I'm finding it ever harder to convince myself she still loves me.

I should just believe it's true. But, I don't know. I want to though. I want to quite badly. I guess I'll just have to have faith.










There's nothing more to say.

"I'm a lonely, insignificant speck on a has-been planet orbited by a cold, indifferent sun."

Guess the quote. I betcha wont get it. Answer at the end of the post.

I presently sit somewhere between numb and nonplussed. I watched all of season 3 of Moral Orel with Bubbe today. She enjoyed it more than I anticipated she would. I was moved again by the writing. I think that when I'm with another person I pick up somehow on the grandiose themes of all existence. Whence Moral Orel has brought me close to tears in the past with its beauty, today, sharing this experience with another elevated it somehow. I like movies for this reason, packed theaters, midnight showings. The sense of community and mass emotional swaying. At the finale I choked back tears and gripped this observation of my reaction. The beauty of an intimate moment is not cheapened by exposure. If done correctly, it elevates it to something like an archetype. But, I do not know if anything archetypal resembles Moral Orel in the moments I am thinking of: specifically, the final scene with Joe and nurse Bendy.

I take a lot of pills at night. 100 mg seroquel a day now. Family thinks I'm good. It's really quite hard to say. I have some more eloquence today, some more logic and some more hope. Slumber oft breeds discontent with seemingly dystopian reality.

However, Tuesday brings refreshing sleep, shaving, a shower, taking out the trash, a fresh deli sandwich, a piece of cake with a cold glass of milk, and a visit from my beloved. In that order, in all likelihood. Lets hope for an overall improvement for tomorrow, or at least to retain the status quo.

The quote is from Homer Simpson.

I think I'd like to move to Norway

Or Sweden. Or Denmark!

These 3 countries rank highest on statistics of either non belief in a "personal god" or just pure atheism.

"They have a famously expansive welfare and health care service. They have a strong commitment to social equality. And — even without belief in a God looming over them — they murder and rape one another significantly less frequently than Americans do."

http://www.tampabay.com/news/perspective/article948684.ece

I stay in America for my family, for my fiance, and because to leave would be running away, it would mean that "they" win. We can't let them win. They are slowing down all of human progress. They are a virus on the creature that is humanity.



Thy will be done. Someday we will all turn to each other with loving embrace. Someday.





Sigh.

I don't know what to do with myself

Fucking weeping on the floor huddled under black sheets. Snot oozes like pus from a freshly opened wound. I don't know what to do here, I really don't. I want to cut myself open to let it out, to get the rush. I have no way to make myself feel better. Nothing I can do, nothing I can say, nowhere to go.

Mercy killing?

Seeing her helped so much.

Her mother is crazy and hates me, her sister is cold and uncaring, her brother is cute and friendly but too young to be anything but a bystander. But I am enthused and, well, I'll admit I'm not overjoyed, but damn am I better than normal. Seeing her, smelling her, feeling her hand in mine, hearing her voice, looking into her eyes, feeling her lips.

I love you Katie. You are my medicine in a world of viruses and infectious ills.

Yay Christmas batman pic!

Sanity in layers

So many variables, so much minutiae. Why is it so hard to keep up? I'm on all my pills, I'm eating, I'm exercising, I'm writing a little, I'm sleeping a healthy amount, but I'm still going through cycles like a motorcycle stuntman in a metal sphere. I felt today like I was two different people. I do well with a bunch. With my family I am alright, to good. Great with Bubbe. We're closer now than ever. It makes me happy. But at the same time I see that she is getting older. I worry she will not be here much longer. It's probably just anxiety and she'll be around for years longer. Or maybe not. Impossible to say really. I do not worry too much about it, but it does make me sad.

In public today I ranged from caustic to friendly. I made small talk at length with an old man in a doctor's waiting room. He spoke with a southern accent of some sort. He was pleasant and upstanding in a queer undefinable way. I choose not to argue with him over the morality or motives of management in some stores.

Back at home I quarreled with my mother. I believe I perceived a larger argument than there was. I think she is used to this by now. I thought about how little my father knows me today, and I thought harsh, violent thoughts towards some of my family. It occurred to me that this was silly. But I did not feel regret.

I think I have levels of sanity in each arena of life. Social skills, family relations, friends, love. I haven't seen my friends in over a week. Katie is hardly ever around, or enthusiastic to see me. I know she does, but I find myself wondering if she even cares. She doesn't tell me so, she doesn't make any effort to come see me. She will chastise me for not just telling her this after she reads it. I love you baby, don't mean to upset you. You are my best friend, my shoulder to lean on, the one person I know I can count on, you're the love of my life, you're my one and only, you're my everything. I love you so much.

Darien says I should try to call her, hear her voice, that it will help. I will try this soon, I hope. I do not know her schedule too well. She often has to fill in for someone. This is not her fault.

Life is taxing on all relationships, from the smallest meeting on the subway to the love of your life.



No, I'm not depressed, I'm just getting into the holiday spirit.

No, I don't have S.A.D.

I just have melancholy holidays. Well, Holiday. I don't really remember whether or not other holidays depress me. In this country, we barely have other holidays. July 4th is a banquet, as is...ok, fuck it. All holidays are banquets. Except the ones where you fast. But nobody does that anymore. I've tried to last few days but have discovered something. My indomitable will to do something stupid like starve myself and run on a treadmill all day has seemingly vanished. The only thing different from the last time I did this was...my anti-psych medication.

Fuck fuck fuck I'm shit outta luck. Healthy dieting?!

Ah well, guess I'll have to drop a few pounds slowly instead of a bunch all at once. I'll keep exercising though. I tried to limit myself to just about 2000 a day, but to be frank, I'm fucking starving. And there's eggnog cake in the fridge. It's just not fair. C'est la vie? I'll try.

I've got a poet to research: Ogden Nash. I heard some of his poetry read between pieces of a symphony on the radio the other day. I liked it. Update soon, if there's anything to say.




I miss you, my love.

Quick update

I've started my winter break diet. I may be coming down with a cold. I added a bit to my book. I'm done with finals and therefore the semester. I'm seeing my Katie tomorrow. And, in conclusion, my Bubbe has a blog. She's one of my followers on the right there. The one whose picture is simply of fudge.

Dasvidanya

Keeping this blog

After my last long entry upset my fiance I have seriously considered removing this blog and opting instead for a private one she doesn't know about so as to not upset her. Alas, she doesn't want me to. So instead I'll just keep this one and try my best to be completely true and raw. So, here we go.



Would I be happier if I was cutting? Perhaps, but then she'd be mad at me and it'd cancel it out.

She just left. I was going to go down to my room to try and see if I could cry. Despite my depression I've found it impossible to cry. I thought tonight would be the night to let it out, but my sister needed a ride and I sucked it up. Back in my room now, I teeter totter over the precipice of tears but not finding the surrender necessary to let loose. I don't really know why I'm so sad all the time. Our heated discussions are part of it though. She's always angry. I feel that I can't do anything to please her. I haven't stopped trying. I made her a wallpaper, cooked for her, offered massages. I don't know what to do. She's always upset. She talks to me at length about how horrible her life is from work and school and finances and she's completely right. I feel all I do is make her worse.

That paragraph helped. Break for crying now.

