Showing posts with label depressed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depressed. 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.

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Together Forever?

Tuesday, April 29th 2008 at 2:37am


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 12:06pm


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

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

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

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

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

I was sorely wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I also want to be more mature than that.

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

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

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

That’s what I want, most simply put.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I will. Not. Cry. Yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want him to feel how I feel.

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

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


Wednesday, April 30th 2008 at 5:42pm


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Friday, January 4, 2008

Not What I Wanted

Friday the 4th of January, 2008.

It is 3:18pm at the moment.



I guess Saundra is the only one who shares my apprehension.

Saundra is a sixty-somethin year old woman who acts much like a person who hasn’t quite come out of teens in their thirties – if you get what I mean. (Celeste is a woman in her thirties who hasn’t quite come out of her teens.) Saundra has been working for Aaron, and she’s done all of the recruiting that’s been done so far.

Then there is Scott, who is a young man, probably in his twenties somewhere, who did work for Aaron, but got fired basically on my first day, which was yesterday. I’ve seen Scott a few times. I saw him when I met with Saundra to be an extra. I saw him when I met with Aaron to interview for the position of talent scout. I saw him briefly before he left when I arrived yesterday. I’ve been told he had been living there by Aaron, and Saundra tells me that the actual business is in Scott’s name. This is a questionable thing.

Saundra has been complaining that the clients need copies of their registration papers, because it’s not professional to not give them a copy. Aaron has apparently been blowing her off entirely on this matter, which is also questionable.

Saundra called me at ten o’clock this morning (to my utter unhappiness) to tell me about how she doesn’t think she can work for Aaron anymore because he disrespects her, and because he’s not professional enough, and because he’s constantly being sarcastic, and because she lost her keys yesterday (and she never loses her keys) and because she’s been having anxiety attacks (and she never has anxiety attacks) and because her friend has been having them too. (Get the feeling that she kept me on the phone forever after apologizing for waking me up?) And she feels like something just isn’t right, but she hopes it works out for me, but she knows it can’t work out for her, because after all, she’s going back to school, and that is going to take all of her energy, and do be careful because you know that Aaron is trying to take you away from your boyfriend.

Okay, okay, okay Saundra, I got it, now please SHUT UP! She must have went on for about ten minutes about all of that. And she brought up all the good points. Something doesn’t feel right when I’m there. I’m having anxiety attacks, but I just thought that was because I’m always having anxiety attacks, about everything. (Am I going to have to get a job? Will we be kicked out? Will Dad leave? Is My boyfriend as nuts about me as I am about him? Am I making a mistake? Am I really ready for all of this? I’m never going to get what I want out of all of this, am I? And other assorted things to have anxiety attacks about.)

Worst is the feeling of being trapped. Everyone wants me to do this. Even Saundra said, "I hope it works out for you." The closest I’ve had to someone not wanting me to do it was My boyfriend saying, "I’ll understand if you don’t want to do this." *extra heavy sigh*

I’m not getting paid on a salary, and that alone is making me want to run. I want to be paid for the trauma I went through yesterday. While I smiling, making stupid small talk, and Saundra was in the other room on the verge of tears, I was thinking inside my head; I have to escape, I have to escape, I have to escape somehow. But how? Mom said she expects me to give it at least three months, which means if I don’t, she’s going to be upset. Dad’s all happy about this happening, and I never wanted him to know in the first place because I never wanted to do this in the first place.

What the fuck is wrong with me? If it’s not about My boyfriend I have an intense dislike for doing it. His art, his laundry, his dishes, his room, his shelves, his love, his sex, his job, his touch, his everything. I want to do it for him. Doing things for Mom is okay too. Doing things for Dad or Mary is like doing something for myself – possible, but sometimes difficult. Everybody else can be torturous. I feel like I’m wasting my effort on people that don’t love me, on money that hates me, with time that I should be giving to My boyfriend.

This can’t be right. Maybe I just need some fucking B-vitamins, since that’s usually the case when all someone wants is out.

I woke up even more dismal than ever today. I felt like I had even less of a reason to get up. All I keep thinking is that I’m not pregnant, and I can’t be pregnant, because I’m not allowed to be pregnant, and I have to go back on birth control, so that I can feel even more worthless, so that I can be dragged even further away from what I want out of life, so that I can be trapped even more, so I can be crushed and despised in my misery.

