and..

why am i still OBSESSED with picking apart what went wrong? it's been MONTHS. i should have moved on.. and mostly i have.. but there are ghosts of conversations and events that come back and rear their ugly heads.

i guess i want what i can never have, an answer... an explanation as to why he did what he did and what the purpose is of lying all that time..

fuck him. fuck her. fuck everyone who ever thinks he's a good person in the remotest possible way.

everything was a lie.. something i failed to notice til now. why did i ever believe any bit of it? who knows...






fuck fuck FUCK!



fuck. it.


i will not let him ruin even one more nano second of my life.

brrr

hmm

someday i'll learn to love nice guys..

like a child..

who knows?


i feel a violence brewing within me. fueled by disappointment and frustration.. regret is the wheels on which i collide through life. I've stopped wondering if i'll ever have a "normal" or "healthy" relationship. I wish I could call my past learning experiences but there seems to only be one stop on this route.


wreck.


they were supposed to love me.. right? or is that not right to expect nowadays? have love and romance become passe like marriage and multi-grain?

Steve once asked me if I expected some grand romantic gesture. Not that i know what That really means, but I think i said no, and i meant it. I don't expect the boom box, birthday cake, date for prom romance i would expect if i were a quirky redhead in the 80s. I don't EXPECT anything.

I Want someone to look at me and say earnestly "i love you, and there's no doubt about that."

or something along those lines. something earnest.. true.


i know the love that you learn. and i know the love you forget. and i know the love that you can't forget but wish you could.

beggars can't be choosers.



but assuming i'm not begging to be used and i'm in fact choosing these types of relationships..



who cares? it doesn't change the fact that Steve managed to break my heart in a way I never had experienced. he spilled acid on it and then tried to wash away his mistake.. and then just watched as i experienced the agony of 2 years of devotion and understanding and caring corroding.


i guess being weird should be a red flag.

i am stranded..

i've learned

and so now i give up. there are no excuses for being a total asshole to someone who cares about you.

thanks for making me feel like crap, fucker.

yeah..

it just sunk in that it doesn't matter.

i'll never be that girl to him.. and he'll always be a douche to me.

ha. but i still wish he would just prove me wrong.

i just want to die.


why do i keep doing this??

new

it's a night i know. i'm familiar with the air: hinting of mountain tops that i pull in through my own warmth. i savour what is imperative.

i'm compelled to consider my grandmother's field of tomato plants and newly cut grass. trees dancing with lightning bugs and a bowl of v8 straight from the can. i'm not supposed to drip water outside of the sink and my pop pop shows us ice cubes that fell from the sky.

where does this take me from here? it's never away.. because i'm never entirely departed from these patches of lampshades and sheets smelling of old books.

i am stumbling across touching parallels: time travel that exists only in my mind.

but where does that leave me? an epiphany while sitting at a kitchen table, all my belongings in two black plastic bags, like two morbid masses of elbows and knees.

this night is a summer night, where i leave nothing behind unless i exhale.

my truth.

i'm quite sure i didn't mean anything to him.



i'm not sure what that means to me..

i hate this.



i don't know what i expect. i just know i hate that i'm not trying to try.


i hate that my life is nothing. that i've failed without attempting anything. i used him as an excuse to do nothing because he was enough.. and now i've let that go..


and i have nothing.

this is not a choice.

he is my compulsion.. a golden apple i desperately grasp for as the road slings out from under me.

he makes me eat proverbial dirt.


i'm really really tired of feeling like i am always the one sifting through the pieces alone..

and i'm always alone when i'm with him. i can't even describe how horrible that feels.. it's like i've got a noose around my neck and he has his hand on the lever. how am i supposed to relate to him???




i'm done. burnt. not fit for consumption.


i just can't do it anymore.

church.

surprisingly, christianity has been a staple in my life. it was once the steak that anchored my psyche and now it is the splinter which has been healed over and mostly forgotten.

i didn't learn anything significant from the religion, despite my regular attendance throughout childhood. it's actually endowed me with a sense of profound and perennial questioning and a feeling that i will Never be sure of myself. but even that i cannot to christianity attribute in full. there's plenty of blame to pass around and plenty of hats tipped for collection.


