I gotta write through this.
I have to. Or else I am going to sit here listening to Adele songs, and crying till I have a seizure. Or an asthma attack like yesterday.
It's very hard to be a bad guy. It is very hard to do the necessary thing. I have been sitting up every night from, about midnight to four, sobbing uncontrollably. Ugly crying.
Right doesn't mean easy. Right, in this case, is maybe the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I keep trying to convince myself that I did the wrong thing and I should take it back. I did the right thing. And it is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. And I am turning myself inside out. Only in the deep privacy of late night. I can't find anywhere else to cry. I never thought I would be crying. alone. in my room. The truth does a lot of things. But it definitely doesn't set you free, not right away anyway.
I thought I recently went through the hardest thing. That was but a mere dress rehearsal.
I keep telling myself that this is part of the process, and it's healthy. I made this decision. I am going to own it. I do own it. I need to feel every bit of the pain. This is not fine. This is fine.
I think I need to talk to somebody. But I don't have the words. I don't even have the right person to talk to anymore.
These fucking lyrics. I can't. I'm so stupid right now, I am just listening to this song and crying. So I came here to break the cycle, and I am still crying.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 3, 2015
I am still too exhausted to compose right now. Today was to be a rest-day, the first one in a very long time, but once again Luiz hears "rest day" and becomes a stage-five clinger. And, if following me around the house and interrupting my every thought with banal conversation isn't bad enough, he goes and brings up a very very very sore issue.
I was sitting out in the sun, with a book and a cup of coffee. He sat down next to me, and started a fight. Like, it couldn't be clearer. "What's the worst thing I could talk about right now? What sore spot, that I can bring up out of the blue will do the most damage? AHA that's it." And I stupidly went along, thinking at first he could be mature enough to have a discussion. But I should know, any time he does this, it's simply because he thinks he's got more to say on it, no matter how I feel. And if he has more to say, then he's not happy about the resolution. He brought up the weed fairy painting, because he wants to put it up on his site, and he was testing the waters. He wasn't casually starting a discussion.
When he sat down, I said "today is my 'leave-me-alone' day. I don't want to talk. I want to relax". I don't know why I trusted him to even sit. My first mistake was staying out there, but I made such a nice spot for myself. I made such a comfortable little space, I had my feet up, a nice cup of coffee, a book that I have been meaning to read for months, and no plans for the day. Now, I'm sad, shaking, angry, and this day is entirely shot. I am not relaxing. I have two hours before Irv comes home, and the next two hours, I will be trying to calm the fuck down, and seething. Then I have to cook dinner, and take care of the house and Irv.
I had four fucking hours today. That's all I asked for.
Damage. Done.
So, I came back inside. Vented here. Tackled a bunch of house and work emails. Maybe I'll get lucky tomorrow. Maybe since I did all the shit right now that I put time aside for tomorrow, maybe tomorrow I'll get my four hours.
I doubt it.
Aug 1, 2015
I have been remiss with my daily updates. I have a lot to talk about, though, but sometimes I get so busy living life I forget to write.
First, here's today's selfie. It's what I have to work with, dahling. Looks like it's time to dye my roots. Also, too hot for makeup today, so it's literally lipstick and mascara. But, I am channeling my inner diva, with my Latrice Royale shirt. Gurl's wearing enough makeup for both of us. I try to take selfies of basic random daily looks, because this is the face I put into the world. It's not my "game face" It's just. Me.
First, here's today's selfie. It's what I have to work with, dahling. Looks like it's time to dye my roots. Also, too hot for makeup today, so it's literally lipstick and mascara. But, I am channeling my inner diva, with my Latrice Royale shirt. Gurl's wearing enough makeup for both of us. I try to take selfies of basic random daily looks, because this is the face I put into the world. It's not my "game face" It's just. Me.
I am off to work, and then to Leah and Chris's house tonight for board games, and nerdyfun. I will take time to try to encapsulate what this past week was all about later. It was actually fucking wonderful. I did so many tarot readings, engaged with so many people, it's hard not to be in THE BEST MOOD EVER. But there was some hard shit this week too. It's been weird. Still feeling good.
Jul 29, 2015
I love events. Today is the big day. Yesterday Luiz and I fought all day, but we had a fruitful talk, last night. I went out for awhile, and during that time, he pulled cards and it helped him gain perspective, and he was ready to not fight. Thank goodness. I still didn't get to sleep till 4 am, but, at least I didn't have to get up early.
So, Susan called last night, and offered to come with me. My client is also friendly with her, and invited her to this book launch. It's right in Susan's neighborhood in Brookside, she was like "We'll ride together! You won't need that Google thing!" I love Sue. Sweeping in like a wine-drunk superhero. Driving to Queens was giving me fits. FITS. Now, I have SueBe! A hilarious, witty, funny friend, and driving partner. This is one of those events that's shaping up to be more and more fun. One of those days where I feel like "holy shit, I'm getting paid for this, I am living the dream." I am getting paid a lot for this. Like triple my going rate. There's something nutty about getting "tipped" 75%
I slept right in, ate some Taco Bell for breakfast, had some quality time with Luiz, we watched a show and cuddled and had sexytimes, and I am just easing into the day nicely. I am looping Whitney Houston on full blast, and singing all the frogs out of my throat. After I finish here, I am going to take a huge long, cool spa-bath, where I bust out all the expensive shit and really take care of myself. The only thing that's making me grumpy now is the fact that is, as ever, 90 degrees F in here, with a soupy 65% humidity. You could take little bites out of the air, it's so thick. I might have to take my makeup bag in the car, to beat the mug. You cannot powder over sweat. Worst case scenario, I have good skin, and a nice tan. For non event stuff, I'm getting away with bold lips, and mascara. It's nice to be 37, and still have the skin of a twenty year old. Well, I still get zits, so...maybe not always so nice.
I feel good. I have my shit together. I haven't decided what to wear yet, I was going to wear the green dress, but my table stuff is all emerald green, I don't want to be a wall of green. That's the only piece of the puzzle that hasn't slipped in yet. I am making money today, and I love money. I am making connections with new people today, and I love new people. Like my therapist says of herself, "I am an introvert, but I love engaging. I love going to parties, and meeting new people...as long as it's on my terms." Yaass mawma.