If you understand what I mean. I’m dreading going back on birth control. (Ugh, I just remember part of an awful dream I had where my teeth with dangling, browning, rotting, and hurting terribly. I bet that’s a message to pay the $20 a month to continue my dentist coverage.) I’m dreading losing my sexual appetite again.

I wanted a baby so bad. I’ve never wanted anything so much. I’ve never been so happy about anything. I feel so worthless. Why, why, why won’t somebody just kill me? For goodness sakes, it made me stop giving myself death wishes. You can’t wish death on yourself when you have baby, or even if you’re pregnant with one. It’s a rule you just shouldn’t ever break.

What am I doing? Crying at almost four o’clock in the afternoon. I haven’t done a goddamned thing today because all I can think about is My boyfriend, My boyfriend’s baby, this fucking job I don’t want, my parents and how I can’t please them, this attic and how it’s not done... My boyfriend’s baby, did I mention that one? This job that I already hate. Working with Aaron frightens me. The guy is a creep.

I hate the way he stops talking, keeps smiling, and stares at me. I hate that I’m going back there tomorrow. I’ve already giving flyers to My boyfriend with my work information to find people. I’ve already called people letting them know. I’ve changed my myspace, and I’ve messaged a ton of people on myspace, vampire freak, and other places. But how much harder will it be to escape if I have a full-fledged office there?

It would be so much better if he didn’t drop ten-thousand hints about trying to date me. He’s fucking thirty-seven years old, and he’s a fucking creep. What’s worse is that he knows he’s intimidating me because he asked if he his sun-glasses (which are for an "eye condition") intimidated me. I cooly said that they didn’t and pulled out my own prescription sun-glasses.

If I were to work anywhere happily, it would be back at my old job. This just screams SCAM, and RAPE, all-fucking-over-it. If not tomorrow, then eventually. I caught him testing my number ability. If a client pays a certain amount of dollars, then someone gets a certain portion, and he gets a certain portion, and I get a certain portion, does that sound good? No, I said, it doesn’t. Where’d the last hundred dollars go?

I don’t trust him. I don’t like him. I don’t want a job in the first place.


It is 4:03pm at the moment.

Mom brought me breakfast. She also told me that she visited Aaron this morning to tell him to stop hitting on me. That’s great and all, but I’m still nervous about this. Scott has been fired, Saundra is quitting, and that means just him and I, alone in that huge house. Can anybody say creepy?

As My boyfriend said, all I ever talk about is children. And I don’t want to raise children and have a job simultaneously. That sounds terribly miserable, for them and for me. Already, when they’re ten, I’d been thirty, if I was pregnant now. I don’t want to wait, I don’t want to wait, I hate this.

My boyfriend says he’s sad that he’s not making enough to support a little one on his own yet. He says he’s upset that I’m not pregnant too. He’s terrified of me going back on the birth control. I’m terrified of going back on birth control, now that I know it was causing the mysterious pain that feels exactly like a terrible yeast-infection, except that there is no yeast. I even went to get checked for a yeast infection one of the worst times and they said I had no yeast, and that my flora levels that combat yeast were indeed very high. No creams helped. Itching, pain, soreness, the inability to have sex, discomfort when sitting down and while using the bathroom all so that I don’t have a baby that I desperately want to have!

I hate this fucking bull shit! Hate it, hate it, hate it.

The drive that we’re born with to have children must have been increased in me. Then again, poor cousin Colleen wanted a baby so bad at fourteen that she had one. Now she has three children and an abusive girlfriend. Then again, she also managed to get through the rest of high school, and through college, and hold a job, and take care of her aging father, my uncle Eugene even after the death of her mother. (My uncle Eugene and her mother adopted her incidently.)

As Mom put it, the logic that Colleen would have had was that she didn’t have her mother to love her, and her boyfriend wasn’t loving her right, and her father was getting her old, so why not have a baby to love her? But of course it doesn’t work that way at all.

