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| He makes me hurt (in that special way where it no longer hurts anymore because it hurts so bad.) When I'm with him, he makes me happy and I don't even believe there is such a thing as happy, I imagined it as an illusion until now. Imagine my confusion when this unexpected and unfamiliar emotion thrusts itself into my life. I have never understood the people in love who focus their lives on just one person and that's all that matters. But now I don't know what to think because he's what I think about, he's what I care about, he's what I want to research.
If there was a way to end this, and it was the easiest thing in the world, I'm not sure I'd take that way out, as much as I want to. I feel completely vulnerable. I already tell him everything--I don't want to, it just comes out of my mouth. And I don't know what real love feels like because I've only experienced a brand of attraction that comes with none returned. This made me feel cheap, worthless, ugly, fat, tainted, and repulsive. He makes me feel expensive, pretty, skinny, perfect and enchanting.
How do I deal with this? I talk to him. Make me stop talking to him. I don't want to ruin this because everything is so fucking amazing so far that my eyes are burning with tears right now. I don't want to fall in love. I am trying so hard not to fall in love, but I am falling hard and I'm bruising already. My bruises are on my heart, my soul, and my collarbone when he kissed me too hard and was considerate enough not to do it on my neck.
Tell me to slow down. I won't. Tell me to love less. And I can't. Tell me to find someone better. I CAN'T. Because he's the one I want. He's the one who matters. He's the one I care about. And I don't know how to deal with this. I don't know this game. I just know I want this to work because I've never met anyone like this. I think I could love him someday. And I don't believe in love. I don't believe in love. Fuck love. (Make me stop...)
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| Moved into the dorm here at VCU yesterday. It was so stressful-cars backed up for three blocks. We ended up just carrying my stuff from the parking garage. Afterwards, my arms felt like spaghetti and my head was the chunky marinara sauce.
Beau, one of the two guys living in the other room, was the first to get here. He is really nice, I like him. A dance/choreography major transferring from JMU. He said the dance class there was all girls. He's pretty cute, so I don't see why he wouldn't like that. I mean, I'm definitely getting a straight vibe from him.
After it was all said and done I hung out in the dorm room and settled in a bit. Went to hang out with a gay facebook friend I'd never actually met in real life. It was sketchy; even in the elevator on the way up to his dorm room, he kept staring at me as if he would peel my face off like a fruit roll up, then wrap it around his tongue before swallowing it whole. I should have left right then. We watched Men in Black on his TV for awhile, and then he asked me if I wanted to lay down. Do I want to lay down with you? On your bed? No. I'm fine sitting in this chair thanks. Then he started nodding off so I mentioned I should go. He said "No no no no no you're fine I'm awake." and then sat up and scooted closer to me. Closer and closer. I seriously felt as though I were about to be pounced upon like a lioness' frightened prey.
Sure enough, as soon as I started to stand to leave he grabbed my arm and puckered. I laughed and said simply, "no." He apologized profusely but I told him not to worry about it as I walked out, thinking that I'll never be able to make any homosexual friends who want anything but casual sex.
I immediately headed down the street, planning to go to the first bar I saw. The Nile. Ethiopian food and helloooooo alcohol! After a gin and tonic and four beers, I ended up forgetting my messenger bag and (I think) my debit card. When I called this morning they said they didn't have it. So I had to call the credit company and got them to change the status to lost and send me a new one.
I walked down to the bookstore and bought my books. Four hundred and thirty dollars. Jesus Christ! I'm grateful for my platinum credit card but I doubt I'll be feeling so fine about it when I see my next minimum payment. I'll be glad to see the extra money from the loan...It will definitely come in handy despite the fact that most of it will probably be put towards my credit card. We're planning on using some of it to buy a laptop from VCU, seeing as how it comes with a 4-year warranty and they give you a loaner while it's being fixed. Also, they upload your hard drive so that you can still access whatever you need for your classes.
There are some mandatory activities planned tomorrow that our R.A. just informed us of. Beau and I are the only ones here right now, and Jenn (the R.A.) helped me confirm his sexuality status. Completely straight up asked him, seeing as how his major is dance she just assumed he was a "sashayer" as she put it. As I guessed, he is a straight male, but thankfully not a homophobe.
I'll be going back to the Nile tonight to pick up my messenger bag and
bid farewell to the nice bartender, Emily, who is planning on going
back to Ethiopia tomorrow. Since all I have is a credit card I guess the drinks will go on there. Might even get some tasty Ethiopian food.