So, Susan called last night, and offered to come with me. My client is also friendly with her, and invited her to this book launch. It's right in Susan's neighborhood in Brookside, she was like "We'll ride together! You won't need that Google thing!" I love Sue. Sweeping in like a wine-drunk superhero. Driving to Queens was giving me fits. FITS. Now, I have SueBe! A hilarious, witty, funny friend, and driving partner. This is one of those events that's shaping up to be more and more fun. One of those days where I feel like "holy shit, I'm getting paid for this, I am living the dream." I am getting paid a lot for this. Like triple my going rate. There's something nutty about getting "tipped" 75%
I slept right in, ate some Taco Bell for breakfast, had some quality time with Luiz, we watched a show and cuddled and had sexytimes, and I am just easing into the day nicely. I am looping Whitney Houston on full blast, and singing all the frogs out of my throat. After I finish here, I am going to take a huge long, cool spa-bath, where I bust out all the expensive shit and really take care of myself. The only thing that's making me grumpy now is the fact that is, as ever, 90 degrees F in here, with a soupy 65% humidity. You could take little bites out of the air, it's so thick. I might have to take my makeup bag in the car, to beat the mug. You cannot powder over sweat. Worst case scenario, I have good skin, and a nice tan. For non event stuff, I'm getting away with bold lips, and mascara. It's nice to be 37, and still have the skin of a twenty year old. Well, I still get zits, so...maybe not always so nice.
I feel good. I have my shit together. I haven't decided what to wear yet, I was going to wear the green dress, but my table stuff is all emerald green, I don't want to be a wall of green. That's the only piece of the puzzle that hasn't slipped in yet. I am making money today, and I love money. I am making connections with new people today, and I love new people. Like my therapist says of herself, "I am an introvert, but I love engaging. I love going to parties, and meeting new people...as long as it's on my terms." Yaass mawma.
Jul 28, 2015
Holee fuck, it really is never a day without bullshit. It's like...I say I need a peaceful day to handle some shit, like the lawyer stuff, the phone call that I waited for that never came, and preparing for tomorrow. Nevermind why I need quiet, just...that I need it.
Three. Separate. Times. Luiz came into my space, and started shit with me. The actual reasons so petty, I'm not even going to get into it. But they're all different and subtle, and fucking annoying.
It's like...I say I need a little tranquility, and I sort of moved shit around in my life so I can have a nice day, and there's a smell in the area that attracts him. Like blood on calm water or something. And the most infuriating thing is instead of leaving me in peace on days like today, he will come in and start conversations, all motherfiucking day. Being annoying, saying annoying shit, bothering me over and over again with stuff that interests him and him alone....and then HYPER SERIOUSLY OVERREACT when I answer in kind. He pops in here about twice an hour with some annoying shit. I pause what I'm doing, writing, reading, going about placing a phone call, gaming, listening to a book, watching a show, neverfuckingmind, I pause it, every half hour to hear whatever he has on his mind. I respond in a salty manner maybe once all day, and that escalates it into a huge blowout.
He succeeded the last time, because the answer is, if he doesn't remember something and I do, the obvious answer is that I am lying. If it's not in his memory, I fabricated it. He said that to me point blank. That's just, the answer. But, he won't let that answer die, because it doesn't make his ego feel good, so he will manipulate and harass and demand apology for me...because we remember the event differently. I am ready to let it die at "ok, we remember things differently." Like I give a fuck. But he won't let it die till I am full blown admitting that I'm deliberately lying, he was prepared to chase me from room to room, yelling at me because I'm lying, and Irv had to shout at him. By the way, this was about a game. That's stock fight thing number one. It's getting super predictable.
Stock fight starter number two, which happened earlier this morning. I say a thing, in a neutral tone. He raises his voice into this self righteous boom (think: "how DARE you?!!")...that's when it starts. I am under no circumstances allowed to have sass, salt, or any sort of assertiveness when I speak to him, or I will get HOLLERED AT, accused, towered over, and generally berated. He's so fucking dense, that sometimes I am getting mad on his behalf, right? Like I'll say something like "fuck those guys! They don't get you!" and he turns that fucking booming voice on me, and then I not only have to take all this time talking through his self righteous ego armor, like "no, I meant...no I'm not being salty with you, no...I meant fuck *them*" . So, if he gets offended, no matter if I'm saying something good, bad, or neutral, if it triggers his very sensitive ego reaction, I am in for an afternoon of aggression.
His third stock fight is just straight up not doing something he needs to do around the house, till it becomes a hazard (see, 3.5 days of dishes left to rot in the sink in high summer...) and when someone brings it to his attention, he lashes out like an angsty teenager. That one is getting super tired, and even Irv who never gets involved will tell him to stfu. But, it still happens from time to time.
And of course, today is the day his 'friend' decides to pop by unannounced and walks in the house without knocking. I'm not saying they're correlated, but...I'm just gonna note that here.
Irv got home a while ago and asked if I wanted to go do a few errands with him, and I said no, that I'm still waiting on the phone call, and that I would like a restful day. I am living in a fucking fantasy world if I thought staying at home with Luiz in that weird aggressive "fuck with Lisa" mood he gets into would be any more restful than getting carted around to various stores.Getting smashed repeatedly in the face with a heavy book would be less anxiety inducing.
Three. Separate. Times. Luiz came into my space, and started shit with me. The actual reasons so petty, I'm not even going to get into it. But they're all different and subtle, and fucking annoying.
It's like...I say I need a little tranquility, and I sort of moved shit around in my life so I can have a nice day, and there's a smell in the area that attracts him. Like blood on calm water or something. And the most infuriating thing is instead of leaving me in peace on days like today, he will come in and start conversations, all motherfiucking day. Being annoying, saying annoying shit, bothering me over and over again with stuff that interests him and him alone....and then HYPER SERIOUSLY OVERREACT when I answer in kind. He pops in here about twice an hour with some annoying shit. I pause what I'm doing, writing, reading, going about placing a phone call, gaming, listening to a book, watching a show, neverfuckingmind, I pause it, every half hour to hear whatever he has on his mind. I respond in a salty manner maybe once all day, and that escalates it into a huge blowout.
He succeeded the last time, because the answer is, if he doesn't remember something and I do, the obvious answer is that I am lying. If it's not in his memory, I fabricated it. He said that to me point blank. That's just, the answer. But, he won't let that answer die, because it doesn't make his ego feel good, so he will manipulate and harass and demand apology for me...because we remember the event differently. I am ready to let it die at "ok, we remember things differently." Like I give a fuck. But he won't let it die till I am full blown admitting that I'm deliberately lying, he was prepared to chase me from room to room, yelling at me because I'm lying, and Irv had to shout at him. By the way, this was about a game. That's stock fight thing number one. It's getting super predictable.