I want a baby to love. The dependance sounds exciting. Someone who wants me to do everything for them, and who needs it, and who one day will appreciate it. Someone to teach everything I’ve learned about health to. Someone to pass my sense of fashion on to (even if they rebel and hate how I dress in their teens, I still get to try.) Someone to make like me. I can watch them stumble as I did, and pick them up, and teach them to fight back at the world. Teach them to care as so many of the new generation doesn’t.

I don’t want a job for money. I want a baby for love and for pride. Money will not buy me love and pride and joy. Money might possibly make having a baby easier, but then what, just to quit and not have the money anyway? Why work towards having a career I don’t want to keep?

I wanted to bail out of Mary Kay as well, and I stuck with it, and went no-where with it. Now I have something that might allow me to go somewhere with more things, and I want to bail again. Surprise, surprise, really? But nothing changes the fact that Aaron is a creep.

The attic needs rebuilding, and that takes more time and effort than it does money. We already have the drywall. We already have the tools. All I need are a couple of construction lights and some plastic sorting drawers and bins and I’ll be able to get started on the project myself. Currently there isn’t even enough light back their to assess what needs doing. A baby would need it’s own room as it gets older, and building the room while Cheanna is actually growing up doesn’t sound like the best idea to me.

I think I’m just going to have to convince my Dad to let me do it. I’m not interested in doing anything else with myself. They didn’t want to let me learn to read (at daycare) when I was ready, and then I didn’t end up reading until I was ten. (In fifth grade.) I still didn’t read much of anything until well into High School. I only read the same series over and over until somewhere in High School. (That series being Ever World, by K. A. Applegate.)

My point being that I know when I’m ready. If I wait I might change my mind.

My Mom says I’m not making sense. She says it’s my hormones that I’m not used to dealing with because of the birth control. Great. Another lead against what I want. What am I saying? My boyfriend is still partly in question, isn’t he? Oh fuck. I’m just going back to bed. I hate everything.

Thursday, January 3, 2008

Unhappy Transition

Monday the 31st of December, 2007.

It is 1:14pm at the moment.



I’m terrified of regretting my current actions later. If My boyfriend and I go ahead and get married and have children, and four years down the line we’re still having the same arguments, I might very well wish that I had left him back when it was "easy" to do it. (Easy in retrospect from the future...)

But, on the other hand, if I were to leave him now, I might find that all relationships have arguments, and most have worse arguments. I might discover that having just one night a week with My boyfriend is better than entire weeks with other men or women. I might realize that it wasn’t so hard, that it wasn’t so bad, and that being alone is far worse than arguing with My boyfriend over drinking and being out.

I also could discover a world of great lovers and relationships unknown to me in my teens. I might discover that being single isn’t so bad. I might discover that I’m really a lesbian after all. I might, I might, but I doubt that. Though, why I don’t know. I shouldn’t doubt that there are better fish in the sea, because after all, a short month after Jeremy left me, Tre came along, and a short month after I left Tre (after two years of bickering) along came My boyfriend. And this was without even trying to find a man.

And yet, and yet... And yet it’s just so hard to believe that I’m beautiful. It’s so hard to believe that I’m lovable. It’s so hard to believe that people can be honest, trustworthy, interesting and smart.

But other fish in the sea is only about five to ten percent of my dilemma with leaving My boyfriend over this. There is also all of the dreams and plans I’d have to give up. We’d never have a tattoo shop together, I would have no art to scan and clean and rearrange. My artistic muse would be gone from my life, and my art would cease to exist at all. (After all, I hardly drew at all while I was with Tre, and when I did, it was mostly because I was at school and there was nothing better to occupy my mind and hands.)

Let’s put thus reasons so far like this: 5% of it is that I don’t believe I could find something I truly be happier with. 15% is all the dreams I’d have to give up. Then comes the whopper of course, the pain of being separated from someone you love so dearly. If I were to leave My boyfriend, I’d do it the same way I did with Tre. I’d bottle my pain and my anger, until my tears dry up, and the love wilts, so that I don’t have to break myself in the process of saying it’s over and more than necessary. The only problem with that theory is that My boyfriend will never make me feel that bad. My boyfriend would never throw my head into a wall, or point a gun at my head, or tell me that I’d be worthless without him, or threaten to kill my whole family and next boyfriend if I left him. My boyfriend is a nice guy. He’s just an insecure nice guy who wants to be a macho-man.