but just today it occurred to me that some of my worst experiences with humanity were linked in some way to church. one specific memory was of a sort of summer jesus camp in which the youth group at my church would go to a "retreat" for about a week or two and basically engage in activities somehow related to god (charades? story to come). I can't say that it didn't build character but for me it wasn't in the most conformist manner. First and probably most significant was the booklets. each participant in the camp had a booklet, probably stapled during the week prior by our youth leaders over ramen and 7up. they were laid out on a table the last couple days of camp as to allow everyone to sign their messages of hope and christiandom. My brother had attended and as always his booklet was full of thoughtful, admiring messages. I can't remember if I had read my booklet or if i had just brushed this next fact off: it was completely empty. now i admit that i've never been the most approachable or affable sort, especially when i was 13 and lived in the navy blue oversized sweater that i wore to basketball practice. but i would have figured someone, maybe a youth leader or my pastor, would have signed my booklet. no one did. what was even more horrifying to me was that it was discovered by a couple of other girls, one of which expressed just how sad it was that no one had signed it. i think i would have been more satisfied if the booklet had been returned to me completely empty, because i'd have proof of just how much of a loner and how little effort they had put in to include me. unfortunately i wasn't spared this one little bit of self-righteousness and was instead burdened with the fact that those girls must have spread the word of my utter forgottenness. I realize now that her intentions were admirable and she was probably the first person to voluntarily sign my booklet. but this is my foremost memory of christians.

now for the charades. each attendee was put into a group and each group was sent outside while the rest of the believers stayed inside to think of an idea which the preceding member who was sent inside would have to relay to the next without verbal communication. when i went in all i saw was a guy running from side to side with his hands in the air, so i assumed that it was him trying to be a ballerina, and i was subjected to the humiliation of trying to imitate a ballerina in front of my peers (i'm.. not graceful). fine, humiliation is my forte. but it turns out that the "idea" that they had come up with was homosexuals. Yes. HOMOSEXUALS. he had actually been holding his hands in the shape of a triangle (but not an upside down one??). i will always think that this had to be the strangest and most ignorant game of charades i have ever experienced. i'm not sure if they were trying to broach the subject of homosexuality or were just being "funny"; i've never really understood.

so.. as usual i've brooded over this and many other events that led to my eventual stark rebellion against church attendance in middle school. (this i have to thank basketball for, unfortunately even that escape was stolen away by yet another group of girls i couldn't find my place in) to this day i still want to approach the children and parents of these children and really find out what they were thinking. a bit of me wants to admonish them and another part of me wants to just inquire. this fantasy is a reoccuring one ranging from ages 4-present. from strangers to best friends.


and so.. i am in a perpetual state of questioning: why do people dislike/disown me? what is it that makes me so unmistakably, universally unlikable? are people really this cruel and self-centered/self-righteous/better that they have a right to this treatment?


basically my self-esteem is shot and even more so i can't help but think that the majority rules and they're right.. i'm even afraid to go to a therapist because i figure they'll probably completely despise me but professionally they can't say that to my face unless I'm a danger to society.



oh cruel cruel world!!!


i feel like i'm thirteen again except this time i have easy access to razor blades. there really is something enchanting about that method of suicide. but... it's just another fantasy, so i know it can never be as good as i think it is.

sometimes...

i wish he had just fucked someone else and then there wouldn't be this lingering question mark.. peeping through doorways and hovering in the clouds... or whatever.


it shouldn't matter.

why it will never work.

he doesn't care about anyone else but himself. he puts on a front like he does, but as they say, actions speak louder than words.



he will never be the guy who calls me just because he was thinking about me, or cook me dinner if i've had a bad day.


he will always be the guy who cheated on me, and was thoughtless in every way possible.





it's nothing romantic. it's how you treat a friend or a relative because you care for them, or dare i say love them??





it hurts. and i'll have to get over this all over again because i was too stupid to realize this 2 years ago.

i am..

a recluse.


i am trying to prove just how little i matter. perhaps eventually i won't matter at all. i'll disappear, evaporate, disintegrate.. i will be anti-matter, a void.


deep gravitational pull inwards. make sure not to get too close.

i just...

don't care anymore.

i'm done. for reallys..

i wish there was a nice transition to me living in an apartment in some city elsewhere.. a peaceful ambiance illuminates the scene.

but the fact of the matter is that i still love him. i can't even relish in the fact that he was an asshole because i love him in spite of all that happened. it's a strange mix of hope and masochism.

i'll never be my mother, but that doesn't change the rest of the cast.

