Friday, March 23, 2007, 10:08 pm
Inadequate.

Last night he said he would call me tomorrow and I said "You probably won't, but that's okay, I'm used to it." He finally clued in, I guess, and sent me a text messaging apologizing and promising to call today.

It's 11pm now. No call.

I hate boys.

Posted at 10:08 pm by the authoress
Stickypad  

No change.

He says he loves me, he always says it, constantly, every time I feel depressed or angry or angry at him. He says it like he's confident it will make everything better, that because he loves me, I should forgive him for making me mad or sad, or that I should not be depressed or stressed about school. He says it like it's the most important thing in the world.

I don't care that he loves me. I don't need for him to love me. I don't need for a boyfriend to love me at this point. What I need is a boyfriend who is PRESENT. A boyfriend who is there, someone to talk to, someone to listen to me and have fun with and make me feel appreciated and important and less lonely. Love is great but it doesn't do much in the real world.

What I need for him to do is grace me with 15 minutes of his precious video game time and talk to me once a day. What I need is for him to actually manage to do what he says he'll do. Show up when he says he'll show up. Call when he's says he'll call. I realize this is a long distance relationship and I can't expect to see him every day, or even every weekend. But a phone call? One that is longer than 3 and a half minutes? Once a day? Is that high maintenance? We are in a long distance relationship, that requires some sort of daily effort. Loving me doesn't take any effort. Loving me means you fell for me and if you left me you would cry. That's all that loving is. When the going gets tough, sure, you say loving me is hard. But it's not hard because it takes effort on your part. No, what you mean is that its hard because you feel pain.

It's funny because it seems that if we were to break up, you would be devastated, and I would be the one who would move on first and not care. But it always seems that I'm the one who puts the most effort into the relationship. I'm always the one to call you, when you make yourself available to be contacted. Answering machine unplugged, cell phone turned off, never return my calls even though they're on the call display. IF I CALL 18 TIMES IN ONE DAY, IT MEANS SOMETHING IS WRONG AND I NEED YOU TO CALL ME BACK.

We've been dating for 2 years now. At this point, if I don't think there's a chance of marrying you, I should probably break it off. I can't even say that I could stay with you because it had some advantages for me, be it money or security, because you're a dropout. I'm not terribly bitter about that, but failing twice? I think that means you're LAZY. I would be okay marrying you, I think. We're very compatible. But I don't think you're the one. I don't actually love you. I don't love anyone. I thought I loved you, but I don't, really. When I broke up that time last year, the only reason that I had to take you back was because I couldn't handle losing both my best friends and my entire support system. Life would be too different, too hard. I know now that I should have just dealt with it. The tripod didn't meet much that summer anyway.  I would have gotten over that loss. We would have drifted apart... just like we're going to do anyway.

I don't think I'm meant for love though. I can't seem to feel it for anyone. I'm still dead inside. Empty. Years have gone by, and I'm still empty...

I may as well settle. I'm not going to find 'the one' anyway. And there are always affaris and divorces, I guess. I don't plan on having kids, so it doesn't matter.

I often wonder what our lives would be like if I had broken up with you before we started university, like I meant to. Maybe you wouldn't have flunked out of first year, maybe I would have had more friends, maybe we could still be friends.... we hadn't had sex then. I hadn't told you I loved you then. We'd only been dating eachother for 3-4 months at that point, I'm sure we would have gotten over it. I wonder how different our lives would have been...

Hell, you had told me you loved me after we'd been dating for ONE month. That kind of love would have been easy to get over. I doubt it was truly real. Back then, it was still puppy love, I'm sure.

When we're together, it's usually great. We're disgustingly cute and sappy and all over eachother. But when I'm out your sight, I'm out of your mind, and it is PRECISELY then when I need you to think of me often, and talk to me. You can't unplug me and put me on the shelf until it's time to see me again.

Posted at 01:34 am by the authoress
Stickypad  




Tuesday, February 28, 2006, 11:54 am
 

Why am I always so dead inside? Why can nothing ever satisfy me for long, make me forget the deadness for more than a moment? Why does the gaping maw inside me have to destroy everything? Why can't it just let me rest?

It hurts. It hurts everything, and everyone. It dictates what I do, what I feel... Why can't it just be happy? Why can't I feel? Really feel? Feel so deeply that it sits deeply rooted in my heart? I don't have anything, I never did. It was all a lie, make-believe.

