Tribblicate

He’s gotten so handsome. It’s crazy, because I look back on the days when he was just this kid, just this tall, awkward gawky thing who people liked, just this nerdy eccentric, just this charming, charismatic little liar whose cock and ass I had the pleasure of seeing, one on my phone, another on my web cam, and really I just have held on tighter.

Because now he’s a man. He wouldn’t have to pretend to be someone else to talk to an attractive boy anymore. He isn’t awkward or self conscious or any of that. Perhaps a bit vain, absent, prone to egocentrism, maybe.

But even that I’m uncomfortable with. Is it acceptable to judge an individual you no longer…know? Am I allowed to compare and contrast the beautiful mess I used to desire, used to know so intimately with the cohesive whole I catch but a glimpse of?

I wonder.

Sometimes I feel like I’ll never learn how to be content. Even now, I’m happy as a clam, but this tiny part of my brain wants something crazy to happen, some new adventure to embark. But the thing about adventures is that they’re either these super awesome crazy things or these ridiculous amazing romantic things or they’re these horrible, learn a lesson things.

I fear that last one, I really do. But it’s a part of life, it guards the threshold between my self and self actualization.

Now I sound like Maslow and that damn Hierarchy of Needs.

I’m so happy with my boyfriend and my schooling, but a part of me wants conflict and adventure and craziness. But I have to wonder how sanethat part of me is? I feel like I’m too lucky, like I’ve gotten my happy ending without earning it.

But this isn’t an ending, just a reprieve from the storm. And that tiny part of my heart or brain or soul wants the storm. Yearns for it.

Because I’m just a little bit in love with it.

I have this issue. This weird party of my psyche that prevents me from…connecting with people very well? It’s not anything insane like Antisocial Personality Disorder, and the only known mental disorder in my genealogy is Schizophrenia (my grandma). It’s nothing inherently genetic, at least I don’t think it is. No…this is learned. It’s a sort of default behavior. I’m going to struggle to avoid the emo.

I guess this started with my first boyfriend. I had a wandering eye and a habit of blatant myspace flirtation. But at the end he was the only dude I really cared about. Well one incident later and suddenly it’s like I’m living in a police state. He already had issues with privacy, but now he wanted everything. My passwords had to be his, he had to be able to check my myspace or my facebook or my whatever at any given time. My phone needed to be within reaching distance just in case he wanted to go through my texts. And he always did.

Naturally, this lead to friction in our relationship, and a whole lot of fighting. He became verbally and emotionally abusive. We broke up and got back together so many times, I lost count. But eventually we were back and I thought we could finally be happy together…but then he dumped me over the phone a week later.

It was strange. Months and months of dating and fighting and hatred, and it all ends in a second. For good. I wasn’t just hurt—I was betrayed. This wasn’t some passing fling; I’d lost my virginity to this guy. I’d shared things with him that I never thought I could share with anyone, and he spat on me. It was the worst kind of feeling. And after that I…changed. My mind perceived the events a certain way. I showed him all these parts of me, showed him that I cared about him, maybe even loved him, and he discarded me. His exact words were “I’m liking you less and less…”

In my mind, I thought it was completely my fault. I’d come off as clingy, annoying, slutty…wrong. And as a result, I’d been left behind. That’s when my brain decided that it would manipulate every perception of me, scheme and connive, make sure that no one knew exactly how I felt. Perhaps if I came off a certain way, they wouldn’t see any reason to leave me. I would be fine. Happy.

So every relationship since then has been characterized by me bending over backwards not to come off as clingy, jealous, or anything else negative. But mainly, I wanted to seem like I never cared that much. I could be aloof. Usually I could make it last a while, and then ease up on it. But relationships come and go, and each time I was at the receiving end of a break up, I blamed myself.

I was once left for another guy. I blamed it on caring too much. One time I missed a chance at initiating a relationship because I didn’t speak up at the exact moment. I tried to get in touch with that person later, but he never responded. I came off as needy. Young. Immature. It was all my fault.

I’d never really noticed this tendency—this one motivation that was at the heart of all my actions—until my best friend pointed it out to me some months ago. “You leave people out to dry. You try too hard not to come off as clingy. That’s your big problem.” He was so right. It kinda shocked me. I denied it at first, but I had to accept the truth.

And naturally, when the time came to reconnect with this guy—the closest I’ve ever known to Mr. Right—at last, I told him about this very issue. Why I hadn’t spoken up to tell him that I missed him…because I thought if I showed that I cared, he’d be taken away from me. He assured me that he wasn’t like that. He asked me out. I was so happy.

Thirteen hours later, he dumps me to protect me from his life. The difficulties that he faces would impede his ability to give me the attention that I deserve. It was sort of sweet, and sort of horrible. I got so angry. After telling him everything, all about how I was, how my issues work, why they exist—he leaves. Even if it was for my own good, he reinforced my issues. I feel even worse off than before.