i don't...

know what to think right now.. or whether to think at all.

the more i hang out with him the more i remember why i really fell for him in the first place.

or am i just becoming increasingly stupid about this whole situation...

i'm guessing it doesn't really matter.. i can't help how i feel. it just comes down to him.. yet again.



all i can do is wait..

there is

there's nothing.

i don't know why i'm trying so hard to put our relationship back together while he just sits back and does nothing.

the only thing to do is to force myself into the passenger seat... he knows i'm here so he should just take the wheel if he really honestly loves me.

are guys just afraid of admitting that they don't really love someone? it's the first thing i would deny.. it just opens everything up for hurt.


i'm tired of this. it's his turn to fucking put some effort in.

i'm sobbing

at my computer. but i really don't feel anything but helpless.

i have no concept, no map of my own heart. just the knowledge that there is a destination.. whether it's worth the odyssey should be relevant, but the first thing we usually come to terms with as "adults" is that the ends never justify the means.


i miss him. but what is there to do?

so my answer is...

yes i'm going to hold it against you.


i don't feel any obligation to forgive you and you feel no remorse..

i think it's a fair trade. uganda would go for it.

i guess..

i should have figured. he was always all talk. he blew my heart full of hot air and i rode high for a while but now...

not that it matters if he doesn't actually want to see or talk to me.


on my way to the condo i drove past the park i walked to after i discovered that he was cheating. i guess the feeling can only be described as heart wrenching.. it's the same feeling i get when i discover my mom still keeps my dad's old robe tucked away or when I hear "you are my sunshine"... some amalgam of nostalgia, heartache, and panic.


i remember how he held me and wouldn't let me go.


what was that? i don't think it was love.. maybe a sort of desperation or disbelief?

whatever it was.. it's not there anymore.. it wasn't there after i tried to walk away. but i saw a glimpse of the way i want him to love me.





i can't live with a love expressed only in aberrations.

maybe

the reason i keep falling for the "wrong" guys is because i don't even have an idea as to what my "right" guy would be.

it's like playing darts blind-folded.. too many people get hurt with this method..

i think

my father lived his life through books. i'm determined not to live that way.. i want to feel every tear drop and taste every spoonful and hear every note of my life.


but does that mean i should be reckless?

i feel..

i know my father better now than when he was alive.


did i never ask? or did he never tell?



i realize i couldn't possibly know all the right questions to ask.. maybe that's what we need to learn..


i've got dickens, joyce, and rand staring me in the face.. i feel more ashamed than intimidated.

indefinitely..

i will fuck men who will never love me.


it's high time that i accept this. trouble is.. how do i know? or does that even matter? maybe no man will ever love me. that would make everything SO simple. if i just knew that. i believe it like i believe in quantum physics. i'll never really accept it...

i don't like living indefinitely. sanity requires definition.



my heart already lacks any logic. what's there to lose if my brain follows? i think my seratonin levels would skyrocket.




the trick is.. not falling in love, as absurd as that sounds.. i'm fighting eons of evolution here.



maybe it's not so much not falling in love, but making it so that this reactive chemical fiasco we call "love" doesn't really register as it does right now. i'm sure i can ignore it.. like learning to overcome my gag reflex.



he just doesn't seem to feel any remorse. and he'll never have the answers i need because he doesn't want answers. and i understand that.. it's much easier to find a person that suits him than work on making us fit.



nb these hesitations don't exist when we're fucking. how convenient.

check.

i'm so... GRARGH.

confused to say the least.. frustrated to the utmost.. exhausted to no end.


it's.. definitely been one hell of a week.


btw i'm still fucking my ex. btw i'm doing nothing with my life. btw i'm SO effin horny.


all this is culminated in me listening to 90s hiphop and wondering what the hell i'm doing and how to get the party started.





i can't. do this. just punch me in the mouth and get it done with already.

frigid bitch

are there Really "nice guys" out there?