Why can't I care? Why can't I feel sad? Why can't I just be normal?

Posted at 11:54 am by the authoress
Stickypad  




Tuesday, December 13, 2005, 06:39 pm
Squishy

I'm doomed. Gone is the proud, independant, cut-throat businesswoman, living alone and partying hard, working even harder. Gone.

I've gone all squishy inside. Hating my lonely bed, hating wrapping myself six times in my comforter to keep myself warm, hating coming home, flicking on the light and seeing no one. No one to cook for, no one lean against.

On the upside, I can now afford a graduate research position for a couple years, as finding a two bedroom apt to share is no longer necessary.

Still, it's nauseating how cute we are. And how hard it is to go for more than a week apart. We're sad and pathetic. And we don't care. Which makes us worse. While I fully realize that if I had gone to U o T the proximity would have resulted in me failing out, I still wish we weren't so far apart.

But the cynical voice says that making plans is stupid because nothing is for sure.

However, I am content.

The cynical part says I won't be for long.

It should stop talking.

Posted at 06:39 pm by the authoress
Stickypad  




Wednesday, October 12, 2005, 04:12 pm
I'm glad

I'm glad I waited, I'm glad he waited, and I'm glad I did the me thing and refused to make a decision.

Because somewhere along the line, Love decide to slap me across the face, sit me down and have a long chat. It is true, incidentally, that you just *know*. I don't even know what it is, but now I *really* feel sorry for what he went through in the 4 weeks I was gone during the summer and then the 2 weeks I was all cold.

It changes everything. To do what I planned it unthinkable, to leave is suicide, to ignore the creeping "happily-ever-after" is hard.

I'm glad.

Posted at 04:12 pm by the authoress
Stickypad  




Thursday, September 22, 2005, 07:45 pm
Too deep.

Bad friggin' trip. Salvia. It has 6 levels:
S: Subtle
A: Altered
L: Light
V: Visionary
I: Immersion
A: Amnesiac

I went amnesiac/unconscious for the first part, and stayed in level 5 for a while. Did too much. Had a terrible, terrible experience.

I can't decide if it really was a soul-searching, true, greatest fear in my life, or just what I have fixated that fear to be. But I wasn't thinking about it or anything beforehand, so perhaps it was?

The first little trip was piddly, barely anything, didn't really escape reality at all, it just seemed like half of JJ's room was in a weird basic colour cardboard cut-out sort of world. All Playskool and whatever. The second time, we went outside to a park and sat by a hill. It was very sudden; suddenly I went from sitting back, to a different place, a different reality, with no recollection of my previous self, no me, no personality, no memories.

I don't remember the first portion, but it involved me acting very weirdly, totally lost in my reality, saying things like "She's here" or something. I may have been referring to the weird lady with green hair in my head. What I can remember was that I was in a plastic dollhouse type world. A plastic neighbourhood, with white plastic fence, plastic houses, red plastic roofs, everything in a simple colours and plastic, just like a "Little People" playset neighbourhood. Suburbia.

I don't remember much of this plastic-land, but I became afterwards one of the little triangles that make up a beachball? I think? I was a pink triangle sown to a massive sheet of other pink triangles, 2D, and that was it. That was reality, nothing existence outside of that. And I would be this triangle, always, forever, for the rest of my life, this would be my reality, thing else every was, ever could exist, ever would.

The fact that this seemed nightmarish and real was strange to me because if I had always been a triangle and always would be, why was it only hitting me now? Why did I only feel the dread at this point in time? It was disconcerting and created the faintest inkling of wanting to escape this world, even though I knew, beyond a shred of a doubt, with my whole being, ever fibre of me, that nothing else existed. But I didn't want to be a triangle, the very idea that I would be this same thing forever made me want to burst into tears.

It was the most terrible thing in the world, knowing that my existence would never ever be more than what it was at that moment. (You must realize, that I had at this point lost my own personality, my own memories, my self-ness, completely. I couldn't remember being me, nor could I imagine ever being more than a 2D triangle in a field of triangles.)

I felt sick and horrible, I wanted for it to end.

If my life was to be this for ever and ever (which I firmly truly believed, as I could not remember any other existence) then I wanted to just kill myself. I wanted to just crawl out of my own skin; being just being that for a second more seemed like it would be unbearable. And suddenly I felt something tugging my arm, pulling me violently from the shoulder. But no matter how hard that person tugged my arm, I was still stuck in this vast field of sameness, of triangles that didn't want me to leave. They even said "Don't go, there is nothing else, you can't escape, because there is no where to go." And no matter how much I was tugged, I couldn't escape.