Hell and damnation, only a few tears. God, when this wall breaks I'm going to completely break down. I'm not looking forward to it. Odds are good it will be at Christmas. Because why the fuck not?

So yes, I feel all I do is make her worse, make life somehow worse for both of us. We've got all these fucking plans and ideas that jump up but then get shot down. The house is impossible. She no longer wants a wedding so all those plans have been wasted. Her plan to work with a real bachelor's degree is essentially impossible. I'll need to support her with my English degree. How am I going to do that? There are jobs, but I'd made peace with the fact that there may be times in my life where due to no jobs I'll have to live in my car. We can't live in my car.

I'm so upset, so fucking upset, and there's nothing I can do that will fix it. My antidepressants don't do anything anymore. I swear they're like fucking placebos. I'm upset all the time, upset and fucking wishing for it to end. If only her family would see the light, or she would just take control of the situation. I don't know how she could really. Impossible. Pipe dream, like the house and the good paying jobs and the bliss that comes along with love. I know even the best couples need to work at it to get it right. It's stupid of me to assume we'd be automatically perfect because we're in love. But I was shocked when I realized I could love her so much and still be so depressed all the time.

Some of my time with her today granted me a reprieve from it, a time where I felt blissful again. The rest left the status quo. Once or twice I felt worse.

I'm writing some short fiction now.

Clarity

My therapist does nothing for me but allow me to needlessly waste breath on his behalf. I learn nothing I did not already know. He teaches me nothing. He does nothing to alter my perception, bring me truth. He told me once that the intelligent and mentally ill often are granted useless insight into their own lives. We can see how pointless and even crazy our thoughts or behavior may be, but we are powerless to alter it. We are merely observers. We can watch the fire burn but are unable to act against the fire.

However, my disdain and frustration gave me focus, and I found the reasoning for my latest depression. It is as it of course had to be, a result to circumstance. My appearance issues, I've discovered, are a direct link in with the sexual dysfunction I suffer from. In her anger and my sympathy our passion has drained from red hot to lukewarm. We are both so distracted. I am afraid to make a move even to kiss her deeply for I wish not to appear fragile, to appear needy. Her anger towards the world seems to detract from her's. I cannot blame her. If I was in her situation, I'd have lashed out at the world many times already.

We are all puppets of destiny, but sometimes we can look up and see the strings. Is it holy knowledge?



With understanding I can now move forward. It is a small, simple matter to fix. And now I know what to focus on. It makes me happy. I miss her more than ever when I know it is such a small matter that impacts me. My love for her is so massive that a glitch in my own mind is barely noticeable.

Reflection

No breakfast for her today. No breakfast for anyone. I ate a long Italian chocolate cookie for sustenance and waked into the shower. My weight is 206. That's 16 pounds of pain and failure needing to be removed; by any means necessary. I took a long shower today instead of making a rushed meal. She will forgive me. She always does forgive me. It's my presence she longs for, not my culinary creations. That isn't to say they don't sweeten the deal though. I needed a long shower today to think and contemplate my options. I confessed to my mother and grandmother yesterday how hopeless I've felt lately, how depressed and even at times suicidal. Empathy and concern were expressed. I vented to them, shouting at times, about the injustices of the world. Nothing made me feel better. Stepping out of the shower my head and shoulders rest in fog. I see nothing but a worthless body with no head. A physique that would be abhorred, even by a desperate medical student needing cadavers. No more food today for me. Water, and caffeine, but no more food for me.

I've a therapy appointment at 11:30, and a reading of one of my poems at school around 7:30. I look forward to neither. I look forward only to pain and exercise and weight loss, and sleep. And when the world allows me, her.

Dismayed, guilty, upset, dejcted

Not a redeeming thing about this day. Not. a. one. Even my time with her was tainted by my own inadequacy and events beyond either of our control.

Have a picture of a kitty.




I've taken enough seroquel to knock me out for the evening. Even going to my university's showing of Dark Knight I think would feel hollow on this night.

Ta.

Stupid Empathy

I'm upset to the point of suicidal level depression because she's upset.

God damn it.

So I called my therapist

I don't know what I'll talk to him about. I know i'm depressed, and I know I'd be suicidal if it weren't for Katie. But hopelessness does seem like depressive realism now, and I always advocate the truth.

The truth sucks. Yet, there it is.

pyrrhic circumstances

Should any of this disturb or unsettle you, my sweet, since you're likely to read this, remember, you are my beloved, my fiance.




It's a mixed blessing, the way I am with sex. If I know a person, know them enough to open up my life to them, I can love them. There's only one person I've ever been with that I felt nothing for. I was with her for one night, and it left me a shell for days, scarred up my knee quite badly. If I've known someone emotionally, intellectually, even a little bit, I have the capacity to love them. I often do love them. And the odd thing about people you've loved, at least with me, is that they stay with you. I know that Dan emery tells us that "old lovers aren't ghosts, they're just part of who (we) are," but I feel haunted. I do, really. It's so odd.

What prompted this train of thought more or less is just a common couple squabble: Comparison of exes. I shouldn't ask about shit, I really shouldn't. But, I did. And I hate being compared to exes. I'm the "slut" in the relationship, so I can't compare her to anyone, nor do I want to. The thought does occur to me, every now and then. It does jump out at me sometimes. I dreamed it, the other day, the literal situation of the thought: I'm waking up in the morning and I turn over, and there is the silhouette of Sarah, the woman I woke up next to so often, taunting me.

"Wasn't all the sex we had spectacular? You know it was. Wasn't I available? You're never ever getting your old knife back."

I throw her away from my sight, she rises in thin violet smoke from my bedsheets. I shake the sleep from my eyes and turn to see Jess, sitting at my computer, googling random nonsense. She doesn't turn to face me.

You did me an injustice. And you lost your connection to the art world when you burned this bridge. Do you remember how demanding I was sexually? You'll never get that again.

It's a lie. I'm ecstatic with my fiance. I'll get that level again, eventually. I spin the chair like a top and she falls to sparkling grey dust. I sprint away and up the stairs, into the bathroom. I see Valerie sitting at the table down the hall as I close the door. She acknowledges me and fades away. The shower steams and fogs. I pull back the door to see Avery, nude, leaning against the pale wall. Nearly fainting again... Is she there? Is she asleep? From her mouth fall a few words, becoming more.

You left me broken again. I was always exhausted, but every time we were together we fucked at least 2 times. You've gone down a ring on the ladder. And it was great.

She passes out and turns to red mist, flowing into the steam and turning to water, she slips down the drain. She was always tired and we did fuck like rabbits, and it was good, but we just used each other. She is wrong. It was empty. I loved her as a person, as a damaged piece of goods like me but different. She'd taken more pain, that's undeniable, but we complained to each other and it felt good. Misery in company. But it was...lackluster. And I didn't love her as a woman, as anything but a reflection of my own pain. And I never told her I felt strongly. But she was the first woman I broke up with, and I made her cry.

Still, I'd never trade anything I've ever had with anyone for what I have with Katie. She's my one and only. If I was to go without for the rest of my life I'd still say as I do now, Katie is my one and only. I'd do anything to be with her, for her, for her safety, for her happiness. I love her.

As I step out of the bathroom, cloaked in terrycloth, I see a dark figure crouched on the stairs. she walks up and nuzzles into me, moving far too fast, gliding in the shadows like a prowling animal. She bites my neck and slips a set of razor blades into my right hand.

