bonding. The only thing that takes so much time is to bond enough and love enough to be able to really drop your issues with the other person. Accepting Cav will prevent break-up, but living with him will always cause me distress unless a deeper solution can be created. The theory is that if we both put each other first, and we both move our circle of life to include each other a much as possible, if we both establish that connection and compassion for each other, if we both rekindle the way we felt when we first met, if we both remove the conditions, drop the issues, and give each other affection, loving conversation and our presence in our giving each and every day then our problems will dissipate or find easy resolutions.

I believe that this is true, but I also believe that it’s no easy matter. Granted, when Crusifer makes me happy, it’s easier to let him do something I don’t want him to do. I can leave the room, because I’m not being needy because I already had my fill of him previously in the day. Granted, that if he asks for something I don’t prefer him to do, instead of just doing it, I’m much more likely to say “okay.” Granted that if he calls me throughout the day I’m going to feel more loved, and if I call him too he’ll feel more loved. All of this is very true and makes a very good point, but it really takes two. Keeping the ambition to do all this giving is beyond what I’ll be able to manage within a few weeks if I don’t feel that he loves me enough to do the same.

Note how I worded that. Not that I have to get the same back. I need him to love me enough to give the same back. Another important point which Mort stresses is that it’s not about what you’re getting, but what you both are giving. When you look at it that way, it straightens out a heck of a lot.


Friday, June 6th 2008 at 10:09pm


As any of my long-time readers know, the lack of entries is a good sign in 80% of cases with me. I have not written the past few days because I have not felt stressed enough to need to write. Even, now, I don’t need to. I just wanted to record a joyful day where I accomplished much.

I woke up from a dream where I was enjoying myself. I don’t know what the dream was about, though I do remember being pelted with bits of crushed brick. However, whatever the dream was mostly about, I enjoyed. I know this because I woke up feeling especially refreshed and good.

Crusifer brought me a cup of tea. I drank half of it, as usual, and then turned to giving him attention. As he bored of this activity (touching and talking about nothing) he strayed from the bed. I absentmindedly starting touching myself, and found myself aroused. I called him back to the bed, and after several minutes he finally came back and I lured him inside me. The lovemaking was short and sweet, the way I generally prefer. I came, he came. Can’t ask for much more, can you?

Well, I did ask for more. I asked him to take the few extra minutes it would take to shower with me, but he declined. I made a few attempts into coaxing him into it, but I think he became annoyed at this attempt. I cleaned up in my attic bathroom (the one with only hot water, no warm water) and then hurriedly got dresses and applied sun-block and followed him downstairs into the livingroom. We grabbed our bikes and carted them out the front door, off the porch and biked with him all the way to work. He was quiet and rebuffed my attempts at conversation. This dismayed me, but I didn’t let it affect my attitude towards the day. He didn’t smile, he didn’t speak except to answer questions, he didn’t initiate any kissing or touching when we got there, and so I was a little disappointed.

I contemplated my short skirt, tank top, morning sex and ride to work with him on the way back wondering what I could have done wrong. I guess it was the “nagging” about the shower. Frustrating as that was, the day was too bright to be bogged down because he didn’t smile for me.

I got home, showered. I asked my mom if she wanted to “play with blocks” before or after going to Wegmans. We decided on before going. I’m currently making the twenty-four “wonders” for the game I’m creating. These wonders all have the same size of the base but the wooden parts connected with hot glue are arranged in drastically different designs. So far my mother has made two, and Crusifer has made two, and I’ve made nine. None of them are really painted yet though, so that’s a whole other task in it self. My mother really enjoyed herself and that made me happy.

Then my mother and I went to Wegmans. I picked up organic granola (five boxes to mix), four packages of rice crisps, three cartons of Wegmans orange juice, one flat of Wegmans water, one bag of pistachios, two bags of sour cream and onion kettle chips and two bags of salt and vinegar kettle chips. Anything else... Hmm. I also got more razor heads, and... Grapes. I got the grapes mostly to eat while I was there because I was so dehydrated.

I gave my mom $25 in cash, because it’s all I had. I think I picked up $60 worth of stuff. Crusifer usually provides for these things, but recent strains in our relationship make me feel guilty for asking for money. He’s trying to save to go to Mass. for a week. Something about experienced tattoo artists who are friends of a friend who want to help him out and have him be a guest artist at their shop. I insisted that he wouldn’t go anywhere without me for the week so it’s a decent expense to save for.

I got home, decided it was dreadfully hot, showered again, and then went about the daunted process of extracting my air conditioner. It’s been rolled into a corner for the winter behind plastic sorting drawers full of crafts, my craft table, my chair, and other related things which are extremely close to my bed which is up against an opposite wall. In other words, there is no room to just rearrange. I had to lift things, dismantle the table, sort things, put many things away temporarily, and finally pull the air conditioner to where it could hook up to the outside world. The reward sucks, because despite it’s 9000BTW, it doesn’t help much. If it’s above 93 degrees or so it can’t do anything. It blows out “cooler” air, but the cooler air is like 85 degrees or something, so it doesn’t feel like it’s working when it’s that hot. At 85 degrees or so it works quite well. What a silly machine.