I find it kind of hard to believe, and not because of the inherent disconnect between penis and heart, but rather because I have no faith in humanity in general. I understand that there are people out there, women and men alike, that take it upon themselves to treat people like they're one ply toilet paper. So why don't Most men understand that a woman that doesn't immediately tear open their shirts to reveal their heart isn't necessarily a "cold hearted bitch"? Maybe they're just smarter than their more open peers?


anyways.. i don't have enough energy to waste on this anymore.. but i can only say i'm done with men right now.

i kind of..

just laid outside for an hour tonight, pretending i was nowhere.


i wanted the sky to swallow me.

same story.

i suppose it feels better that all the pain that i can feel can be related in so many words... generic phrases strung together by a melody.


i remember that things really are that simple.




gracias Mirah. we're both so sorry:

"I know you didn't mean it and you're sorry that i leftI'll go right on pretending i've got nothing to regretExcept all of the times we wasted giving only second bestYou always seemed to lose the spark when i was only half undressedI drove across a sea of ice to find my own commandThe distance paid a lonesome price to see its motherlandNow if you would unbuckle sir, receive your reprimandAnd hey i'm sorry 'bout so much baby but i know you'll understandI'm sorry 'bout so much baby but i know you'll understandHow can i ever apologize? I meant you no such harmI never knew i could possess that fatal kind of charmI just wanted to be good to you but i found i was disarmedBy a lifetime of disillusionment and the distraction of the starsI abdicated now i'm just a prince without a landMy subjects all adore me but for this i had them bannedNow could i trade my guilt for a good flogging by your hand?And hey i'm sorry 'bout so much baby but i know you'll understandI'm sorry 'bout so much baby but i know you'll understandI can't understand why you refuse my one requestJust to press against my weaponry and then lay bare your chestChallenges like these can be won or lost or laid to restNow we both agree to separate from the lonely castle stepsThe kingdom is destabilized, the watchtower unmannedThe bedroom lies abandoned and the future is unplannedBut we've got the past to remind us of love chivalrous and grandAnd hey i'm sorry 'bout so much baby but i know you'll understandI'm sorry 'bout so much baby but i know you'll understand"

three. two. one...

after having lost just enough brain cells i have realized the importance of love...


it means diddly squat.. to those who are in said love..

but now my stomach lurches every time i see a couple holding hands...

it makes me sick.. but maybe not in the way i had assumed it would.


my digestive system is like a pretzel.. being beaten by thousands of little gnomes... and then eaten by a giant.

sick.

I feel sick to my stomach.

I know it was the right decision and I know I really shouldn't feel bad for making that decision because I'm so much more happier and focused... But knowing that he's hurting...

I guess I still care? I wish I didn't..

I know... I know.


I think I'm just emotionally exhausted.. I can barely make myself feel a little for my Grandfather's passing.. Which essentially hurts even more.


It feels like badgers are blindly clawing their way around my digestive system... nervous and doubtful..

i'm ok with bikini bars...

as long as people are honest about its function.


PLEASE never tell me that you go there for the food. That has got to be the most ridiculously transparent excuse EVER. OKAY, maybe the food tastes better cuz you get an extra side of cleavage and ass for a 20 dollar tip. A guy telling me he goes to Hooters for the chicken wings is really telling me just how many colours are in his chauvinist rainbow, not because he likes his male ego stroked by someone he could never score, but because he really thinks I'm just that dumb or naive.




Anyways. Today I just... stopped caring. I don't know how I can bring it back... Or if I really want to?














He stopped telling me he loves me. What does that mean?

better off dead.

there's nothing but trouble ahead. i can smell it like the earthen, metallic smell of flammable liquids and flint before everything incinerates. it's actually pretty pleasant, so don't assume i'm approaching this rough patch in a negative manner, the perfume of misfortune. the commercial for it would read something like danger, passion, pain, fresh, and some lingerie model would roll around on a satin laden bed like there's something inside she can't get out.


it's tears. it's implied. the site of actual emotion being displayed in a commercial is the biggest buzz-kill. and marketing is about getting people off without making them feel too bad about it.

don't say i'm bitter. my boyfriend is cheating on me and i can't even make my own bed. say i have a seratonin deficiency and prescribe some heavy-duty sedatives to dry up that well of emotion that's been sloshing around inside of me all these years.

my blog is not "green"

I suppose I could have easily recycled one of my old blogs, but there's something eerie about having the past so close to the future.

Not that there's much of a difference.

Honestly, this blog is here to serve the purpose of fooling myself into believing that I'm being productive. Works so far.. Blogging is the cure-all for restlessness, anxiety, and warts. Proof positive? I'm satisfied enough to put my head down for the day... and it's only an hour and sixteen minutes in! Get your own today and get a free patented feeling of self-satisfaction.

2 pillows.