Unofficially over with boyfriend. He "had better things to do than drag my ass accross town" and help me move when I had no one else.
Tried stripping. Made 80 dollars. Not an overly successful night. Might try again although it disgusts me looking back.
I feel numb. Life doesn't feel real. So does anything I do really matter?
Fucking my roommate. Fucked another guy I'm dating. Dating a guy from work. Amazing what happens when you open up to possibilities and stop giving a shit. I like fucking, so why not fuck?
If the boyfriend asked me to marry him I would say yes, but that's all theoretical. Hypothetical. Imagination. It would be silly for him to ask that now, but that would be the "Iwannabewithyou" notion I NEED from him. But... not getting it So. Yeah.
Keep on fuckin'! Not sure how long to wait til I decide to talk to him and tell him it's over. He has always come to me eventually, but we'll see.
I guess my only other options were to go live with my mom for the winter (hell no) or to be homeless somewhere. But being homeless sounds a bit better right now. I'm stuck in my boyfriend's mom's tiny apartment, with their weird dynamic, and nothing to do.
I feel also like what I want out of a relationship at this point is datey stuff, romance and sex and all that. And fun conversations. Instead, six months in, I'm getting the whole late stage living together thing -- you know, sitting together doing separate things, not really talking to each other. Which, give it another four or five months, and I'd be okay with that, I guess, but at this point, frankly, it's kind of boring. I think he is hot as hell and I like talking to him a lot, so this kind of feels like a waste to me. And he's all depressed because he doesn't like Lexington, but you know what, I'm depressed, too. And I don't like it here, either, and I feel like a waste of space.
For a while when I was in Louisiana, I considered shooting myself. I don't have a gun, but I'm sure I could have gotten one there. I haven't told anyone about it, though I guess I am now, on here, to whoever is reading. I feel better now -- I mean, I'm still pretty depressed, but not like that. But I haven't even written about it until now. I woke my boyfriend up on one of those nights because I was crying about having depression for the rest of my life.
It's a fucking hard thing to accept, but it's better than feeling like a failure because exercise/eating well/shoving positive thoughts up my asshole doesn't make it go away. It's been a pretty bad year for me as far as depression goes -- I think I was non-depressed for approximately 1/8 of the time (half of Arizona, quarter? of Colorado). It's hard because I realize that things aren't really that bad, I have friends, I have people who love me, I have a world of possibilities in front of me, but there's this shitty little malfunction in my brain that takes away my ability to enjoy any of these things. It just kills it, it's like a dead nerve, and I realize it the whole time, but no matter how much I strain to change it, it's just not in my control. A few days ago I woke up and I didn't dread the rest of the day -- I had that weird, itchy, creamy feeling of contentment, or maybe it was excitement, I dunno. But it's a very specific feeling, and it's pleasant. And I was so excited about it! I tried to make it last, but half an hour in, it's like a switch got flipped, and it was gone. God. And I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life this way? That's fucked up.
That's what got to me, when I was thinking about shooting myself. It's not that that day was particularly bad. It was like all the other ones, that was the bad thing. But I went outside, I was sitting on the porch, and I thought, if I had a gun, I would shoot myself right now. It would be practical. I'm okay with it. And I was very calm.
And I'm better now. I guess. I'm not doing good. I don't know what I'm doing. Sometimes I feel like screaming. I would be a much more interesting person if I weren't depressed. I had interesting things happen to me today. I met a guy that looked like a weightier Mark Twain, who told me a lot of interesting stories, including a ridiculous one about some people that went to Alaska, rode moose around, and fought grizzly bears and Sarah Palin. And I took a trivia test. I got 9/35, which sounds bad, but it was rigged so that most people failed it, so I did pretty well. I'm sure if I was a normal person, I could take that and frame it to sound really exciting and like crazy fun times.
I'm just tired of having depression. It makes me waste my life. I guess I'll just keep going. What else is there to do?
Man do I feel pointless and worthless. I want work. Not work like I have on the weekends, no, I want something that causes an adrenaline rush. I want to be stressed because I don't have enough time to do everything I have to, I want to talk quickly, I want to have a damn purpose. I dunno. Maybe I should start a business. Or somehow become a detective. Or a fireman -- god knows I'd have plenty of adrenaline then. Or maybe I could join the mafia. I want inspiration, damn it. When someone comes by and says well in the last three days I've had sex with 50 people, went swimming, went skydiving, and was given 50 dollars for teaching a dog how to jump through hoops, I want to smile and point behind me at some amazing masterpiece, or a whole pile of... masterpieces. And say, oh, I've just been doing a little bit of painting/sewing/competitive glass blowing. And watch them be all like, well, holy shit! Ended up trying to cut myself with a kitchen knife last night. It's been a long time since I cut, and I failed even at that.
"I wont miss your arms around me, holding me tight."
"I wish I could scream out loud, that I love you. I wish I could say to you, don't go..."
And I know that no one has understood this yet. Why it hurts so much, why I can't believe in love. Why I can't trust my feelings any more. Because they say I will love again. Well, I might feel love again. But nothing has felt that right. And it hurts that anyone assumes they know what it's like if they're telling me to get over it.
Everything just feels like a lie. Without him, it feels wrong. I feel like I'm betraying him. Even though he's not mine, he still feels like mine. And I've been in love many times.
And of course, whenever it's over before you want it to be, you feel sad, and it doesn't feel right. But this time...
You just can't believe how right it felt, and still feels. Such a strong comfort, that we made love the second night after meeting. And it wasn't passionate, it wasn't in any heat of a moment...
It was gentle, and comfortable, and slow, and romantic. It was the most right thing I ever felt, being so close to him. Love has felt good, but nothing has ever felt this right.
And part of me still believes that we met for a reason. That we made love, and it meant something. And that maybe right now isn't the time, but that we'll find each other again, and will be together. I know... it sounds so silly. And my skeptism and pessimism says that's ridiculous. But I can't shake that belief. It felt too right to be wrong.
No one ever made me so happy. Nothing's ever made me hurt so much...
Now I think about ways to kill myself, every day. There's a window that could be so easy. I have pills, but it might not be guaranteed. There's trucks, but I might not die, either. I figure the window is the easiest and most certain... I almost did one night. But I texted my friend and he made me stay with him.
I just don't believe in love. I used to think everything happened for a reason, but there's been no reason for this. He just decided he didn't love me anymore. I didn't cheat on him, I didn't treat him badly, he said it had nothing to do with me. What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this? I know bad things happen, but what am I to learn from this? Besides not to believe. To never trust my feelings again.
If you have any comments about you having gone through this and you got over it, you can shove it. : D