Stock fight starter number two, which happened earlier this morning. I say a thing, in a neutral tone. He raises his voice into this self righteous boom (think: "how DARE you?!!")...that's when it starts. I am under no circumstances allowed to have sass, salt, or any sort of assertiveness when I speak to him, or I will get HOLLERED AT, accused, towered over, and generally berated. He's so fucking dense, that sometimes I am getting mad on his behalf, right? Like I'll say something like "fuck those guys! They don't get you!" and he turns that fucking booming voice on me, and then I not only have to take all this time talking through his self righteous ego armor, like "no, I meant...no I'm not being salty with you, no...I meant fuck *them*" . So, if he gets offended, no matter if I'm saying something good, bad, or neutral, if it triggers his very sensitive ego reaction, I am in for an afternoon of aggression.
His third stock fight is just straight up not doing something he needs to do around the house, till it becomes a hazard (see, 3.5 days of dishes left to rot in the sink in high summer...) and when someone brings it to his attention, he lashes out like an angsty teenager. That one is getting super tired, and even Irv who never gets involved will tell him to stfu. But, it still happens from time to time.
And of course, today is the day his 'friend' decides to pop by unannounced and walks in the house without knocking. I'm not saying they're correlated, but...I'm just gonna note that here.
Irv got home a while ago and asked if I wanted to go do a few errands with him, and I said no, that I'm still waiting on the phone call, and that I would like a restful day. I am living in a fucking fantasy world if I thought staying at home with Luiz in that weird aggressive "fuck with Lisa" mood he gets into would be any more restful than getting carted around to various stores.Getting smashed repeatedly in the face with a heavy book would be less anxiety inducing.
Yesterday was on the busier end of the spectrum for me.
I had my first reading at 9 am, then just ongoing stuff till I got home after 10 pm. I had four timed appointments, and errands to run in between each thing. This is the kind of day the planner was made for.
I got to therapy on time at noon, wrapped that up at 1, went across town to Count Basie to pick up tickets for a show. Then I stopped at the Asian market on 35 on the way back, for some veggies and lunch. There was nothing really there to ready to eat, though, so no fun Asian lunch. Sad, because the place that used to be in the same store had a great bakery and hot food counter. I could go in there and eat a good meal for like three bucks.
I had to pick up Luiz and get him to our accountant's office by 2:00, so I skated in the door at 1:45, which is when he informed me that we needed to go find an ATM...but we got there. Then I went to my nail appointment at 2:30, which was nice, and necessary. I figured fuck it, I got the full treatment, nails, pedi, brows. Got out of there close to 5. We hit Wawa again because Luiz was hungry, and I picked up dinner for Irv too.
Then I had another tarot appointment capping off the day. It rained later in the day yesterday, so the dudes didn't have work, which meant Irv came to the shop with me. We got there at 5:30 appointment but long story short, she wound up showing up at 7. I expect this. I am flaky, and I have flaky clients with busy and anxious lives. We're friendly, so we chatted for awhile, and her reading wrapped up at 9:30. Irv hung around town, reading his Kindle on park benches. I thought for sure he would mosey on over to the Pig Out for a beer, but he was feeling low key, I guess. Anyway, closed up shop, and was home by 10:30.
The only thing I really needed to do yesterday that I didn't get to was go grocery shopping. We're getting perilously low on the staples, and I was annoyed that I couldn't squeeze it in post nails, pre tarot.
All that, just to make today easy and bullshit free. Which is a fantasy, of course. There's not one day in my life that doesn't come with bullshit. This morning, I already fielded three work related emails, Luiz started his usual shit, trying to egg me into a fight, and I'm sitting here very anxiously awaiting a phone call. Irv handed me a heap of checks to take to the bank. I should honestly be cleaning, but to really clean, I need to powersmoke a bowl, crank loud music, and just get down to it. That's not a mindset to field a potentially very important phone call. The bathroom is gross, and it can keep being gross until I get the time to clean it, or someone else deigns to do such a lowly and filthy job. Also, it's 92 degrees in the house right now. Fuck. That.
During all that running around yesterday, Emily called from DSW, our contractors, and wanted to talk in depth about our work scope. Which is good, because the one she showed me was pure crap, completely inaccurate. She hit me as I was running around, and I asked her to call back today when she had a chance, so we could go over it in depth. I'm waiting on that call now. I hope hope hope it's better than the one she showed me... I hope hope she calls me...Every time they say "we'll call" and they don't, I play harder and harder hard ball. If she doesn't call within the next 4 hours, my plan B is calling a law group that I've been in contact with.
Today I also need to go into the shop and get my shit together for tomorrow night. I needed a day of peace today, to mentally and physically prepare for it. It's not the party that's causing mild anxiety, it's the drive to Bronxville which, in traffic could be a 5 hour ride. Long drives to unfamiliar neighborhoods in other states for events causes me mild panic. I have to run in today, to get my tarot on the road kit, which is decks, stones, my business cards and info sheets, my sign up sheets, decor. I'm so not ready. Not only is my bag not packed, said bag still has beach stuff in it.
I hoped to have a day to recuperate, Thursday, but already on the schedule is getting my license renewed, grocery-fucking-shopping, Luiz wants to make a date out of it. Then we have to hit Costco. Then I have a full work day Friday, and Saturday, and a party to go to Saturday night. Maybe I'll relax Sunday.
I always say "my schedule is flexible" but, that's because I plan in such a way that allows it to be. It doesn't mean I'm not doing anything.
I had my first reading at 9 am, then just ongoing stuff till I got home after 10 pm. I had four timed appointments, and errands to run in between each thing. This is the kind of day the planner was made for.
I got to therapy on time at noon, wrapped that up at 1, went across town to Count Basie to pick up tickets for a show. Then I stopped at the Asian market on 35 on the way back, for some veggies and lunch. There was nothing really there to ready to eat, though, so no fun Asian lunch. Sad, because the place that used to be in the same store had a great bakery and hot food counter. I could go in there and eat a good meal for like three bucks.
I had to pick up Luiz and get him to our accountant's office by 2:00, so I skated in the door at 1:45, which is when he informed me that we needed to go find an ATM...but we got there. Then I went to my nail appointment at 2:30, which was nice, and necessary. I figured fuck it, I got the full treatment, nails, pedi, brows. Got out of there close to 5. We hit Wawa again because Luiz was hungry, and I picked up dinner for Irv too.
Then I had another tarot appointment capping off the day. It rained later in the day yesterday, so the dudes didn't have work, which meant Irv came to the shop with me. We got there at 5:30 appointment but long story short, she wound up showing up at 7. I expect this. I am flaky, and I have flaky clients with busy and anxious lives. We're friendly, so we chatted for awhile, and her reading wrapped up at 9:30. Irv hung around town, reading his Kindle on park benches. I thought for sure he would mosey on over to the Pig Out for a beer, but he was feeling low key, I guess. Anyway, closed up shop, and was home by 10:30.