We fucked, and it was dark and satisfying and frequent. I brought out the worst in you, the worst you've ever been. But wasn't it fun, wasn't it spectacularly hedonistic? Wouldn't you prefer pleasure and pain?

I take her wrist in my hand, the small brown wrist that holds more sharp points, and I break it, and I toss her away from me. she shatters like black sea glass.

I love Katie, love her now, love her always, and wear my future ring around my neck at this very moment. But nothing fixes errors made, nothing but time heals such wounds. I know I am her's. Her life partner. Her life, even. And she is mine. But I feel inadequate whenever we talk of exes, and she seems to so often, despite being the good one. I, the "slut," try never to speak of these things. I don't want to compare her to anyone, because it is wrong, and it would hurt her, and I love her, and no one else. But I feel so often compared to, so often inadequate.

When I lay with her in our bed, and I'm holding her to me, I sometimes feel that I've several women behind me, all spooning me as one fluid caterpillar like beast. And I wonder, does she have such a monster attached to her too?

Pipe Dreams

We're not going to get that house. I was a fool to think we could. I'd have to sell my book, she'd have to make a good deal of money. We simply can't. She wants to sell so that she makes enough to live on, for a few more years. Knowing my luck she won't live much longer, the house will go to the bank, and my last memory of her will be of her apologizing because there's no way we could ever afford it, Katie and I. We leech off of our families, the job market is worth than nothing, and we don't have the savings. If we were to be married tomorrow and try to move in together, we'd have to live in my room, in my parent's basement. God that's depressing. I don't know where we will go, what we will do.

Why is it that seemingly every woman I've loved comes from some shattered home I need to rescue her from? Has society sunk as low as I'd thought? I always think the worst so I can, every now and then, be pleasantly surprised when people really are decent.

I guess I'll live past 30. I have a reason to, now. That struck me tonight, that I suddenly didn't have my 2 classic back up plans.

1. Live out of my car until greener pastures show themselves. Not do-able when you've a partner.

2. Suicide. I've a partner now. Her life is mine and mine is hers. The option is simply erased.

It's an odd feeling, the lack of power I suddenly felt when I noticed this. The sudden escape plan I didn't have. I can't go off my meds, either. Insanity is the escape chute I'm no longer allowed because it would be irresponsible. There are times when I'm hopeless that I miss it though. It would be the ultimate in irresponsibility to simply up and vanish, and I've known since I met her that I can never live for just myself ever again, for I have her. I have purpose. But, the path I must follow to provide for her, to get a house, to do all those things, I can't divine it.

Where do we go?

I long for medieval medicine

Read this first. It's kinda important that you know what it is.

And this is how I am feeling now:

So...impotent

I just wish I could do something. Anything, really. My mother is in enough pain that she said the only thing she could compare it to is childbirth, a pain I cannot ever fully comprehend. All I can do, I suppose, is try to pick up my end of the slack around the house. Do more of the cooking, and the cleaning. But, I am not here that often anymore. At least if we were being told by some wise old medical wizard I could be told to go and sacrifice a goat or cover her in leeches or something. Do not attempt to advocate prayer to me. As I believe Ghandi said,

"Two working hands accomplishes much more than a thousand hands clasped in prayer."

But, for her suffering I can't do a damn thing. She said she's beginning to get health problems like my grandmother has. My grandmother is on a large quantity of pain medication, for she is in very much pain. I well up a little over this entire situation.

My little sister and I thankfully have oddly strong bones and joints, and are not at much risk. My youngest sister, it seems, is. I'm scared for her, I'm scared for my mother. I've warned my fiance in the past that she must face her mother's mortality someday, despite her apparent good health, for it is just realistic. I hoped it would lighten the hit she will one day emotionally take. But when it dopes happen, she'll have my shoulder to cry into.

Tomorrow I shall utilize hers.

My mother knows me too well

A (very) recent exchange between her and I:

"Uh, hey, can I have my batarangs back?"

She considered the question for a moment, looked me in the eyes, and said very calmly, yet still quite firmly, "no."

She could tell, I suppose, how tempted I was. How queer my attitude had turned since my little sister accidentally ruined my evening. It was not her fault, but she has doomed me to a weekend without feelings of love instilled in my head. In my heart, most certainly do I feel them often. Always, even.

But up in my damnable brain I don't.

I keep forgetting I don't have any knives. That black hole of an ex took my best one, never to return it. She "lost" it. I hate her for that. I surrendered most of my blades to my mother after my last breakdown. I still have my cards and my multitool, but damn it all, I wanted my real blades. I miss them, and though it would conjure a veritable shit storm from my fiance and I would add many bruises to new scars from her hands, I still wanted it tonight.

I suppose if I really needed it I could have used what I do have access to. I wanted it though. I wanted it bad. Very bad.



Too beautiful for words...

Smut

You read it right ladies and Gentlemen. Nothing but the best American bona-fide pure Grade A expert certified S M U T. Katie had a small request for two characters to write and though I'm not oft one for the fanfiction, I do enjoy filling writing requests. So I now present to you a story entitled The Favor of the female Jester.

AFF STORY

Oooooooooooooh yeeeeaaaaaaahhhhh.

Thanks to Francesco Francavilla (blog) for the borrowed sketch.

Moving right along, time for a header

Steady as she goes

So the fiance and I had a spiff last night. I thin k it all has something to do with the nature of my disorder and the fact that I have so much sexual dysfunction. It might have been affected by her un-medicated state, but that does not excuse my behavior. I dwell on things instead of burying them because I do not know how to deal. When something is on my mind like what I've informally referred to as "sexual frustration" I tend to focus on it because talking about my issues helps me get them out. I haven't seen my therapist in quite a while now, and I absolutely refuse to do anything unhealthy like cutting or obsessive dieting and exercise because as much as it would hurt me (or so I'm told it does. I fucking love doing it.) it would hurt Katie more, and I just want her happy. She makes these offers of ways to fix my problems but they seem like a compromiose of who she is as a person to do so. I know there is no love without some compromise now and again but denying who you are as a person is not the way to healthily remain in a relationship. I know I'm meant to be with her, as she knows she is with me. Nothing changes that. Nothing ever could. But these little roadblocks we hit while our minds are not running at peak performance, they do hurt to go over. So I'm not really completely sure even what we fought about. But I know I made her feel like shit somehow. I hate that, and I don't know how to remedy it. I wish I did. Somehow I think poetry or flowers wont help. But we'll talk about it and see what the issue was/is. It's cliche as all hell, but true love weathers all storms.

It is also likely important to note that I or she or we may be grossly over-reacting. If it turns out to be so, disregard...90% of this post. Just go read the smut instead.

TRUE

LOVE

Borderline personality disorder is distressing

That really sums it all up if you know anything about the condition. But, since it is likely you do not, I'll give you a bit of information to explain what I mean. I love and I hate. No, that's what the diagnosis generally implies, but that's not what I always do. It does seem that way often I must admit. Socially this is a problem. Romantically this is augmented and magnified to a degree approaching lunacy. It is ludicrous, the life I lead.

Katie, since I know you read this, I'd like to let you know that you are my exception that proves the rule. You are tonight's subject but do not ever doubt even for a moment my complete love for you. You are my one and only and seeing this has allowed me to recognize and tackle each mental problem I have as it comes to me and admit my weaknesses.