5% is the lack of fish in the sea. 15% is the dreams I’d leave behind. 10% is how alone I’d be in the days to follow. 70% is the pain from being separated from him, now that he’s become embedded into my soul. And even that first five-percent is a compelling reason not to do it.

So now that I’ve cancelled out the first option on my list of options. (My options: leave him, compromise with El, demand that he do things my way or else, separate myself slowly through making new hobbies and friends away from him, take more control of his life through crude and unfair methods.)

El suggested last night that he get three nights a week, and I get the other four. Ha! Ha! Yeah, right. He has no idea what it’s like for me to have no company at night to look forward to. "But why can’t you come with us?" He asks. (Not even the first time we’ve been over this.)

"The smell of cigarettes gives me a pounding headache that lasts all night. Besides, I wouldn’t enjoy myself and that would bring you guys down. I have nothing in common with the sort of people you guys hang out with. I want nothing to do with the drugs, the terrible eating habits, the party life-style or any of it. I don’t even have anything to talk about with those people."

"You can’t just expect My boyfriend to give up the other half of his life."

At this point I want to scoff. Partying is not life, at least, not the way they party. Getting drunk, and high, and talking to random people about nothing in some bootleg house all night, night after night, is not living at all. I can respect a single person who does this after work to let loose, to look for a mate or for friends. I can even respect a couple who goes to clubs to dance and have a good time once a week. But the people at the parties they go to don’t even have a life outside of partying. They work ho-hum jobs at drug stores, have no hobbies, and do drugs seven days a week. And I’m not just talking weed and boos. I’m talking cocaine, dexing, ecstacy, acid, opium, and some of them perhaps even crack.

Seeing people snot cocaine makes my stomach turn. A girl that could be beautiful, that could be smart, that could have a future, bouncing around after a cocaine high, falling all over the floor, and onto the men in the room, laughing about nothing, shaking uncontrollably is just scary. It makes me want to shake her (as if she isn’t shaking enough) and scream "what the fuck are you doing with your life!?"

I don’t want to talk to people who gossip about other people, who talk about drug experiences, sports, maybe video games, and previous parties as their center of conversation. How incredibly boring. Why not discus the inner-plot of a recent movie and character’s motives? Why not a good book we’ve all read? Why not our different religious and spiritual believes? Why not odd things we know about animals? Why not dreams and what we think they mean? Anything but football, tits and drugs.

If that is half of My boyfriend’s life, I’m not sure I want to be involved in any part of his life. Hearing El put it that way really shifted my perspective. Obviously this is important to him. Despite My boyfriend’s intellect, despite his interest in books, taking apart computers, different religions, and theosophy, he still wants to waste half of his free time being a couch-potato.

The level of how depressing that is for me is so high that I can’t even begin to describe it. It’s so upsetting and so real that it’s struck a fervent doubt into my core. The doubt that turned into disgust with Tre. This is my worst fear, and it’s happening and how to deal with that is just blowing my mind.

"You do realize that My boyfriend blows me off as much as he blows you off," El says. I think about this for a while. El is really trying to come up with a compromise. But El can still go off and have a love interest, and have other friends. He knows a lot of other people. Why does he need My boyfriend’s time? I fully understand now that El isn’t my problem. My boyfriend is the problem. My boyfriend’s wants are my problem, just like my wants are his problem. He wants to go out, and I don’t want him to, simple as that, really?

And who gets what they want? In his view-point (I think) he believes he should be able to go out and do drugs if he wants to because he brings home the money. Through my perspective, he shouldn’t be allowed to do these things because they’re not only bad for his health, but it also hurts my feelings, and on top of that, if he didn’t have me, then he wouldn’t have this room, this pussy, clean clothes, clean dishes, good food, love, affection, attention and a considerable amount of understanding on his side.

True, without him, I wouldn’t have a lot of things too. After all, I don’t have what I want and need from him when he’s gone. No love, no attention, no affection, no sex, no one to talk to, no interaction to be gained. Why, why don’t video games satisfy me like they used to? Why, why, why would I rather lay on the bed stroking his hair, listening to his day than play Civilization, Tekken, CivCity, Eudemons, Spyro, Sims, or any of the games I own? Why does other company bore me to death? Why do I cry when he leaves? Why does him wanting to leave make my stomach clench and my chest ache?