The only thing I really needed to do yesterday that I didn't get to was go grocery shopping. We're getting perilously low on the staples, and I was annoyed that I couldn't squeeze it in post nails, pre tarot.
All that, just to make today easy and bullshit free. Which is a fantasy, of course. There's not one day in my life that doesn't come with bullshit. This morning, I already fielded three work related emails, Luiz started his usual shit, trying to egg me into a fight, and I'm sitting here very anxiously awaiting a phone call. Irv handed me a heap of checks to take to the bank. I should honestly be cleaning, but to really clean, I need to powersmoke a bowl, crank loud music, and just get down to it. That's not a mindset to field a potentially very important phone call. The bathroom is gross, and it can keep being gross until I get the time to clean it, or someone else deigns to do such a lowly and filthy job. Also, it's 92 degrees in the house right now. Fuck. That.
During all that running around yesterday, Emily called from DSW, our contractors, and wanted to talk in depth about our work scope. Which is good, because the one she showed me was pure crap, completely inaccurate. She hit me as I was running around, and I asked her to call back today when she had a chance, so we could go over it in depth. I'm waiting on that call now. I hope hope hope it's better than the one she showed me... I hope hope she calls me...Every time they say "we'll call" and they don't, I play harder and harder hard ball. If she doesn't call within the next 4 hours, my plan B is calling a law group that I've been in contact with.
Today I also need to go into the shop and get my shit together for tomorrow night. I needed a day of peace today, to mentally and physically prepare for it. It's not the party that's causing mild anxiety, it's the drive to Bronxville which, in traffic could be a 5 hour ride. Long drives to unfamiliar neighborhoods in other states for events causes me mild panic. I have to run in today, to get my tarot on the road kit, which is decks, stones, my business cards and info sheets, my sign up sheets, decor. I'm so not ready. Not only is my bag not packed, said bag still has beach stuff in it.
I hoped to have a day to recuperate, Thursday, but already on the schedule is getting my license renewed, grocery-fucking-shopping, Luiz wants to make a date out of it. Then we have to hit Costco. Then I have a full work day Friday, and Saturday, and a party to go to Saturday night. Maybe I'll relax Sunday.
I always say "my schedule is flexible" but, that's because I plan in such a way that allows it to be. It doesn't mean I'm not doing anything.
Jul 27, 2015
Fucks sake. The struggle was real yesterday. I didn't feel right till like after 8 pm, and even then I took it easy and called it a night around 11. No more drinking, Lisa, ok? Drink because you like the taste. Don't drink to get drunk.
I kinda hate days like today, where everything's staggered. Had a reading a half hour ago, then I have therapy at noon, so there's a 2.5 hour window. Then after that, I have something coming up at 2, which could take an hour...it could take four hours. Then I have another reading at 6:30 tonight....which could take an hour, could take three. I wish could somehow condense the whole thing for efficiency, or just do my Red Bank stuff today, and then the Keyport stuff tomorrow.
In between all that, I need to go grocery shopping, hit the box office at Count Basie, Costco, and I need to get my nails done for Wednesday. Also eat. I have to remember to eat. Plus, this fucking house. Saturday I didn't clean. Yesterday I could barely blink and breathe. The house is falling the fuck apart right now. The bathroom is becoming uncomfortably dirty, even though I wipe down all the surfaces every day. There's just crap building up, and the to-do list spools ever longer.
And because Wednesday is such a thing I feel like I'll need a peaceful day tomorrow, to get my shit together literally and figuratively. I'm reading for a book signing. I don't feel anxiety for myself, but I do feel a little bit of anxiety for my client, who's book is getting launched.
I need a spa day. I need to sit in a sauna with a shitty fantasy novel and just sweat for a half hour. I need a hot tub. I need a cold plunge in a pool. Last night I was looking at Groupon for good spa deals. I miss the spa at Revel. I'd probably go there Thursday morning as a day-cation. Reality: Spritzing myself with the hose, while watering the garden, then sitting out in the backyard for a few hours.
I kinda hate days like today, where everything's staggered. Had a reading a half hour ago, then I have therapy at noon, so there's a 2.5 hour window. Then after that, I have something coming up at 2, which could take an hour...it could take four hours. Then I have another reading at 6:30 tonight....which could take an hour, could take three. I wish could somehow condense the whole thing for efficiency, or just do my Red Bank stuff today, and then the Keyport stuff tomorrow.
In between all that, I need to go grocery shopping, hit the box office at Count Basie, Costco, and I need to get my nails done for Wednesday. Also eat. I have to remember to eat. Plus, this fucking house. Saturday I didn't clean. Yesterday I could barely blink and breathe. The house is falling the fuck apart right now. The bathroom is becoming uncomfortably dirty, even though I wipe down all the surfaces every day. There's just crap building up, and the to-do list spools ever longer.
And because Wednesday is such a thing I feel like I'll need a peaceful day tomorrow, to get my shit together literally and figuratively. I'm reading for a book signing. I don't feel anxiety for myself, but I do feel a little bit of anxiety for my client, who's book is getting launched.
I need a spa day. I need to sit in a sauna with a shitty fantasy novel and just sweat for a half hour. I need a hot tub. I need a cold plunge in a pool. Last night I was looking at Groupon for good spa deals. I miss the spa at Revel. I'd probably go there Thursday morning as a day-cation. Reality: Spritzing myself with the hose, while watering the garden, then sitting out in the backyard for a few hours.
Jul 26, 2015
I have been itching to write all weekend. It's been fun, and there's lots to talk about, but it's Sunday and I think I am hungover. Not entirely sure. Either way, I am powering through this. But let it be known that I feel like I am going to puke, my stomach won't stop lurching. I have a very pervasive headache that's making it hard to focus on words, typing, writing. Not sure if I drank too much, or just had a rough night sleeping.
I had an appointment with a customer, that she postponed till Monday. That's the only work I had lined up for Saturday, so when she messaged me, I was just pulling into town. I drove right past the shop and parked down at the beach for a while. If I were prepared, I would have gone right into the water.
I had an appointment with a customer, that she postponed till Monday. That's the only work I had lined up for Saturday, so when she messaged me, I was just pulling into town. I drove right past the shop and parked down at the beach for a while. If I were prepared, I would have gone right into the water.
That's literally off a parking lot, in the Atlantic Highlands. So pretty.
So, I went driving around some, yesterday, and felt domestic. I went home, and started preparing drumsticks and stuff for dinner. I figured if Saturday was a wash, I would at least treat us to a nice meal. Irv got home a few minutes later, and we went out to Samahas for veggies. So dinner was corn, chicken, and baked beans at like 10 pm, out in the yard.