Tonight I spent time with my fiance. Some fun was had, not too much, but enough. My twisted wicked mind pesters me like a stick poked into my side over and over. "If she is not with you completely physically than you may as well be acquaintances." That statement is false. There's no arguing for it with any sense of logic. But I'm not a Vulcan. Knowing something is not logical does not pull it from inside my head, doesn't force me to be normal and feel what I so badly want to augment my love for her with. I have not doubted for an instant that I love her, because it is just that kind of love. My soul, which I have never even been sure existed before, sympathizes with her and symbiotically bonds to her presence.

But this nagging voice persists at me like Marge Simpson grinding her teeth I can't seem to separate it from the audio track playing in my head. I know that unless she is completely mine, a shared life in every conceivable way, this will nag at me. This will carve itself into my flesh day in and day out while I contemplate my life in the shower or gaze into the mirror or twiddle my thumbs. It will keep carving this with the broken glass that is my grey matter: Not really yours. It's like it's all a sham to that little voice in my head. Every emotion I feel, every moment we share, each kiss and nibble and orgasm, it all lacks substance to that creature who I very much wish to name so that my torment may have a name and I can assign it a face and picture its grim countenance feeling the pain I inflict.

I miss cutting my flesh. I miss the pain, I miss the pleasure. I miss the blood perhaps most of all. I'm not a religious man, but the first time my blood flowed out over my joints and dripped onto the carpet I understood baptism, being hurled under a liquid so pure and beautiful it cleanses your soul. So cutting is sort of a mirror image of a baptism. Holiness reflected in a mirror, darkly.

I feel so guilty and upset, distraught really, over this whole thing that my stomach churns. I wrote a bit on it in math class this morning. I will put it into poetry later, but not poetry for her. I haven't written her poem for today yet. This guttural poem is for my own growth, and perhaps for the folio. But it is not a side I would like to read to her. It would only make her upset.

I cried just a few tears while holding her tonight, I felt so close and so in love that, as the flaming lips would put it, my happiness made me cry. I'm finishing tonight's entry with another lyric:

And still this emptiness persists
Perhaps this is as good as it gets

My old wallpaper is now making a comeback:

Join us in our sunship balloons.

I know it's so silly and cliche but I'm so in love. It seems a habit of mine to write blog entries while she sleeps on my bed. As some of you may know I love watching people sleep. In the past it's been pets, babies, and occasionally lovers. Not many people get this about me. It's understood that I'm a people watcher but when you are observing the oblivious you can see every nook and cranny of their personality. She's about half covered by my black comforter, resting on the similarly covered sheets and pillows. Her eyes are closed but not moving much. I don't think she is dreaming. Her face is still tiredly expressive though. Her eyebrows raise and her face scrunches and her cheeks grow pink and the corners of her lips curl and rise, sneering at the waking world she is separate from. This whole thing has felt like a dream, the magic of falling in love and knowing so soon and so completely that we've nowhere else to go in this often life-long quest for companionship I see so many of my peers wrapped up in every day. Her hair falls in obtuse streaks across her forehead. Too thin to be clumps, too thick to be strands.

In conversation today I said the words "my fiance" much to the surprise of some of my peers. A project group member saluted me for my ability to make such a decision. The biggest decision he made this month he said was choosing what beer to drink in the evenings.

So I'm here, at home. She is with me always, sleeping or awake. We went out to buy her a ring guard today and now the silver holds to her skin like a leech, seemingly siphoning energy off and pulling the cheap stone to levels of grandeur the small jeweler I bought it from would never imagine, the high standing of the ring on her finger. When she needs to say the "W" word or refers to me with the "F" word it drains her and scares her and excites her and I love her all the more for all of it.

She doesn't know I'm watching her like this when she slumbers only a few feet away from me, but if she does catch me doing it she can't be too unhappy. After all, when I look at her I grow the biggest goofy grin I have in my repertoire that no photographer has been able to capture yet.

Perhaps the wedding photos will contain it.

I know this was kinda...sudden. I'm aware. But sometimes you just know. I can't seem to find a simile or metaphor that contains my reasoning in its entirety but I have been trying. For the absolutely geeky in my life I've got this:

You ever fall across something while you were browsing these here internets that is simply beyond passing up? Not porn or anything, but some data that fits you perfectly. The song collection that has every missing track off every album you owned but never were able to complete because your disc was scratched. The 15 pages in a PDF file conspicuously missing and leaving out the climax of a downloaded book. The last pages of a comic you bought second hand and could never ever finish. It appears in your life and you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you simply must posses it, and it is what has been missing and you never want to delete it as long as your hard drive still lives.

So yeah, news.

Oh man, is that an engagement ring? You bet it is! I know many of you will rant and rave and scream and shout, but she and I are not the type to give a care to such drivel and nonsense. We are each others one and only. Deal with it. Oh, and October 2010, save the date.

Ladies and Gentlemen, introducing the betrothed, Benjamin and Katie:

Crisis Averted

So this is what it is like when two crazy people date successfully. So the crisis of epic proportions I was freaking out about like a couple hours ago? Yeah, it was nothing. She thought I was mad at her and thusly quasi-snubbed me, as a way of dulling it and being non-confrontational. I thought she was mad at me and thusly freaked the hell out. Once she woke up I pressed the issue and we came to this revelation. She's just scared that if we do anything physical I'll up and leave her. I have reassured her repeatedly and we have reaffirmed our love in each other.

Happy again cradling her.

Living Hell

First things first: I was chastised in an email from my poetry professor because I was out of my gourd last class, insulting and overbearing to other students. I had inadvertently taken what rapidly revealed itself to be a copious amount of pure caffeine. If I lose this class I may as well just throw myself off a bridge. It's the only thing I enjoy at this godforsaken university that passes for a class. I have apologized profusely. I hope it was enough. I hope my written critique of Amelia was not too mean...

Moving right along:



No, we're not broken up, but I suspect she will drop me presently. I may be overreacting. It's impossible to tell with me. When I think I'm responding appropriately I am kicked in the groin by surprise and scorn. I'm just going to continue riding with the waves as they come and hope I keep breathing.

I hate everything about myself. Everything. My behavior, my body, more often than not my mind.

Katie is upset about something involving us. I don't know what. It is likely pertaining to some sort of sexual dysfunction of mine. My libido is strong, and I have shown restraint, in my opinion great restraint, in my continual optional refusals for foreplay and trying to simply turn my libido off. I may have to masturbate more often, but I'll do it to be with her.

She might just still be upset over this family problem from earlier, but I think right now that isn't on her mind. She lays, again, sleeping in my bed. She cared not whether I lay with her or not.

How did I screw up this time?

I feel nausea just thinking about every way I may have failed myself, failed her, failed life. She loves foreplay but is not one to go much farther, not for a while at least. I'm ok with this. But she is upset somehow. I know she is. When you love someone you can tell. It's a small thing that may snowball and kill this happiness we have built together.

Do I deserve happiness? I've never thought so. I'd like it. I've liked it for spurts in the past. But I don't feel I am deserving of it.

There are so many things I want. I think I'd settle to get my book out. Once I have it published I think I would be ok with death. Since I was young I've known how impermanent my existence here is. I tell my therapists and other assorted doctors that I feel as if my life will end before 30. The truth is that in my gut I just know this. It would take an astronomical force upon my life to convince me otherwise.