Eventually it sort of faded and I snapped out of it for a moment, seeing that I was at the bottom of the hill (which I'd rolled down, which explains the tugging sensation), muttered something, closed my eyes and returned partially to that world. I was no longer in the triangle-land (but I never fully escaped it, it just faded), rather, I was in the plastic neighbourhood, slowly getting more and more real, plastic blue cars looking more like regular cars etc. And I still felt this terrible 'wanting to crawl out of my skin' feeling, that I didn't want to be me anymore, if it meant always being in the world.
I reminded myself that it would only be another 10-20 minutes before this feeling passed, at max an hour, but even that was too long. Every second that I spent having to experience the plastic world was too much and I wanted it to end. It was the feeling of... being something forever, my existence never ever being more than that, never knowing anything else, of always having had been that way... it made me want to end my life right then and there. Being a part of this fake plastic white-picket world of sameness. Everyone the same, everything the same, all existence the same...

The scariest part was that I couldn't remember my life being anything other than what it was *right* then. When I tried to logic it out, I couldn't, because it was like "I don't want this, I want it to be different, I want to be different" but the concept of 'different' didn't make sense anymore, because it had never existed and never would. I would be whatever I was *forever* because that's all I had ever known to be reality.

I slowly faded out of it...

But then I dreaded having to look at things and think about it, about falling back into the world, clutched JJ trying not to fall back, dreaded coming out and then dreaming about the world, because I couldn't imagine a reality where the world wasn't *there*, hovering, overlapping, trying to get me. It finally went away while I distracted myself by talking and walking.

But oh God. That feeling was terrible. It is what I fear the most in the world, what I could not bear. If I had to live the rest of my life, knowing that it would always be the same, I would just kill myself right then and there.

If that feeling every came back and lasted for more than an hour, I wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Knowing beyond a shred of doubt, so firmly that my entire existence was rooted in it, that I would always be, for the rest of my life, that thing, and that I'd always been it, no matter what it was, (a pink triangle sown to a mass of other pink triangles)...

I am terrified of permanence.

The white-picket fence.

The plastic neighbourhood.

The never knowing anything beyond what I know now.

It was a very specific fear, at the exact thing I was hallucinating, but I'm thinking it can and probably should be extended to the obvious real-life connotation. It was, specifically, that I was just a 2D triangle, always had been, always would be, and that my existence would never be anything else. It could not be anything else. Because I did not exist, and the real world did not exist. They were not even possibilities.

I can't even describe what the fear was of exactly. It's beyond words.

It was terrible.

Apparently there were other things too, I guess before I slipped so deeply into my own head, because I was acting really weird, but can't remember anything that could have been what I was acting like.

Posted at 07:45 pm by the authoress
Stickypad  




Tuesday, September 20, 2005, 11:42 pm
Pianoman, pianohands

Why does he have to have such awesome hands? Piano hands.

Who needs sex when you have hands like that?

Okay, that's a lie.

But still.

Agh.

Why isn't he here, right now?

Posted at 11:42 pm by the authoress
Stickypad  




Thursday, September 15, 2005, 10:14 pm
Misspelled

He's willing to wait. Wait for me to be ready for a real relationship. Says he doesn't care if it's years and if I go fuck random people in the meantime.

If he serious? He's too young to know something like that for sure. That happens in movies, with adults. I want to treat this like puppy love, because that's what I think it is, but should I? What if it isn't? What if, against all odds, this is the real deal, and at 40, I'm writing to Chicken Soup with my heartbreaking story about the one that got away?

When I miss him, do I miss him-the-best-friend, or him-the-boyfried?

I can never know. They are so mixed together that they can't even be seperated properly anymore. Not now, maybe not ever.

I'm so bad at feeling, caring, knowing that I feel or care.

I've gotten better at crying though... at least now when I do I know why, even if the emotion behind them still isn't feelable.

Everything is such a muddle. I miss floating about, dizzy and unaware, skipping on the surface of things. I'm supposed to be in a haze right now. Maybe I am, and in my youth cannot see past my own nose.

But if I can't see past my own nose, who is to say that he can? Every love seems like the love at this stage, doesn't it? Isn't that a fact? Am I too cynical? Whatever, I don't know. I just don't know.