We stayed up late and watched Paris Is Burning on my laptop. Luiz had never seen it, and was moved to tears. I cry every time I watch it. We drank too, I was drinking Jim Beam over ice with lemon, and I don't know if I drank too much? I haven't really had hard booze in awhile, and it didn't feel like too much. I didn't feel wasted, but I certainly woke up in a sorry ass state. I don't know, but it's turned me off to drinking further. I do like a beer or a cocktail, now and then, I like drinking culture, but I cannot do hard drinking like I used to.
I have more stuff to talk about, but I'm already struggling at this. Friday night we went to the County Fair, spontaneously. Today is Sunday, and sort of a wash. I have more pictures to share.
Jul 24, 2015
So today is a shop day. As in, I am normally obligated to go into the shop and sit there from one to at least six, but usually on a Friday it winds up close to 8-9 pm. In June, somehow it was decided that I can't use the back air conditioner anymore, because it draws too much electric. So, to make a long story short, it's hot, stuffy, and it fucking stinks. The cat shits all over the floor downstairs below my shop-space, and without AC...ugh. And no, I don't clean up after the cat anymore.
Lately, I just go in 20 minutes before an appointment, to set up. Today is no different. Lauri is coming in at 4:30, I'm going to leave here around 3:30.
I woke up feeling good, rested, and ready for the weekend. Most people greet weekends with glee, as a restful couple of days, I have the opposite. Tomorrow and Sunday are typically shop days too. Most of my procrastination issues center around going into work, and not the actual work part, but the dread of just being in the shop, and dealing with the most toxic person I know, Meredith. I'm going to bring this up with Nancy on Monday. If I didn't have an 'appointment' with a friend, I wouldn't even go. I even have to frame it as an appointment, when really this woman is a neighbor, and will mosey on down some Friday nights, just to hang out. She brings a bottle of wine, we smoke weed, I do some funtime readings, and I don't charge her. Her husband tips me in Sour Diesel, and generally they'll bring me treats, food, but their company is enough. If I'm not driving, then they'll bring me booze, too. My favorite kind of customers. If it didn't attract the wrong element, I'd put on my sign "will work for weed, food, and booze.". But the point is, I have to write it in the planner or else I'll find myself canceling, which is stupid, because they're good friends, not customers, and I look forward to seeing them whenever I can.
Today it's about 80 in here, but with all the fans going it's super comfortable. Still a little moist for a full face, so it's a lipstick and mascara day...only red lipstick today. I take a selfie or two every day, because I'm trying to get used to seeing myself in pictures. I have no problem wiggling into a bathing suit and taking it on the road, but I do struggle with photos, and my image online. So, here's to conquering that. This is what I have to work with today. I'm changing into one of my bazillion black sundresses when I go out. On a scale of 1-10. I give about 3 fucks today.
Today it's about 80 in here, but with all the fans going it's super comfortable. Still a little moist for a full face, so it's a lipstick and mascara day...only red lipstick today. I take a selfie or two every day, because I'm trying to get used to seeing myself in pictures. I have no problem wiggling into a bathing suit and taking it on the road, but I do struggle with photos, and my image online. So, here's to conquering that. This is what I have to work with today. I'm changing into one of my bazillion black sundresses when I go out. On a scale of 1-10. I give about 3 fucks today.
I have long wanted to keep a personal, online photo journal, to go along with my mundane daily musings. I love looking back through my pictures on Instagram or just through my phone. Not momentous occasions, but like daily stuff. I hate this living situation, I hate this house, but there's good here too. We have moments of beauty. He was so cute, sleeping with Jinx this morning, for example, that I couldn't resist. I love the colors, and the way the sheets looked. I love the peace here.
Jul 23, 2015
Yesterday, I had tons of energy, and put it to good use. Last night as I was going over my to-do lists, I scratched many things off, and felt a BEAMING sense of accomplishment, one that will stay with me for a long time. I made a fresh to-do list last night, for today. Pretty much b-grade stuff that is neither pressing nor time sensitive. Stuff like "get the dog hair out of all the fans in the house". I was all energetic to go to the grocery store...but really we just need milk. I stayed in bed till Luiz got home from IFF, and usually when he gets home and finds me laying down or half dressed, he will meet me on that level, and get naked...and then of course, the to-do list is wholly fucked, and we just spend the morning/early afternoon in bed. We needed this today, and I could frame it as abject laziness, but the truth is, we haven't had a day to just be together in about two weeks. The reality is, we needed intimacy, we needed naked time, we needed time to talk and process the past few weeks, and just have no other distractions but each other. The sex is always...always amazing.
I have complained at length about Luiz in these pages, but days like today remind me that he's 150% worth every tear. There is literally no one in this whole universe that makes me feel more loved, no one makes me feel sexier. And not just with words. Sure, he tells me how beautiful I am, how hot, how much he wants me. But...the way he looks at me...that's where it is. I feel it. I can hear things a thousand times, but it's all platitudes. It's nice. But ultimately, anyone can say anything, and not mean it. But he looks at me in such a way, like he's in awe of me. He will drink every bit of me in. He will look at every part of me from my fucked up hair, to my big fat belly, to my long muscular legs...and visually appreciate every single part of me, even when I, myself, feel hideous. He will look at me like he's starving, and I am the last morsel of food in the world, and he's just gonna swallow me whole. It's a little predatory, when he's turned on, when the energy is right. I've never had anyone look at me quite like that, not Irv, no one. It's a little scary, for me, because I have never been ok with being looked at. But when he looks at me with such love, adoration, tenderness... then with such hunger... And then he ACTS on it. He gets to work worshiping every single part of me, in his own way. He doesn't shy away from any part of me. And I respond in kind, giving up every square inch of me. Nothing is sacred, because everything is. He manages to elevate a quick Thursday morning bang...into CHURCH.
Well. I'll say this. Everyone should be looked at like that at least once in their life. It's fucking hot.
I used to feel guilty about spending the morning in bed with him. Like in doing that, I was shirking other nebulous duties. Responsible people don't loaf around in bed till noon! Good girls don't do that. Shut the fuck up, Mom. I am 100% fine with my schedule.
I talk a lot about my self image issues, and those I have a lot of. I didn't start this blog out with this in mind, but a lot of the stuff we talked about after marathon amazing sex, was just that. I told him how he makes me feel, like I AM gorgeous, I am amazing. He's didn't get it. Because to him I just am those things. He said, "I'm not making you feel anything. You are those things, and I just respond to it." Honestly, just typing it out makes me teary-eyed.