I love Katie, love her tremendously, but I still feel this way. I'm sad right now, sad and foolish and small. Watching her sleep while I am a million miles across the way I feel like the morning star. Cast down away from light, forever looking up at what he had lost, given up for the sake of personal power. With Katie I seek happiness, and it is not she that has cast me out today, but perhaps I. If I believed in such nonsense I'd say it was God.

My head is flushed with seasonal affectations and blood, but I feel so cold. I've got bad circulation in my hands, I know, but is it sadness that chills me presently, or acceptance? It is not my lot in life to partake of fluff and star shine. I work best in the dark, in the undertow, in the position where I am saddest and without any hope for this life I thrive creatively.

That last sentence sickens me.

Why can I not just be happy? Is there a reason behind all this? Katie and I feel that we could each be each other's one, as in "one and only." I really do think this. But I am worse than nothing.

If I had to rate how badly I want to cut, 10 being me holding the knife and 1 me being sublime, I'd say I'm at about an 8. We'll see how the night goes. It is supposed to rain tomorrow. I'll be wearing long pants and probably a jacket.

Where the needle for a blood test poked me yesterday there is a target. I can see it clear as day, where the blood flows so fast and so rich. As the syringe filled last afternoon I watched, entranced by the bubbling seemingly boiling blood filling the crystal.



A parody, I know, but quite pertinent and amusing as well.

So, where do I stand? Has love provided me with a solid foundation upon which I may jump, or must I walk as if on eggshells? I asked her to look up what it's like to deal with people afflicted by my condition. I don't know if she did.

I'm still sitting across the room. Katie is still sleeping in my bed.

Meet James Ensor

I told her today while she was stuffing her cheeks with pumpkin pie cookies that I love her. She said she loves me too.

I don't need to add anything to that.

But after she left my day just...it suffered. I've always been one to say what he means in his goodbyes. If you warrant one, you'll get a hug. If I could not give less of a shit about you, I wont even acknowledge your presence. I feel little details are important. After all, she could have died once she hit the road. My last words to her would have been of love. Her's would have been "I'll talk to you later." I know it's silly, and I know it's small, but I couldn't stop thinking about it the whole day. What if she died? What if I died? As the day pressed on I began to wonder, "did she really say it, or did I mishear her? Maybe I heard what I wanted to. "I love you too" sounds so very much like "I know you do." And it's absurd of me to think these things, but there they were, burrowing through my brain, procreating in my skull. It all drives me quite mad. But then again, perhaps I am always quite mad and merely putting on an air of lucidity.

As the day progressed I took some ibuprofen to deal with my developing cough and headache, dispensed cookies to a devastated Lindsay, and got in a verbal confrontation with an acquaintance who I have told to go fuck himself. Burning bridges is not my favorite activity to do, but damn if it isn't familiar. Just like the touch of a cool blade. I know it's terrible, but it's so familiar. Like being hit by a spouse, or the taste of xanax in a dry throat, or a writhing empty shell naked underneath you.

The keys my father gave to me do not work and so I was stuck outside of his house. He was supposed to give me cash and chili, and I waited 45 minutes, but I just couldn't take it any longer and left. Perhaps I will head back at 6. Perhaps not.

A text message from my Katie checking up on me and saying she loves me more or less fixed me when I got home. It was good timing too. To be honest, I was stuck on the thought of knives. I did not take them out even, but it was there. But just the fact that my head tortured me today is upsetting as hell.

Pretty much either way, there's one thing I know. I love you Katie. It matters not what poison festers within me, for your voice will always call out and lead me back from the darkness.



The resemblance is uncanny, no?

fifty-fifty

The human brain is a monstrous creation unworthy of the smallest speck of envy. I've been told by many that I've a "fascinating" or "unique" mind. The truth is, I hate it. Yes it's interesting and I can serve as an example of human ingenuity and worth for what my brain conjures, but the way it treats my life, when I know it's wrong, makes me want to cry.

I spent time with Katie today. We fooled around a bit. We held each other and watched TV. Now she lays beneath my blanket, napping on my bed. She is beautiful, she is my partner, she may very well be the one, but I'm being assaulted. I hate to beat a dead horse, but if I don't find a way to substitute this lack of dopamine healthy life apparently is rife with, I'm going to have a breakdown. Even when I am allowed the most primal releases my head screams out for more:

She must say she loves you!

I've never loved so completely before and I long to say it, just to give my feelings voice so I can see if they ring true. But that is not how things are done. She knows I am falling in love with her, but until I went on my most recent medication I couldn't say anyone I was with I ever loved at all. We need to wait, even if it is only a small bit longer, before letting loose the river. If we don't, as so few ever do, we may drown, as the rest have. So many before us have fallen into that well without the rope of stability we are building to keep the descent measured, to keep the sunlight in.

You should be having sex. WHY aren't you having sex??

Because we are waiting for the strong emotional bond. We want to make love. And for real, not just what I've been deluding myself with for a year. I've answered this time and time again, but I just keep being asked. Every time my answer is ignored I want to cry. I don't have control over my own head. In my twenty years I've built a labyrinth even I know not how to escape. Crawling within it are monsters, and somewhere, lost to time and circumstance, is my self. I want it back.

Other women would be yours, could be yours! Why waste your time? Abandon this one and seek the embrace of the hedonist, inside and out!

But why in any logical world would I want to abandon this woman for just sex? That's not who I am. It's not who I've ever been. At least I never wanted to be. I left Avery because it was just about sex, and Jess wanted love. Jess got love, but I found none for her. Katie arouses me in every way, and I just want to be with her. That's all I really want. A life without my counterbalance is not attractive to me. I feel like part of a whole when I'm with her, I really do. Emotionally she is a bit detached, but I know she cares for me, is falling in love with me as well.

And yet, I left her sleeping side to pour this on the page. I keep thinking about how much I wish I could just turn that part of my brain off and I want to cry. I'm on the verge of tears right now. I'm even weighing the pros and cons of mutilation again. I don't even have my good knife back yet, but I am picturing it more often. It's black handle, ruggedly sharp teeth. Cutting has always been better than sex. Not making love, but having sex. Cutting only hurts one's own body. With empty sex you harm another. But now that someone in my life cares for me, it is not an option. If I hurt myself it would dismay Katie significantly. The other night I talked about how upset I was and my connection died. She thought I'd left, that I was hurting myself, and she felt terrified. It was "the scariest minute of my life," she said. And I believe her too.

So I'm waiting to have sex because it's what is healthy, and for Katie and I, it is what is right. When we make love it will be of no comparison to my wasted women of past times. I know it to be so because she makes me so happy. Because we are so connected. And I will not cut because it would hurt her, and then it would be detrimental to myself. And I cannot eat too much because this is unhealthy, and it would make me fat. And I cannot exercise too much because then I would be exhausted and unable to do work. And I cannot buy something because I'm down to my last cash. By the end of this week I will be bankrupt. I've applied for my SSI, and I've applied for jobs, and this weekend I will beg relatives.

I'm running out of money. I'm running out of ideas for how to keep myself OK. I'm running out of composure for the rest of the world. I'm letting this out here, now, so I won't just grab her under the covers and weep into her.