And I can step back from all of this and look at it objectively. I know that the Universe doesn’t work that way—just because I care about something doesn’t mean it’ll get stolen from me by chance. But in my mind, it’s hard to reconcile the logic, because deep down this is just how I think. Someone so skeptical is a slave to their own insecurity. It’s a tragic irony, really.

Up until last week my life had settled into a comfortable rhythm. I did school work and I had a goal. I wanted A’s. I wanted college. I wanted success. And if I had time, I wanted romance.

My life did not lack direction, and at times, my life was only direction. But here I am, standing on the edge of a new day, a new week, and I feel like that direction—that sense of purpose that I’ve had—is gone. Not because I catastrophically failed everything, not because I’m dying of cancer, but just because this week was so bad that I’m not sure how to progress from this point. I’m not sure what step to take next, or if I should just continue on the road that I am now, even though it’s lead me astray.

It’s this peculiar feeling of being between goals, between purposes, between meanings. I’m not really at a crossroads, but I’m standing off to the side of my established past, and staring into the distance: I’m staring into a horizon that has no business existing, and I am unsure of how to proceed. I am the stasis, the balance of tedium, the inaction, the inbetween.

I believe in them. I don’t think you can really move forward without acknowledging—and accepting—your past. This, sometimes, leads to regret. You look back at every misstep, or every road not taken, and you just think “What if I’d done it differently?”

Sometimes I’m asking if my whole life can just have a second play through.

As for my regrets, I don’t have any insurmountable ones at the moment. They used to dog me like dementors, but nowadays I just kind of accept them and let it lie. I kind of regret how this last school year went, but there’s no going back in time.

Regrets are the inevitable price of not knowing the future. You have a past, and it comes with the territory. That’s just life, right.

And sometimes that means dealing with hard truths. Things don’t always work out the way I want them to, right? I get that, I accept that.

But it’s hard to discern between hard truths and delusional, distorted dramatics. Am I being a realist, or a pessimist? That’s the line I’m walking, between reality and exaggeration. I feel like it’s the big struggle of my life.

I get these flash flood depressions, where I get this idea, or someone says something and it just hits me hard, and my mind spins out of control, and I find myself lost in this pit. I fall over the line into somewhere dark, and I hate it. I hate how I have to question which side of the line I fell over. Did reality put me here, or did fantasy? I hate feeling like some depressed little myspace kid. Am I depressed, or overreacting? That’s what I’m paranoid about. I don’t want to be the myspace kid. I don’t want people to worry about me.

Bah. Emo. Forget about this.

This week has been terrible so far. Like literally. Nothing THAT bad has happened, but combined with the shit of previous weeks/months it’s all piled up and every day just leaves this bad taste in my mouth. Not to mention it’s getting hotter because i live in California HELL. Like seriously, all I have to look forward to these days are…well, my first period. But that’s a topic I don’t want to talk about. *sigh* My life is so blargghhh lately. I really hope things start to improve or i at least start to feel better, because at this point the only thing going through my head is “Why bother.”

I’d like to apologize for the utter lack of interesting original content on my blog these past few days. It’s been a very long week, with standardized testing, stress, and depression galore. I haven’t felt that up to blogging lately. This is just a dry season and, like all things, it will eventually come to an end. :] Then I’ll get back to saying…something interesting. Hopefully. ^_^ Love y’all. Till then, rebloggin’ time.

I stayed home today because of stomach pains and also I kinda needed a mental health day, right. I was catching up on my podcasts, drawing a little picture, just chilling and and all that. My cell phone is next to me on this chair, this big squishy chair that is falling apart because my fucking stepdad has to rock back and fourth back and fourth back and fourth and fourth and fourth fuuuuck. So my cell phone’s next to me, and out off the corner of my eye I see it slipping, so I turn and I see it fall into the space between the giant squishy arm of the chair and the big sitting area of the chair. Betwixt these two squishy abominations is a big fuzzy hole that used to not exist because the arm and the sit area were compressed together, but over time they have drifted and broken up and cited “irreconcilable differences and also the fucking bald man keeps rocking in this fucking chair back and fourth.” So it falls in there and i hurriedly reach towards the whole and i feel that phone slip just past my fingers and further back so i reach further and it slips somewhere unseen. I go “O__O” and I dig into this pit looking for my damn phone and i can’t find it anywhere. So I google “FIND CELL PHONE FROM COMPUTER” and i find this site called “wheresmycellphone.com” (very useful btw) and you can literally call yourself from your computer for free. So i use it and i hear my phone and i search and i still can’t find it. I go to call again but it has a time limit so i have to wait five minutes, try again. I IM Stewie on Skype and ask him to call me, he says he doesn’t have his phone, i tell him to use the site, he says he’s on his iPod and it’ll take too long I say “YOU ARE WASTING MY TIME.” So now I’m searching and I flip the chair over and I search and I can’t find it so I put it back and I scream in rage and then I notice the back of the chair has Velcro that attaches the material to the chair, so I rip it off and I see my phone just sitting there in the complete BACKSIDE of the chair.

THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY MENTAL HEALTH DAY WHY IS THIS HAPPENING.