It's hard not to juxtapose his genuine feelings towards me, to another situation that's recently folded in my life. Years of being told "I love you, I care about you" and nothing but skittish averted eyes, or dead forward facing gaze. It's easy to internalize, as though I am so unappealing to even look at or touch. Lucky for me, those feelings were also easy super easy to get over. Hot greasy buttsex helps.
I have complained at length about Luiz in these pages, but days like today remind me that he's 150% worth every tear. There is literally no one in this whole universe that makes me feel more loved, no one makes me feel sexier. And not just with words. Sure, he tells me how beautiful I am, how hot, how much he wants me. But...the way he looks at me...that's where it is. I feel it. I can hear things a thousand times, but it's all platitudes. It's nice. But ultimately, anyone can say anything, and not mean it. But he looks at me in such a way, like he's in awe of me. He will drink every bit of me in. He will look at every part of me from my fucked up hair, to my big fat belly, to my long muscular legs...and visually appreciate every single part of me, even when I, myself, feel hideous. He will look at me like he's starving, and I am the last morsel of food in the world, and he's just gonna swallow me whole. It's a little predatory, when he's turned on, when the energy is right. I've never had anyone look at me quite like that, not Irv, no one. It's a little scary, for me, because I have never been ok with being looked at. But when he looks at me with such love, adoration, tenderness... then with such hunger... And then he ACTS on it. He gets to work worshiping every single part of me, in his own way. He doesn't shy away from any part of me. And I respond in kind, giving up every square inch of me. Nothing is sacred, because everything is. He manages to elevate a quick Thursday morning bang...into CHURCH.
Well. I'll say this. Everyone should be looked at like that at least once in their life. It's fucking hot.
I used to feel guilty about spending the morning in bed with him. Like in doing that, I was shirking other nebulous duties. Responsible people don't loaf around in bed till noon! Good girls don't do that. Shut the fuck up, Mom. I am 100% fine with my schedule.
I talk a lot about my self image issues, and those I have a lot of. I didn't start this blog out with this in mind, but a lot of the stuff we talked about after marathon amazing sex, was just that. I told him how he makes me feel, like I AM gorgeous, I am amazing. He's didn't get it. Because to him I just am those things. He said, "I'm not making you feel anything. You are those things, and I just respond to it." Honestly, just typing it out makes me teary-eyed.
It's hard not to juxtapose his genuine feelings towards me, to another situation that's recently folded in my life. Years of being told "I love you, I care about you" and nothing but skittish averted eyes, or dead forward facing gaze. It's easy to internalize, as though I am so unappealing to even look at or touch. Lucky for me, those feelings were also easy super easy to get over. Hot greasy buttsex helps.
Jul 22, 2015
The Desk
Would you LOOK AT THAT. I figured this shit out. Anyway, that's the "after" shot of the desk. The lighting is terrible, because it's late here. I mainly did it to see if I can share pictures here directly from my phone. Oh happy day.
So, that happened. And kept happening.
I started writing this morning about the Quentin Tarantino thing, and Luiz wanted to vacuum. I jumped up to help him and somehow I started cleaning my bedroom. I started picking up a snarl of wires, and here nine hours later...
I cleaned. Everything. My desk, my files, my life. I now have a working system in place for productivity, both on paper, and in life. Shit is coded. Shit is organized. I've got the planner working and full of information. I had no idea how badly I needed it again. Irv points out... "please, from when I met you, you had one of those things right up till a few years ago." He's right. I am planner dependent.
I am exhausted. Panda and I started a blog today, Honk if you're GLORIOUS. It's going to be amazing. She's amazing. I'm pretty fucking great too.
It's quittin time. Translate: It's Surfer Buffy Minecraft time.
I need to come up with a name for the Surfer.
I started writing this morning about the Quentin Tarantino thing, and Luiz wanted to vacuum. I jumped up to help him and somehow I started cleaning my bedroom. I started picking up a snarl of wires, and here nine hours later...
I cleaned. Everything. My desk, my files, my life. I now have a working system in place for productivity, both on paper, and in life. Shit is coded. Shit is organized. I've got the planner working and full of information. I had no idea how badly I needed it again. Irv points out... "please, from when I met you, you had one of those things right up till a few years ago." He's right. I am planner dependent.
I am exhausted. Panda and I started a blog today, Honk if you're GLORIOUS. It's going to be amazing. She's amazing. I'm pretty fucking great too.
It's quittin time. Translate: It's Surfer Buffy Minecraft time.
I need to come up with a name for the Surfer.
Planner Goals
- See and understand my existing schedule (sleep, wake, "on" times, "off" times.
- keep track of every new thing added each day
- keep track of accomplishments
- track time sensitive goals
- keep appointments and have a system to easily access them at a glance
- keep track of money going out
- shopping lists (stuff, daily groceries, costco, mail order)
- plan meals
- keep track of shows, tickets, timing
- important family and friend stuff (birthdays, holidays)
- remind myself to take care of things that I need for myself (blogging, exercising, downtime)
- be able to show any of these things at a glance
- keep this up in a practical and sustainable way, daily
- make it cute
I'm really not using this blog to it's fullest potential. I never needed therapy before, because I just rattled endlessly to my blog. I sorted out my brain and thoughts from the big emotional stuff, to mundane. I hide if I think someone's 'reading' it. Jake had been stalking it for awhile, and I was using it partially as a way to communicate to him, or just explore deep feelings. I need it for journaling. Like this.
So let's write. Last night Irv and Luiz and I went out to the Count Basie theater. We got tickets for a free double feature of Resoirvoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction. The place was mobbed, the popcorn was cheap, and everyone was SO into it! There were no hordes of teenagers being annoying. There were no phones out. People cheered, clapped, and laughed out loud through both movies, and the applause didn't happen at the end, it happened with great scenes, great one-liners. Cheap ass date night! We're going to see the documentary Amy there next. I love movies so much, I used to go to the second run movie theater for $2 movies two or three times a week when I was a kid. Then I met Irv, he hates movies, and that part of my life dried up for awhile. We had so much fun, now Irv himself is telling me to pick up tickets for the next showing when I'm in Red Bank. So, fun!
Today is the first day in over a week that it's not 90+ degrees in the house. With my newfound energy, I've been dying to clean the bedroom and make it 'right'. Today sort of became that day, in between writing this. I realize, in my life that productivity is like working out. Something that I can do, I enjoy doing, but it takes some doing to make it happen. Productivity and organization does not come naturally to me at all. Clearly, based on what my desk looks like right now. Foodstuffs, spilled weed, hair products, candy, perfume, lighters, wires, makeup, tarot cards, crayons, shot glasses... um, no pens. No paper. Seriously. When I looked at my "workspace" just now, I was like "it's impossible to work here. Just getting to paperwork is a huge hurdle to climb. It's time to fix this. I need to not make hard things to do any harder.