I'm scared. I'm conflicted. I'm terrified.

Draining the venom

Is there a way I can just...turn off my sex drive? Temporarily mind you. I love it when it's doing what it's supposed to. As opposed to doing what it's so very good at, poisoning me socially. In the past I have hit on every girl I've ever talked to for more than like 2 minutes. It's hilarious, yes, but it also has hurt me in the past. Being a slave to it allowed me to be used for sex, at least twice. The first time it was my fault. The second time, I should have seen what was going on.

Maybe I did and just ignored it.

I nearly killed a friendship that has become increasingly strong as time goes by with a now somewhat close friend. Even though it does seem like I may have used her for sex, I feel horrible about it, have apologized profusely, and remain her friend. If we are a bit detached at times.

My old tryst spoke to me today the way one addresses an old relative they've forgotten the name of. It hurt, badly. Every word she said I just kept thinking about the closeness, the physical intimacy. I still have photos of her on my PC somewhere. I couldn't bare to delete such gestures of trust.

But she seemed so far from me. So detached. She talked about her wedding plans. I wonder at what point after the affair she decided to not invite me. Was it after the afternoon in her dorm? The evening at her home that trapped me in the snow? The drive home took over 2 hours that night. I nearly crashed several times.

I'm with this...fantastic, unbelievable woman. Her name is Katie. For those of you with poison in your thoughts of me, accept it and move on. None of you were this, none of you were here, knowing me like she knows me. And, slowly, she is knowing me. But not biblically. We have saved that step for a later date, when she is comfortable and the emotional ground we tread on could hold mountains. And I'm not worried that I'm wasting time, or that we wont get there. I know we're going there. I know we'll get there. Time is all that stands between us and a complete trust.

It comes down to definitions.

For me, sex has been used....almost as an icebreaker. I feel filthy and horrible even typing that. But I'm not as bad as others, even others I know. For me sex was not really emotional, but a way to mimic them.

I always look for the connection. The unspeakable link between 2 people. Sex allows you to feign this. Nyx did that with me. It's why we "worked." We are both accommodating lovers. We do what we need to for our partner. For me, this was mimicking emotion, even showing me the hints of love, a love she would never, could never, feel for me. I doubt even for anyone. With Katie I'm feeling the emotions, we're building this unspeakable link in our words, oddly enough. Our shared feelings, experiences. And soon that closeness will be there.

But my libido will not cease its scream. Inspiring annoyance at her cuddling with me. not the act itself, but the idea of being together but not being one. I know it is what I want, and waiting for her to be ready and our true partnership to begin is perhaps the best decision I've ever made. But I am screamed at constantly.

And I am terrified that it will scream too loud and terrify her. Blow out my eardrums and throw me into the arms of some waiting whore. So many of them all around me every day. I have the reserve, I have the will. If I can be anorexic I can ignore my libido. And I have never once, nor will i ever be, unfaithful. But where is all its energy going to go if I really can shut it down, ignore it?

I do not know.

Like the Longines Symphonette I do not rest

No, I'm not 100% sure what the literal meaning is either, but I have a few things to say here. My first topic is of course the concept of predestination. I'm not going to sum it up for you. If you know it, keep reading. If not, hit the link and then return here. I feel that predestination in some form or another actually is true, despite my atheism. Weird, huh? It's not really contradictory, see, I think there is a universal order and ultimate purpose to the universe as a whole and therefore every last bit of minutiae must be in its place for creation to unfurl in its proper and obligated way.



As Prometheus says, "even Zeus cannot escape what is fated." There have been moments in my life where I have felt a unique and unmistakable sense of this purpose. Inner peace isn't the right word, but it's the first that comes to mind. Perhaps enlightenment because I feel detached, removed from reality and observing the strings pulling us along. When I began work on my book I felt this way. A screaming static that rolls through my stomach and infiltrates the hollow behind my eyes with arcing blue energy. My book is not of all that much importance in the grand scheme of things, I know. I've yet to even assure its publication, but it is what I am to do. It's one of the things I was meant to do. Not a little thing like opening a door for a person downtown who then carries that kindness into letting another driver go first but that driver was on his way to kill someone but then he got there before he expected to and was stopped by a police officer who saw him checking his gun and the police officer attempted to bring him in but was caught by the man first, and lays dying on the street right now. Did my opening the door kill that man? In a small way, yes. It all goes back to chaos theory. Life is made up of billions of variables like this. So every now and then I feel this pull, not for creative expression, that's entirely different, but a pull towards purpose. It is not linked or a cause of happiness or despair. It is but happenstance to the emotions of the moment.

I feel this way again now. I feel it when I'm holding her in my arms. Am I happy? I'm infatuated, it's early, and I am orgasmically happy. I'm doing it all right. We're avoiding the physical aspects for a while, enhancing the emotional connection. Katie and I are suddenly close, after a past of some animosity. But, when we suddenly really saw each other it was like a supernova. Her mother likes me, her brother likes me, even her cat Mittens has approved. My family has reciprocated in kind. My littlest sister adores her more than even I.

When I am holding Katie in my arms I am home. I will maintain my composure, keep myself restrained physically, and continue to live happily. I feel as if the nite-lite brightening my soul has finally been plugged in. I finally can crawl back up into my psyche again. It's been months since I could get in there. It's no longer a vast calm world. I see it now as a fluttering of images I must interpret. The odd calm of my mind with part of me shut off was far too unhealthy. I am myself, truly. And I am by her side, honestly.



But i'm still me.

I'll be quirky

I drew this last week. It's of no significance, but it does look nifty.

So I finally got my letters of no contact. They're the university's equivalent of a restraining order, but since I have class with one of them there's no distance limit. It was the university's way of peacefully ending this and placating me. If there is any further contact or if this limited act is no longer adequate I will be going above their heads to the New Haven cops to file for Slander, harassment, filing a false police report, and also for full distance restraining orders. I don't care how it may inconvenience them, it's the last resort I have if this small gesture fails. but, for now, it will do.

As for this entry's title....

I have green nails and shaven arms. I feel sexy as hell. I think now I'll dance naked in front of a mirror.

Hope

With any luck everything will proceed like this: Letters of no contact, the university equivalent of a restraining order, will be given to Robin, Stephanie, and myself. I have to go in for class in the morning which I am now allowed to do, and even am allowed to spend a little bit of time in the Student Center on Friday which is AWESOME, because I miss all my friends who supported me while I was the victim of this farce. And if these things all work out I can come to school on Monday as if nothing ever happened. I lost two friends, but I'm closer with the ones I have. You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have, my latest blog entry.

"You don't need to be here"

That's what Dr. Remington of Yale psychiatric said to me today.

In your fucking face, life, especially to those who have been doubting me. I'm taking care of it, I'm doing better than ever both physically, psychologically, and I'm doing even pretty well scholastically. I'm living the high life, bitches.

Here's my message to you my ex friend who tried to get me committed. In relation to you from now on:



Read it, learn it, know it. Steph, I know you weren't alone, and I know you have the best intentions so I will forgive you this. In fact it serves as a testament to how well I'm progressing that I'm laughing about all this. I may be a ways off center but I'm not that bad right now. Part of doing the SSI is to prevent me from ever getting that bad. Get it? Got it? Good.