It’s not natural, and I know it’s not. People cry after arguments, or during them, but not because their man wants to spend a night or so out... He’s not coming home tonight, and at least I know in advance this time. But it made me wake up sad. It makes the whole day seem moot and pointless. It makes going to bed at 5:00pm appealing. It makes everything seem doubly worthless and pointless as it already often does.

It’s out of the question for me to go with them. I’m not going. It would be pointless. It’s out of the question for me to just let him leave me, once, twice, three times a week, and stay here, alone, miserable, and hating myself. If that was the case, I might as well give up right now. As I said to El,

"If I were to agree to that, part of the deal would mean having another boyfriend. Which is actually why My boyfriend and I have been looking for a girlfriend. He’d get more pussy, and I’d get more company. The problems with that however are numerous. Imagine a girl that is actually compatible with both him and me?" I snort and shake my head, "It’s impossible. I’ve never met a girl I get along with enough to want to see everyday. I’ve never had a friend. It’s always been me and one other guy or nothing. Going out and finding myself friends is not appealing or satisfying, and finding a girlfriend is impossible and poses a number of threats and issues all on it’s own."

Both El and Coriver are convinced there is some sort of compromise possible. I used to believe that too. After yesterday, I don’t believe there is any way that we’ll all be satisfied. If El got his way, I’d be miserable, and if I got mine, My boyfriend and El would see each other once a month or so, which would leave El feeling jipped as all hell. And the worst part? There isn’t just El and me to consider. There is My boyfriend’s mother, and his cousins, and his coworkers. Tonight he’s going out with Nikki and Frank. El won’t even be there.

I have no New Years plans that I know of. I don’t even want plans if I won’t be with My boyfriend. I don’t want to even be awake. Why am I so damn addicted? It can’t be normal, it can’t be reasonable. The more he’s out, the more desperate and irrational I get. I start acting like the fiend when he’s out.

He’ll tell me he misses me when he’s gone. He’ll say he’s sorry. He’ll make promises. I’m done believing. I’m not sure I can ask him to change anymore. I think I have to force it, deal with this, or leave. Since we’ve covered dealing with it, and leaving, that moves on to forcing him to do things my way. This isn’t a pretty picture either.

That would mean completely jipping El out of hanging out with his best friend. That would mean completely jipping My boyfriend out of one his favorite people in the world. And it would require drastic methods like picking My boyfriend up from work everyday, punishing him severely with no sex, and no favors in general when he defies me, rewarding him profusely for being with me (which I always try to do, everyday as is) and aggressively reminding him of the consequences of leaving, and of staying. I think that it might work, but I also think that it might back fire. If I hold too tightly he’s going to feel trapped, and he’ll lash out.

To complicate things even more, I’m having trouble coping with him with other girls now. It seemed like a good freedom to give him. Something logical and simple. Something other relationships don’t have. A way to not-conform and to be understanding to his nimpfadic tenancies. (Yes, I said nimpfadic, want to pick a bone about it, or what?)

But time has made me more attached, more possessive, more controlling, more afraid, deeper in love, deeper in desperation, deeper in jealousy. When we first got together I didn’t give a hoot if he slept with other girls, (as long as he used a condom of course.) After all, he’d slept with other girls before, so what did it matter anyway? When he did do it, it did make me jealous and upset, but I recovered quickly enough and went on with things. It didn’t dwell in my mind more than a day or so.

The second time wasn’t so bad either, though it hurt worse emotionally, I was able to conceal it even better. Though now thinking about it makes me upset. I feel like my time, my space, my body, my memories, my bliss-cloud is being invaded. I’ve never been this jealous before. I’ve never felt this emotionally fucked by it before. And I feel like I’m trying to trap him in a box all at once, and I don’t know how to not do so. The alternative is to break my own heart over and over again.



Monday the 31st of December, 2007.

It is 6:40pm at the moment.



Hi Tina!

You seem to have changed your phone number again. I don't know of any way to get a hold of you at the moment. I wanted to see what you were doing for New Years. We're having a small get together over here.