I'm looking at the ruin of my desk right now. I gotta figure out how to put pictures in here again, because I would love to have a before and after. Good for motivation. I just got distracted to try to figure that out. I got distracted from cleaning to write a bit (ok, that's ok) then I got distracted writing to add apps to my phone. Then I got dicking around on my phone, and 10 minutes go by. My desk is in ruin.
I will take pictures and figure it all out after.
Last night I started my planner. It's blooming like a flower. It's all making sense to me, and I'm falling into it perfectly. I need this. I can't run this house, my business, the House Stuff, and everything else that our particular situation needs from me, without some sort of navigation and set of my own books.
What I've noticed: Sleeping more makes me want to do more. Doing more makes me think more about how I do things. Thinking about how gets me thinking "how can I be more productive, more efficient?" These are not questions I've asked of myself since...college? Since the house burned down? I just go and do. Now I'm re-evaluating everything. Efficiency, value, productivity, mental health, physical health.
Today is the first day in over a week that it's not 90+ degrees in the house. With my newfound energy, I've been dying to clean the bedroom and make it 'right'. Today sort of became that day, in between writing this. I realize, in my life that productivity is like working out. Something that I can do, I enjoy doing, but it takes some doing to make it happen. Productivity and organization does not come naturally to me at all. Clearly, based on what my desk looks like right now. Foodstuffs, spilled weed, hair products, candy, perfume, lighters, wires, makeup, tarot cards, crayons, shot glasses... um, no pens. No paper. Seriously. When I looked at my "workspace" just now, I was like "it's impossible to work here. Just getting to paperwork is a huge hurdle to climb. It's time to fix this. I need to not make hard things to do any harder.
I'm looking at the ruin of my desk right now. I gotta figure out how to put pictures in here again, because I would love to have a before and after. Good for motivation. I just got distracted to try to figure that out. I got distracted from cleaning to write a bit (ok, that's ok) then I got distracted writing to add apps to my phone. Then I got dicking around on my phone, and 10 minutes go by. My desk is in ruin.
I will take pictures and figure it all out after.
Last night I started my planner. It's blooming like a flower. It's all making sense to me, and I'm falling into it perfectly. I need this. I can't run this house, my business, the House Stuff, and everything else that our particular situation needs from me, without some sort of navigation and set of my own books.
What I've noticed: Sleeping more makes me want to do more. Doing more makes me think more about how I do things. Thinking about how gets me thinking "how can I be more productive, more efficient?" These are not questions I've asked of myself since...college? Since the house burned down? I just go and do. Now I'm re-evaluating everything. Efficiency, value, productivity, mental health, physical health.
Jul 21, 2015
There has been a recent shift in my life. I could mark it from the Jake thing, but it was long before all that. And maybe why I handled things the way I did. Anyway, that friend-ship sailed (ha) and I am quite ok with it. I didn't realize for a long time that it was already heading that direction. Years of wasting illness, and a peaceful death.
But this shift is happening on a larger scale. I'm mired in depression, I have lost sight of my giant goals. It takes every ounce of effort just to get up in the morning, get dressed, and do things. I avoid people that truly love and care for me, and have been too involved in some weird approval seeking behavior from people who obviously don't give a fuck. I have been sick and sore and sad and sleepy for months.
I wake up every morning feeling the same way. Except that I'm not. First, we conquered a lifetime of insomnia. Up till the beginning of July, I had been averaging 3 hours a sleep a day/night often taken in 45 minute naps. I'd collapse from exhaustion at 4, then Irv's alarm clock would get both of us up at 5. I'd lay awake for an hour and try to fall back to sleep. Then I'd sleep from maybe 7-8:30, and Luiz would come to bed, and I'd wake up and we'd have sex, or talk, or cuddle. Sometimes, I would go back to sleep, sometimes, I would just get up and have my day, then have maybe an hour nap later. If I could sleep. In the beginning of July, my doctor diagnosed me with sleep deficit disorder and put me on very mild sleeping pills. Things. Are. MUCH. Better. I sleep 8 hours. I wake up feeling energized. I haven't woken up feeling energized since I was a teenager.
I discovered that I'm working out more. Walking more. Being more physically active in subtle ways. My body is just craving activity, and I have started belly dancing again. I take tons of selfies (that I never post) because I am appreciating my body. I accidentally lost 40 pounds. I quit my doctor when he said "you're doing everything wrong". All under this miasma of depression, this fog. Doing things subconsciously.
Reaching out for the right people. Avoiding the small, sick, toxic types.
I've been going out more. Having more fun.
In 20 minutes, I'm going out planner shopping. Then to the bank. Then to therapy.
But this shift is happening on a larger scale. I'm mired in depression, I have lost sight of my giant goals. It takes every ounce of effort just to get up in the morning, get dressed, and do things. I avoid people that truly love and care for me, and have been too involved in some weird approval seeking behavior from people who obviously don't give a fuck. I have been sick and sore and sad and sleepy for months.
I wake up every morning feeling the same way. Except that I'm not. First, we conquered a lifetime of insomnia. Up till the beginning of July, I had been averaging 3 hours a sleep a day/night often taken in 45 minute naps. I'd collapse from exhaustion at 4, then Irv's alarm clock would get both of us up at 5. I'd lay awake for an hour and try to fall back to sleep. Then I'd sleep from maybe 7-8:30, and Luiz would come to bed, and I'd wake up and we'd have sex, or talk, or cuddle. Sometimes, I would go back to sleep, sometimes, I would just get up and have my day, then have maybe an hour nap later. If I could sleep. In the beginning of July, my doctor diagnosed me with sleep deficit disorder and put me on very mild sleeping pills. Things. Are. MUCH. Better. I sleep 8 hours. I wake up feeling energized. I haven't woken up feeling energized since I was a teenager.
I discovered that I'm working out more. Walking more. Being more physically active in subtle ways. My body is just craving activity, and I have started belly dancing again. I take tons of selfies (that I never post) because I am appreciating my body. I accidentally lost 40 pounds. I quit my doctor when he said "you're doing everything wrong". All under this miasma of depression, this fog. Doing things subconsciously.
Reaching out for the right people. Avoiding the small, sick, toxic types.
I've been going out more. Having more fun.
In 20 minutes, I'm going out planner shopping. Then to the bank. Then to therapy.