Note to cops who apparently read my blog. The 1st amendment permits me this blog just like it permits me a journal which I also keep. The picture you were so concerned about was for a COSTUME. There are more pictures of it on the damn page had you just looked. I know, doing your job, I respect that, but this was an unnecessary hassle, guys.

And now, here's a funny picture to bring up everyone's spirits.

Troll Harder

Fuck you life, I'm actually going to do this, and do it right.

Robin issue: finally resolved. God, that took way too long.

Stephanie: Concerned and perhaps rightfully so. I'm apparently worse than ever. I think it's just the pieces she's seeing. Regardless, we're best friends and I love you Steph. You drive me nuts and we have to be mean to each other to do what's right I know. I forgive you. You may be right so I'm going to try harder specifically on the issues you mentioned. But not for you, for me. Ok?

My girlfriend: I fucking love you. I've been emotionally numb this week and you brought me back. I was able to feel guilt today. That's a breakthrough. And I'm feeling love for you again. I missed it. A lot.

Friends/Family/My doctor who reads this: I need honest feedback here people. And for fuck's sake yell at me to do stuff! I don't take hints. I do take direct criticism and commands. Show me my flaws, show me what's right. I can take pain, but i can't take pity. Be mad, not sad.

Look everyone, it's the mental health fairy! .......slash cat. Ok. Sure.



I want to go home to Kansas! Wait, no. Kansas is flat, dry, and populated by tornadoes. How about we fix my issues, deliver my beautiful girl into my arms perhaps even permanently by the end of the week, and get me that SSI I've been needing so badly. I can only mooch off my family and friends for so long. And I feel bad doing it.

Riddle me this...

Question: What is the number one trait people look for when sizing up a prospective mate?

Answer: Kindness.



Am I kind? I know at the very core of my being, when you strip away every layer of bastard, I'm nice. I'm a "good person." But what about the rest of it? My behavior and my attitude and how I act the other 75% of the time. After all, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I don't know what the point of being good is when you squander it so often. I know I'm basically good. I don't know if that's true of my species. I don't have the faith it takes to believe something like that. I imagine it would be nice to feel something like that. And while I've been an atheist a long time, it's not like I don't see the appeal of religion. All full of puppy dog tails and star shine. Kidding, no offense my religious friends. I just don't see human nature as good. Does anyone truly believe that? It's fun to dream. So moving right along to tie this in with current events...

Why does Jess stay with me? Absolute freak of nature I swear. Those I try to keep close always leave me, so why hasn't she? Those I am a bastard to somehow always stay right with me. Robin, Steph, I've damaged them both, and still they stay. Steph and I are best friends, but the wench? I don't get her. Why do those I treat well often go and those I do not stay? Is that the test of friendship, of relationships? Then why wont the parts of me I hate remove themselves? I'm running again. Woke up early today and did a few laps around the block. My weight is 190. I can't believe I let it get this bad. I want to carve off the extra flesh with a motorized carving knife. Crash diets wreak hell upon one's body so I can't do it, can't commit to starvation, because I know it's so bad. But I do so badly want to. I was once at 183, at my very, very lowest. I'll settle for dropping to 185. Or at least I'll try to.

Jess is going to make an attempt at dieting. I'm not sure if she has the will for it like I did and do. Eating less, exercising more, etc. It's hard to get started on. Once you're committed you just fall into it, like sinking into a too soft couch cushion.

God, I'm losing it again over 5 lbs and an itty bitty tiny speck of stress? Fucking pathetic. I get even more depressed by how depressed being a little depressed makes me. Life is one huge vicious ouroboros on which we run forever chasing down our head and shoulders as they drop out of sight in the distance like the last bit of sails proving to us unequivocally that the whole of existence is cyclical, and nothing drops away into a magical world at the end. We all just keep running. And on that note...



End of Toonami last night made me a bit sad. Not just for me but for my youngest sister, for her generation. We're raising her well, I know, but the world is not growing into what I want for her, what I want for my own children. Where are the young ones going to go for entertainment, and after that, what about moral guidance? We live in an increasingly secular world, which is a logical progression, but why is moral decay not dropping right along with the march into the future?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ut8kZZwV3Eo

I wanted to write a lot more but I'm suddenly so tired. I'm drifting while I'm watching Eternal Sunshine and I'm gonna lay down now.

A god damn fucking update.

Today bred new life in my room, but no epiphanies. I've rearranged my furniture to suit...whatever it is my subconscious wants, I guess. Does anyone know? None of my doctors seem to. Getting a little government funding is currently on the top of my to-do list, but even that seems like it would be an empty gesture made at the summation of my life. My therapist and my girl have told me more or less the same things: Don't worry about money, you're supposed to be in debt. After all, you're an American student. It would appear the judgment of my ability to qualify for SSI is split about 50/50. About half my friends want me to go for it. At the moment my headshrinkers are split. I don't think Dr. Horwitz realizes how very suicidal I am. Maybe it's because I don't do the "cry for help" attempts like most do. If and when I decide to end my life it won't be refutable. It will be direct and quick. A combination of methods, as I've always known. First I slit one wrist deep. Then I take a bunch of pills. Then the other wrist. Then I jump off of a medium height building. The SCSU student center or library would be preferable.

I promised Jessica that I wouldn't cut, and I've been 99% true to this. When shaving my hands my knuckles opened up, but I didn't slice or anything. I just shaved a bit too hard. Pain has never stopped me from accomplishing a goal before. It hurt, but I needed to shave them, just like the rest of my hands. I guess it still kinda counts, but it wasn't my original intent with the razors. At least I don't think it was.

Still, I want so very much to open up an arm today. My right arm, yes.Right on the bicep muscle. It would allow me to feel something. This week my emotions have been rather understated or even shut off. It's frustrating. Only certain people have gotten anything from me. For the most part I've been humorously getting by but without any inclination as to how or why. Certain people have evoked...things in me, though.

The wench for one. I'm still always looking out for her, and I hate myself for doing it. And I find myself upset with her for allowing it, and then for being around me. Then, here's the kicker, despite all the pain from both of us and the fact that I am no longer a calculating monstrous man, she won't acknowledge that I'm trying to help. It's as insulting as what motivated me to torture her in the first place: the lack of consideration; the acknowledgment of my feelings and my intent.

I know nothing will ever happen, I knew that back when she dumped Kukla. And furthermore, I'm with Jess, and if there's one thing I'm not, it's unfaithful. Whether for good or ill I am loyal to a fault. But now that I've given up on my quest of removing her entirely, an endeavor which ultimately failed when I succumbed to guilt, of all things, I'm left with this: I care deeply like a sibling for her and only want her to be happy.

She should have figured that out when I threatened Dante back at the start of their relationship. Out of chivalry, out of honor, out of responsibility like I would make the same gesture toward either of my own sister's suitors.

But today, like she always has, she ran off and left me to my own devices.

And speaking of girl problems, Stephanie made the rather unsettling accusation today that I've no desire to be cured of either my mental disease or my eating disorder. One of which I am working on, the other which I cannot say. I try to count calories but without Xanax or obsessive exercise to lean on the hunger is harder to ignore with bottled water and sheer will. Do I want to lose weight? Of course I do, I hate myself. No metaphor or hyperbole needed, it's what it is. I hate myself. Always have. I enjoy the time I'm spending here on earth and i try to have fun, but if I back up and look at myself from a Saint Peter perspective I absolutely crave the flame.