I had a thought totally unrelated to the above that I'd really like to speak with you in person about. Being that you're in the army, and have some sort of income, even though it's limited/in lump sums etc., it could be a logical thing for us to move in together some time in the future.

The reason why I bring this up is because there is a good chance my father will move out soon, which means that we'd have to give up the house. My boyfriend doesn't make enough to support it. Though in that event, it wouldn't take THAT much more to support it, and you'd have access to everything you'd have in an apartment or more. (Phone, heat, water, electric, cable, DVR, high-speed internet, food)

The other reason I bring it up is because in the event that we have to move out, it would be nice to have a room mate, and I'd be able to babysit your baby while you're at work (& while My boyfriend is at work for that matter) very easily, and then instead of paying me directly for the babysitting, you'd just contribute to the bills. We would also get a chance to get to know each other better and such.

I don't really know what your situation is with your Mom, but obviously the baby will need it's own room when it get's older, and in the event that my father move's out, it would make enough extra room for you and your baby to have more space than (I assume) you have now. I really hope that you consider the idea, and I'd like to talk about it more in person.

I'm really lonely with all this time Crusifer spends at work, and I have too much time to think about all the negative stuff in life sometimes. Call me anytime. 536 9226

~Atara Phoenix


Monday the 31st of December, 2007.

It is 9:39pm at the moment.



He doesn’t call me with his changes of plans. He doesn’t take my feelings into consideration. He isn’t willing to quit drinking and partying. I feel like it’s already over right now. Every part of my chest, stomach, just everything is roiling in pain. The fire of anger has burned up my tears of agony, and I don’t know what to do.

I have no interest in anything. I’ve wasted another year of my life! Another fucking year! And now I’ll have to start from scratch. I’ll have to get a job. I’ll have to find myself someone new to love, and live with this heartache. I hate myself. I hate. I hate, hate, hate myself. Why won’t I just keel over and die? I wish I was dead, right this moment!

Oh god, no I don’t, I don’t want my mommy to come looking for me when I’m laying here motionless... But what am I living for? What am I looking forward to? What dream do I have that’s worth getting up out of bed for?

He is who he is, and he’s not changing, and I can’t do anything about it. It’s deal with it or leave, and if this is dealing with it, then there is no dealing to be done. Why, why, why, whywhwywhywhwywhy...?

But, but, but... Mary said he was the one. She saw it? So why isn’t it working? Why is everything so terrible? I’m back to where I was with Tre, where he’s causing me and equal amount of pain and pleasure. This is so awful. I don’t want to do this again. I thought I had made so much progress, and I thought I had come so far, but I’ve done nothing. Nothing! It’s all been a waste, it’s for nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing!

Fuck this world. Fuck it all. Fuck everything that you stand for. I don’t belong. I don’t exist. I refuse to give a shit. Don’t ever judge me. Fuck it all, fuck this world, fuck everything that you stand for. I won’t belong, I don’t even exist, I don’t give a shit. Don’t ever judge me!

Burn me alive, strangle my voodoo doll, twist my neck one-notch short of breaking and tie me there. Needles in my eyes. Crucify me. Leave me hanging, douse me with water to prolong my agony. Watch me bleed and scream, and devour thou favorite meal.

Pulverize me. Gimp me. Gag me with a spoon, and a fork too.

Sorting his coins, buying him pizza, hanging up his hoddie, collecting up his laundry, waiting for the few minutes I’d get to have before he got ready and went out with his boss and I don’t even get a phone call to let me know that he’s at a fucking house party in the mean time. I told him I hated him. He told me he was going to get trashed. He hung up. I called back. He didn’t answer. I left a message saying that if he got trashed to never come back. (While crying uncontrollably.)

The whole day is a waste. Nothing I said to him has gotten through, none of it meant anything. It’s all one big lie. I’m living one big lie again. All my hopes are worthless. I’m shedding my leaves, a slowly dying tree; a slowly callousing heart.

Every incident is another blow. Every day like this is another day closer to the inevitable.


Tuesday the 1st of January, 2008.

It is 3:27am at the moment.


Happy New Year! Oh, the cheer.