But I'm cruel. I want to test him, test how far his love goes. I want to betray and then tell all. Be a bitch. Make him insecure. He is too confident and assured of his feelings. I want him to doubt, fret, worry, just like me. And even though I know he is plagued with insecurities about me, whether I'm just playing along or not, though I know that he's in enough trouble in his head, it doesn't stop me from wanting to hurt him some more.

I never was the right person for him, and I knew it. Where my original plans went, to take what I wanted and dump him, I don't know. I could so easily just... lie. Give him what he wants so I can take what I want. It'd be so easy... so why don't I do it?

Because I'd be writing him off as him-the-best-friend.

But I'm sure I could manipulate the situation enough... make me seem like a victim too...

I know I won't though. I think.

Fuck the liberated generation. It was supposed to liberate the women, not the men. They have no business being freely emotional. What happened to the good old gender roles?

Why does it matter? What's love got to do with it? Love ain't nothing but sex misspelled.

I wish we were fuckbuddies. Just friends with benefits. Realtionships suck. 'Specially when it's strangely one sided.

Posted at 10:14 pm by the authoress
Stickypad  




Monday, August 29, 2005, 04:19 pm
 

The deadness is receding. Perhaps something can be salvaged yet...

I still say that I'll break his heart someday.

But maybe not as soon as I thought.

Posted at 04:19 pm by the authoress
Stickypad  




Thursday, August 18, 2005, 08:49 pm
I want meaningless flings

Perhaps.... perhaps it is not dead... perhaps?

I do not know. Cuddling, hugging, friendly closeness... these things I am still comfortable with. I have no desire however, for the more relationship-type closeness though, making out, whatever. I am now unsure. End it now, or let it drag on for a bit, in the hopes that I can spark it up again?

She was right. I should have let it stay in limbo longer. Limbo was such a better place to be than this. Back when we were "friends". I want it back. That casual closeness, the weird no-questions sort of floating between just friends and "just friends". I think I will have to give him a choice.

End it completely, end it but remain friends, let it become an open relationship (we date other people as well), or we "take a break" (meaning we put the dating part on hold as I party/date/whore around until I figure he's either a) the best choice or b) not worth it). Those are the options, and while I would hate to end it completely and never see him again, as he is one of my closest friends, I would respect his choice.

This is hoing to be *hard*. Ridiculously so. When do I do it? Now? Closer to the start of school? Do I want him hurt, unbalanced, and depressed as he begins to live alone, especially with an abundance of alcohol around him?

Do I want to feel like his mother about this? Do I want to protect him from his first heartbreak? Is it weird if I think 'yes'? Perhaps this is why the spark is gone... I've gone from semi-wild girl who forces him out of his ruts and makes him take chances and be a little more dangerous, to a concerned, mothering sister-type figure.

Perhaps I am just at that point in my teenage-hood where I don't want the steady, loving, safe long-term material type. I want a bunch of stupid flings and sex with people I don't care about, and parties, and cheating, drugs, alcohol, dating random people, mistakes, regrets... I don't want to be sensible. I want to be silly. I'm in the prime of my life for this sort of thing, and I refuse to waste it by being sensible. The next 5 years are going to be spent in a blur, not planning a future.

I want stupidity, not investment.

Posted at 08:49 pm by the authoress
Stickypad  




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Eloquence lost.

Random bits and peices, totally unrelated to eachother, of my mind. Shadows and silhouettes of real events, fractured and twisted by my eyes. Works and peices written in the past but never posted anywhere, because of their darker or more personal nature.

Sometimes poems, sometimes rants, mostly small vignette-type peices that I can't post anywhere else. That or self-confessions that I'd rather no one I know knew. Darker stuff. Annoying self-discovery stuff that I don't want to pollute others places with. Secrets I can't tell many people. Squealings I can't bear to have totally public. I'd rather not even pollute my main blog with these pointless and overdone musings.

If you must, background information is as follows.

I'm female, young, not yet independant of those who sired me. I'm small, thin, have no debilitating pyschological problems. No self-hatred, no disorders. I used to be self-controlling and very cold, but I've softened up recently. Lots now, because of one gamer.


I write. I read. I enjoy sarcasm and wit. I find people who tried to conquer to the world very fascinating. I'm a cynic. I have little to no morals, ethics, scruples.

I'm scatter-brained. Enjoy seclusion. Smart.

I look young and terribly naive and innocent. I like that.

Many complain of innocence lost. I complain of eloquence lost. It eludes me now.
   






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