I didn't feel anger at Steph for the accusation or guilt toward myself for it being true. I don't really know either way. I did feel distress, anxiety, panic, and I took a Seroquel as soon as I got home.

Jess must be suffering because I'm such a wreck. I know she loves me, and I'm still under the understanding that I love her, according to the last time I was able to even remotely understand my head and what it's trying to say to me. God, I feel dyslexic when I contemplate my own thoughts. If I'm hurting you somehow babe, I'm really sorry. I'm trying my best to not be a bastard anymore. To anyone, but especially not to the people who care about me. And that list just keeps shrinking so I ought to make an effort to at least maintain the status quo.
I don't know what more to say right now, but there'll probably be more soon.

The melancholy of the man whose words you've chose to read

I'm seemingly myself, yet not. It's unsettling. Every day I wait for my appointment to see my therapist stretches on like silly puddy; each moment seemingly malleable in my grasp of reality. I am for the first time in, well, let's be honest, months that only seemed like years, I am depressed as all hell with no reason behind it. If I have to do some extrapolation I'd say I'm a bit sad about my car, but sadder still about the way I handled it, or rather how I neglected to. I have all of these things I'm supposed to do to help me deal with my fear and panic and anxiety and sadness and the omnipresent urge to hurt both others and myself, but I did not think. I did not stop and count to ten. My car broke down on Saturday and it took my mother showing up and giving me a direct order for me to come to the realization that I would not die there on the pavement; that I do have AAA and it's not a difficult thing to get a tow, even if coming up with cash for the repair is. I'm coming to the recognition that dealing with my real exes is not going to get easier with them hanging around my social group or area. And it;s only going to get worse from here. My old squeeze, Sarah, the bipolar witch who said she loved me and then ended it over the phone and didn't even have the decency to return the knife she borrowed so that I could kill myself. Don't give her too much credit. She's just a forgetful bitch. No forethought went into that. It's only getting worse now that she's seeing a friend of mine. I took her from another friend and I now have full appreciation for just how awkward and uncomfortable all of this is, but the friend just slept with her.

He didn't love her.

Then again, I wasn't medicated while I was with her. so who knows what I really felt? I know I loathe her now. I take comfort in the fact that Lindsay, who is fast becoming one of my closer friends, hates both her and her friend I was forced to tolerate months back. So here's a personal note: Sarah and Corrine, stay the fuck away from me. Corrine's now ex, I pity you, and as I helped you move in with her back when, you are welcome in my home and in my company at any time.

It's amazing how strong a bond men who've been burned by similar women can have. Like the bond soldiers feel, I think.

That's why today was terrible. I've realized that I've gotten my distance from Valerie. It took a year, but I'm there. I realized today was her birthday as kind of a nonchalant off the cuff thing to say. I said it to whoever I was with, robin I think, as an aside. It's my ex's birthday. And that's ok. But seeing Sarah hurts. especially seeing her kiss Sebastian. Just a peck on the cheek and I was, I was boiling, to be honest. Tristan was sitting across the table from me and gave me a concerned look. apparently I was twitching. My lips curl into snarls sometimes.

Tashi came up to compliment my new hair color today. I'm still angry at her, I think. I brushed her off.

Amanda and I ended up sharing an elevator the other day. Not just any elevator; Our elevator. The elevator we had our first secret kiss in. I think she's still with her fiance'. I heard from a friend that she hates me now. I guess I would too.

I've seen Heather around. I feel nothing for her. I don't think I ever did. We share occasional uncomfortable hugs, and she waves at me warmly.

Jess was with me when I had my car breakdown. Get it? It's a double entendre! Awesome. So my car is in the shop and I myself am...patched up. I just can't deal with things. I had a bit of a relapse. When I got home I calmly and methodically sliced open my skin with my card-knives. They're sharper than I thought. It didn't take much effort. These will be a few small nice scars, to match my left leg. Jess said if I ever do it again she'll leave me. I can't say I blame her, and I hope my desire to be with her outweighs my desire to hurt myself. It's tough to not even play with blood so close to a relapse. I want to taste it, to paint with it, but all I can do is lick my wounds.

My family doesn't know about these ones. Nor will they, if I can help it for a while at least.

So everywhere I walk now I've been praying for a car to sideswipe me. As I was driven home today I closed my eyes and leaned back in the seat and just prayed silently for a fatal accident. Or even just a bad accident. Hurt me. Maim me. Cripple me. A coma would be a blessing.

This added stress that I don't know how to deal with makes me concerned about finding work, as if it wasn't hard enough to find already. I can't find a job, and when I do, they make me suicidal. Stephanie wants me to look into SSDI for mental disease or disorder and I do qualify. I guess I just thought I wasn't that bad before. But I think if I had a job with all this I would lose everything. I'd cut, I'd lose Jess, I'd lose money, go in to more debt, and just take the easy way out like people have been doing since time began. I guess that would leave Steph alone though, so I can't until I know she's ok. Jess is tough enough to go on without me. Steph...I'm not so sure.

My depression is manifesting itself in physical symptoms a bit. I'm getting nausea and constant vertigo. And I'm cold. I hope my shrink gives me more meds. I hope my therapist thinks I can get on SSDI. Not having to worry about money so much would be a load off my shoulders.

I don't know how to explain really so I'm going to just type out a few words, like poetry, to try and explain a bit. Few if any who do read this will understand anyway.

Bleak and terrified and chilly.

My hands tremble while I type.

My head hurts and my world spins.

I'm waking up alone again, more alone than I was yesterday, but not in a physical sense.

I'm doubled over in bed.

Revoltin' Developments

OK, so nothing actually revolting has occurred. in fact it is quite the opposite. I just can't resist using that as a title. My life seems to be fairly on track. I made that grand romantic gesture to get quasi-girlfriend back and while it did succeed and I was supposed to be calling her and talking to her, I realized that she is myself reflected in black tinted glass. I was seeing through a glass, darkly, what my own life could become. My very own satanic muse. And although she says she tries to be a good person, I believe she doesn't. She tries to live by societal rules to keep up her appearance. It felt just like old times. I was my bleak self again. The very night I was supposed to last call her was the night Jess spoke to me.

If Quasi-girl is my dark muse, Jess is my bright muse. And they are as different as night and day.

How does one man find 2 gold medals like this?

However, if I was to go back and try again with quasi-girl I would be absolutely dead to the world. When I'm with her I can only write on the most tragic things, the most violent things, and I feel apathy for all and empathy for none. If ever I was most likely to take a life, it was with her, relishing the bloodshed together. And I don't dispute that she made an impact on me as a person and on my development as an artist. It just wasn't good. Ethically, morally, in the ways that matter at the end of the day.

With Jess it's exactly the opposite. We both suffer fools, bemoan the side effects of our fellow humans and the seeming teeming pot of subhumans.

But I'm not wrong anymore. I'm not violent unless I am righteous. I'm not evil unless fighting off something worse. I'm not bleak unless affronted with real bleakness in life.

And most unlike everything else, I can work. I got 2 pages done just today.

I finally have a counterpart.

No new scars to report, no new meds, no new drama attacking my life, and no, I'm not going to end this entry with a zing, with some kind of clever punchline.

This is no joke.

This is me, bereft of mourning, abounding with blithe.