So we went to Asa’s house, which I’ll admit was ten times better than laying on my bed crying for all of these hours, which I may very well have done if we hadn’t gone. I was crying hysterically when the phone rang and my mom said, "are you ready to go?" and I wiped the tears from my face, took a deep breath and said that I would be right down.

I had to sit there and stare into space for several minutes before coming to terms with facing a social situation when I feel like my life is falling apart, but somehow, somehow I have to convince myself that it is better not to mope.

Honestly, I disgust myself. My antics, my crying, my moping, my depression. It’s all flat out disgusting. Though I’d be highly offended if anybody said this to me, and try to back up the way I feel, and also try to explain that I don’t want to feel this way, that I am trying not to feel this way, but how do you change how you feel?

At Asa’s house, my brother Robert, myself, Asa, Mom and Dad all sat around a board game that I don’t know the name of. A first time play for almost all of us. I lost miserably, and I ate something Mom and I made, which had too much sugar in it, and gave me an awful stomachache. It was so bad that I forced myself to vomit for the first time in my life, multiple times in fact, trying to get it all up so that I wouldn’t be in pain all night. It seems to have worked since I feel fine now. I’ll remember next time I make a bad eating choice that vomiting isn’t as bad as being bloated and in pain for hours upon hours.

At least I was too busy with losing, the food, the ache, the puking that for a little while I didn’t miss My boyfriend. This is a huge accomplishment for me. I feel genuinely proud of myself for it. When we got home, I suggested since it’s late, and since the three of us are together (myself and my parents) which is kinda rare, that we talk.

We talked about My boyfriend and related topics at great length. They both gave me new ideas, new options, though not too far removed from the things I had thought of myself. They brought out the things I already knew and connected them differently. My conclusions:

My boyfriend needs to slay his own dragon, and he has to do it his way.

By telling My boyfriend I won’t be with him if he drinks or if he attends parties, I’m telling him that I don’t accept him for who he is.

By not going out of the house with him, and my not allowing him to drink anywhere near me, I push him away, and force him to associate with influences in opposition to me while he’s drinking and socializing, and consequentially making his fun less satisfying because he’s too busy being stressed because of me to really enjoy himself.

Going cold turkey doesn’t work for everybody just because it works for me.

Pushing and rushing somebody only makes them rebel more, and further pushes them away.

I need to take away all expectations and start over.


Tuesday the 1st of January, 2008.

It is 6:20pm at the moment.


"He won’t forgive me," is what I wrote at noon. After writing that, I had nothing left to write. I hate how an imminent breakup turns me into a fucking slave. I feel like I can’t ask for anything. Now I’m the one who feels trapped. Trapped in never having what I’m looking for, what I’ve been working for, and towards. I feel like a failure.

He says he forgives me. For being ignorant last night. I forgive him, obviously since I’m still trying so hard to make this work. But I feel the distinct feeling of failure. It’s like I already lost the race, but let’s keep going to my marks won’t be that bad.

I had a decent day so far. It really hasn’t been terrible. I’m doing the compromising thing. I told him he can go out, any day of the week, except for days off. He can drink, he can smoke, whatever, just don’t bring company home, and try not to be an ass hole when you’re drunk. I did this so our relationship wouldn’t be ruined, but my plans, my hopes, my dreams were crushed by making this compromise. And worse yet, he’s not particularly happy with it!

"What if I wanna bring niggas to the build? Niggas aint tryin’ to always be out."

*sigh* If this still doesn’t work then I’ll have no choice but to give up. How long to give things? I don’t know. I feel completely desolate. I thought I didn’t have much to look forward to before, but now I’m not even sure what I’m trying to work towards. I did make sure to reiterate that I was not marrying a man who drinks.

The most worrying the part is that he doesn’t understand why. That’s actually more scary than the fact itself. He doesn’t understand why he should eat dinner with my parents and I on New Years Day. He doesn’t see why my Mom might be upset if he doesn’t at least sit down with us.

I’m so tired to working to find the right analogy, of working to find a solution to something that he can’t seem to understand. Like the gangster rap music. I’m really not trying to listen to "fuck bitches, get money" and "raised in the projects" and "36mafia" and other assorted lyrics, groups, "songs" and such because I can’t relate at all, it’s loud even when it’s quiet, it’s offensive most of the time, I’d hate to think that My boyfriend really felt the way these "artists" say they feel about things. And I don’t like the way it sounds either.