I'm nervous about classes but excited to start my new life here. Reinvent myself as a prude and a health nut. No more purging, only healthy meals and exercise. (But there will always be alcohol.)
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| I'm stuck and trapped and everything just keeps going in circles. Wake up and work and eat and sigh and drink and smoke and sleep and so on day after day. (What day is it anyway? Thursday? Is that right? I can never remember.)
My family doctor mentioned that I should cut down on my drinking, and as soon as he did, I regretted telling him the truth. A case a week doesn't sound so bad to me but he claims it should be closer to a six pack a week?! More like six per night, thanks.
Besides...I'll stop drinking like this when I'm in college. I'll be twenty-one, and a mature drunk. A sophisticated one, not a sloppy, blackout drunk who forgets the things he said (maybe closer to screamed, as booming as his drunken voicebox becomes.) the night before.
At least this is what I'm telling myself. At least I don't drink every night now. I discovered the benefits of unisom to help fight the insomnia (paired with adult swim, it's quite effective.)
Gah. I just want it to be my birthday so I can wake up and go to a (few) bar(s).
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| There is an inmost longing amidst the rush of blood in even the tiniest of capillaries that make up the creature that is Charles Austin Hatter. It's tug feels external, yet parasitic at the same time, one moment thrusting him forwards into an inelegant waltz between spirit and wit where neither part know the composer of the melody nor studied the art of ballroom dancing, the next moment slithering from his stomach and coiling at the base of his throat in a perfect rosette of chagrin. It permeates his body with unnatural senses of at first unbearable frigidity, causing an urgent chattering of teeth and even his whole being to tremor to its very foundation, then a nuclear fever erupts through his pores and causes his skin to feel chilly as his framework ignites.
It is an ache for an indescribable type of familiar that even though he is wont to ponder upon, he can never quite dislodge a satisfactory collection of words in which to sum it up. It feels bigger than a word, or even a thousand words. Though there is no means in which to define that for which his elephantine heart lacks and is wanting for, he is endlessly jotting down pieces of it, tiny shards that prick at the insides of his fingertips.
Some days he's so certain that he's finally solved the mystery that he'll eagerly throw that newfound hope into the air and run with abandon, grasping tightly to the string which keeps that threadbare scrap of a dream securely attached to his whimsical fancy. Most days, though, the wind isn't right, and the silly diversion in the sky soon settles back into the dust from which it was born, leaving our pitiful protagonist to ponder the useless bit of string he's turned his knuckles white over.
On those nights, his body rests, lying there for hours upon a leaky air mattress as his mind struggles to travel the distance of its own circumference, first measuring its diameter and then working out exactly what number value best represents pi before executing the formula to find the distance it must traverse, then dawdling in preparation, procrastinating in worries it may have forgotten something, (anything,) before finally setting out on it's restless, gloomy journey into a dreamless sleep.
The only antivenin Mr. Hatter has found with which to counteract such a troublesome, analytical mentality is the crude force of liquors, the clumsy comfort of beers, and the delicate rapture of wines; so he self-medicates his overwrought psyche with alcohol until it settles into a state tranquil enough for his soul to reclaim his awkward frame. On those nights, he pitches forward into bed, into sleep, and has no time to reason whether he longs for the familiarity of a boy with a guitar, or the last phone call home, or whispering harshly at dead dandelions the wishes he knew would never come true, or riding down the interstate with his hair prancing across his neck and ears and brow, or the mantra he found once in the breath of another's sleep.
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| Gah. Christmas made it hard not to purge, and I did so. Still a vege-whatever though. I like it.
I'm currently struggling through an essay for scholarship consideration at VCU. The choices were something stupid and boring like "Life and Education" where I had to explain my life goals and blah blah blah and it would have been too easy to bullshit. So the other topic was "Page 87 of my autobiography" and they said to be creative and write about where I think I'd be at that point in my life. Eighty-seven pages isn't very much, as far as I'm concerned, so I'm trying to think of a decent, vivid memory to write about as a teenager. (It's been hard to steer away from the topic of religion, but I guess that wouldn't be a bad thing to throw at them.)
Totally depressed today for no reason whatsoever, just that titanic wreckage of heaviness in the pit of my stomach, the gnarled knot of longing in my throat, and the slow heavy breaths that escaped me after bouts of fake perkyhappywheeI'mgay. The dizzy/light-headedness probably wasn't a side effect of the depression but it sure made me feel like just letting myself pass out instead of willing myself out of it after standing up too fast from my haunches.
I should be writing an essay but I'm xanga-ing instead. Am I ridiculous or am I just sad?
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