I also removed the curtains the separate the “back” of the attic from my room and put them at the door at the bottom of the attic steps to help heat stay downstairs. Previously I had added foil to the windows and I have two window fans going at all times. I’ve recently starting using my third fan, a big circular one to help bring the fresh air to the bed area. All of these measures make it about five degrees hotter than the second floor instead of twenty degrees hotter, which is of note, but still daunting when I’ve gone to such lengths to make it livable up here.

Anyway, after I did that (and got all sweaty again) I took another shower... And broke the shower. I had no idea that the plumping was so fragile that if I adjusted the shower head too hard that it would disconnect on the other side. Water poured out of the pipe for a moment before I thought to turn it off. The bathtub still worked so I resorted to a bath.

Then my parents and I attended an event at my church. A very good local group called the Blood Thirsty Vegans plays there the first Friday of every month, but I’ve never been before even though I know the lead guy Alex vaguely from other open mics and such.

They played for about an hour and a half and then had an intermission for open mic. I read my poems: Intimacy, then Fire, then Dissatisfied and lastly Rain. Four of my favorites of course. I still like Beyond Reality, but it needs a revision before I read it aloud again. It screams “sixteen years old” in the middle of it even though it starts out so strong.

I danced my heart out tonight, which made me feel really good and alive. I started out with a little shoulder movement and thrusting my heal out to the beat. It quickly evolved into the most elegant arm movements I can muster, the most rhythmic hip movements I can make, the most crazy but intricate and rhythmic feet movements I can make without stumbling, and swishing my damp hair about whenever I saw fit. Being the white girl that I am, and a stereotypical one at that when it comes to dancing it takes a lot of technique for me to muster rhythm. I believe that rhythm is not a “have it or don’t” sort of thing. I don’t naturally have rhythm the way many people do, but I have techniques to keep following the beat.

My first and most important technique is to pick on element of the music to follow to get into it. Once you’re in the zone you won’t need to focus so much, but when I begin I follow one element in the music very closely which is generally the base.

The second technique I have, which is almost as important is my feet. I always try to jerk my foot on every beat that I’m following. Whether it’s a step, a stomp, a tap, or more of an ankle bounce, it’s almost vital to keeping myself in tune. However, once I’m really into it, I can switch my attention from my feet to my shoulders. Thrusting one shoulder forward, or alternating my shoulders on each beat, or thrusting them back, is another way to remind myself of what I’m following.

The third technique I have is to move my entire body in every movement. In order to look animated you can’t have limp hands, or stiff ankles or a ridged back. I utilize this to the fullest possible when focusing on technique one and two. If the song is fast paced enough, and if I have energy enough, and if I’m into it enough I can twist all three of these techniques together and do what many people just do naturally. I can move my shoulders to the in between beat and my feet to the main beat and then thrust my body forward and back, stretching up and bending low while continuing the motions with my feet and shoulders which make my other seemingly-random movements look coordinated.

Dancing has never been easy for me, but I enjoy the freedom of it, and the expression of it. We arrived at 7:00pm and left at 10:00pm. It’s going on 11:00pm now and Crusifer has called me to let me know that he won’t be home until midnight, possibly one o’clock in the morning, but he has no intentions of being longer than that. He’s going to “the park” to chill with “some people” on his lap top while smoking “a couple blunts” and doesn’t expect it to take “until three o’clock in the morning or anything like that.”

I have my doubts as to what will really happen though I imagine his intentions are good. He even warned me earlier that he wanted to go out, and I’ve accepted Fridays and Saturdays as acceptable nights to go out. I’ve accepted him going out once a week as long as it’s one of those nights. I can’t argue when he meets every condition, but none of it settles the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when he goes out. It doesn’t hurt when he lets me know ahead of time, and my heart doesn’t ache when he follows my conditions, but my stomach never feels quite settled when he’s out when I know he could be home with me.

I’m not letting it dampen my spirits though. I had a good day despite his indecisive moods.

I think I may go read now. I’m on the fourth book of The Bridge of D’Arnath by Carol Berg, which by the way is a phenomenal series of epic adventure, fantasy, vivid sorcery, and deep characters who really portray how layered real people are. I’m becoming a huge fan of Carol Berg and look forward to buying her other series which I can’t remember the name of at the moment.

Thanks for reading. I miss you guys when you don’t comment. Anyone who comes here at all knows my social life is lacking. This is my friend. Writing is my social life. I talk, talk, and talk, but without feedback, it’s not social, it’s just talking to myself – which might make me slightly crazy. Something for you to think about – if you don’t respond, that means I’m talking to myself, which makes me crazy.

Cheers and smiles and love for everyone! Recycle your junk mail, eat more organic food, cut back on your sugar intake, smile to a stranger, give someone special a hug, and write me a detailed comment about yourself and how you can or can’t relate to me, and consider you good deeds done for the day.

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.