My boyfriend is about to pop his bottle now. And play Final Fantasy XII for PS2.



Wednesday the 2nd of January, 2008.

It is 4:01pm at the moment.


My boyfriend and I made a compromise. He can go out any days of the work week he feels like going out. He can even get fucked up. (This is just begging for something really awful to happen, but it’s worth a try.) All I’m asking is for his days off to myself, which currently consist of one day a week. The least time I’ve ever had with a boyfriend before. A pitiful group of hours amongst the mass of hours in a week.

He can even drink at home, as long as it’s two of something 5% or one Steel. This was my father’s idea, and My boyfriend is going along with it, or at least, he says he is. Then again, what is there to not go along with? Leave me on Sunday too? If that is to be the case, then I give up.

This is so frustrating. I can’t count on having anything to look forward to. I can’t count on anything or anyone. I just want to cry my time away. Of course he’s not really going to go out six days a week, but I have little doubt that things will only get worse from this point on.

I informed him that I wasn’t marrying him unless he quit drinking all together. And why is this considering changing him? He only started drinking three years ago, and for one of those years he was with me. He quit smoking cigarettes for me pretty easily. I don’t see what the big deal is, honestly. I quit drinking after one stupid night in Iowa, involving bad sex, crawling, ripping my pants and vomiting multiple times. I quit smoking weed on the basis that my memory was better without it.

I started both of those things when I was fourteen, and I smoked everyday for two years. And I simply quit both smoking weed and drinking.


Thursday the 3rd of January, 2008.

It is 7:14pm at the moment.


A lot can happen very fast if you let it. I almost left My boyfriend. In fact, I screamed at him to get the fuck out of the house. He didn’t. He rolled over and went to sleep. I compromised with him, or in the way I look at it, I gave him back his freedom. I didn’t get anything in particular out of it the way I look at it. He might stay home on his days off. I don’t believe anything.

I got a fucking job. I’m not happy about it at all. My "boss" wants to marry me, and the job is commission, not hourly. I’m supposed to recruit models and actors. Then I become their manager. Then I make a commission on them. Aaron is also allowing me to do photography for them, which is the only part that really sounds good to me.

I’m worried about having my time consumed, and I’m doubly worried about Aaron trying to hit on me. It’s not as straightforward as I’d like. Not like things were with my old boss and my old job. I miss working at the web-design place sometimes.

But because he’s not my boss in title, and because I work on commission I’m free to come and go as I please. Plus I’m getting my own office, and he gave me a cell phone for work purposes on the spot. Though it’s kinda cool that I can call myself a Talent Scout. I also was given a work e-mail, not that an e-mail is anything to hoot over.

The part I think that’s best about this whole deal is that I’m going to be able to run my Mary Kay business out of my office their, and do presentations for Mary Kay Cosmetics and Skin Care. That should be very profitable.

Though somehow I’m not excited about it at all. Mom pointed out that My boyfriend devotes all of his time towards being a famous tattoo artist because that’s what he wants to do with his life. I pointed out that becoming a tattoo artist is his main passion, that it’s his goal above all else, and that my main passion is completely un-career-related.

I want to run away from the task entirely already but everyone wants me to stick with it. I feel like it was never even my choice. Like somehow someone pushed me into it. Recruiting is not something I’m good at, even now that I’m offering a job that pays $50 to $150 a day. I want to be an extra, that sounds cool and profitable. Representing them, and finding them sounds scary.

And my mentor keeps dropping hints about wishing I was single, and how it would be cool if I went to Los Angeles with him. Heh, heh-heh. I said, "Only if I can take My boyfriend with me. My fiancé."

Aaron seems like a poor lonely puppy that doesn’t know how to do anything but make money. If you can’t make money of it, he’s not interested. And then there is Saundra, but she’s a different story.

A story that I seem to be too tired to type out. If you’re interested in more information about becoming an extra and getting paid to hang around a set, then you should call my work cell (716) 480-4985 Mon-Sat, 1:30pm to 9:00pm.

Thanks for all the support guys.