Jul 13, 2015
I mentioned this a few weeks ago, and it's truer now than ever. I've been focusing too much energy on a friendship. I find myself repeating this to customers and not enough to myself. People don't change. I have to remind myself that no matter how bad of a story they tell, how miserable they seem...that it's a choice. If you tell the same tragic story your whole life, and continue to expose yourself to the hardship and abuse, with that level of self awareness, then I can only honor it as a choice. And, that frees me from worry. Like, I can love someone that doesn't love themselves, but I can't force them into self care. I can only passively offer support.
I generally stay uninvolved, but when the drama lands squarely in my lap, usually feel like I have no choice but to react, or empathize, or help. I realize now, that even though people will bring the drama right to my fucking front door in the middle of the night, they're not looking for empathy or help or support. I don't exactly know what they're looking for. That's where my stress comes from. Not knowing how to help, not knowing if it's wanted, and generally being in the dark. I think the "being in the dark" thing is the real kicker. I can only react to what I see and hear. I keep that very specific, because I do have the ability to pull cards, and see things, but I respect my friends well enough to not do that, and take everything they say at face value instead. If the face a person shows me isn't honest. then "face value" is valueless. That's where I'm at now.
I used the word "best friend" and treated this friend the way I would treat anyone I regard that close, and I realized weeks ago, before all this current drama, that I am propagating a lie in my head, and if I simply look over the years, I've never been treated that way in return. It's been troubling me for over a month. He's not only not a "best friend", he treats me like the enemy often enough that it's taking a toll. This friend has gone out of his way to disclude me from his life, keep me separated from the rest of his friends, and keep me in the dark about his life in general, to the point of constantly and actively lying.
In the past year or so, it's gotten worse, and it's making me feel like this ship has sailed. The whole thing is thrown into juxtaposition when I spend time with people that actually call *me* their best friend. My actual friends want me around. My friends seek me out and invite me places, and make plans with me. I don't have to beg to hang out with my actual friends. I don't have to constantly ask them to go places, or hang out, and understand that they will only fit me in if they have absolutely zero anything else to do.
I am throwing way too much into this, and I have been for years. I'm getting literally nothing. Literally. Nothing. Not even the simple truth in return. I feel like by keeping this "best friend" thing alive, I'm just decorating a dead tree. No matter how many pretty things I drape on it, it's still hollow and dead. I'm the queen of hard truths, and I'm not exempt from my own medicine. It's fucking hard to type all that out. This all basically means I've been lying to myself for years. But when Irv and Luiz see it. When Michele sees it, I feel like everyone has known it but me, and now I do too. Irv said, the other night "he used you for free rides and food when you were kids, why do you think anything's changed now?". He's not wrong.
Some people can't change. Or some people have already done all the changing and this is what we're left with. So, problem solved. I have to accept that people choose their lives. I've spent the weekend mulling this over, and on Friday I was losing sleep with worry about a friend's abusive situation. I went out to a huge fun thing Friday night, and it was tainted by all this. Like...should I be there for him? Should I call and see? I hope everything's ok. I hope he's ok. All night, like stampeding horses. I feel like maybe I was the only one feeling that level of pain, about all this. I'm pretty much done worrying and agonizing.
I used the word "best friend" and treated this friend the way I would treat anyone I regard that close, and I realized weeks ago, before all this current drama, that I am propagating a lie in my head, and if I simply look over the years, I've never been treated that way in return. It's been troubling me for over a month. He's not only not a "best friend", he treats me like the enemy often enough that it's taking a toll. This friend has gone out of his way to disclude me from his life, keep me separated from the rest of his friends, and keep me in the dark about his life in general, to the point of constantly and actively lying.
In the past year or so, it's gotten worse, and it's making me feel like this ship has sailed. The whole thing is thrown into juxtaposition when I spend time with people that actually call *me* their best friend. My actual friends want me around. My friends seek me out and invite me places, and make plans with me. I don't have to beg to hang out with my actual friends. I don't have to constantly ask them to go places, or hang out, and understand that they will only fit me in if they have absolutely zero anything else to do.
I am throwing way too much into this, and I have been for years. I'm getting literally nothing. Literally. Nothing. Not even the simple truth in return. I feel like by keeping this "best friend" thing alive, I'm just decorating a dead tree. No matter how many pretty things I drape on it, it's still hollow and dead. I'm the queen of hard truths, and I'm not exempt from my own medicine. It's fucking hard to type all that out. This all basically means I've been lying to myself for years. But when Irv and Luiz see it. When Michele sees it, I feel like everyone has known it but me, and now I do too. Irv said, the other night "he used you for free rides and food when you were kids, why do you think anything's changed now?". He's not wrong.
Some people can't change. Or some people have already done all the changing and this is what we're left with. So, problem solved. I have to accept that people choose their lives. I've spent the weekend mulling this over, and on Friday I was losing sleep with worry about a friend's abusive situation. I went out to a huge fun thing Friday night, and it was tainted by all this. Like...should I be there for him? Should I call and see? I hope everything's ok. I hope he's ok. All night, like stampeding horses. I feel like maybe I was the only one feeling that level of pain, about all this. I'm pretty much done worrying and agonizing.
Jul 1, 2015
I don't know why I stopped writing. I re-read what I wrote, that one thing I stress about is that I don't want to burden my friends with my fucking problems. Well, that's why I write. I had my old blog Epiphany to get me through the rough years, why not write more? I'm not making myself any promises, but just writing that previous entry was good, and it made me want to keep going. When I get writing, I always feel like I have so much to say, that it's just bubbling out of me.
So, with the tank and armor thing, Nancy nearly quoted Irv. When I was younger, I was that tank. Just going and going fully armored, nothing could hurt me. I drank and fucked and fought, and went around filled with anger. Irv was the first person to get inside those walls. Like, he was the first person that didn't take me at face value. He called me "little girl" and "sweetie" which...in those days I definitely was no sweetie. He still calls me those things. Something between him and parenthood had me take the walls down entirely. And now I'm reverting to that old behavior "armed and armored". I somehow think I don't need anyone, and people fucking suck anyway. Which...is not untrue. But it's also not healthy.
I touched on how when I met Irv, I was in pretty bad shape, but he was stable and good. She asked if he was the one that influenced me to clean up, and...no, that was Tom. So, we talked about Tom a bit, and I fucking lost it, because I never talk about him. Ever. I lost it because of where the world is now, and whenever I accidentally remind myself that he's not in it, I cry. He would love smartphones, and look where we're at on the transgender issues? He'd be thriving. I miss him, a lot. I miss his wit, and his smile, and his voice. I miss his companionship. I miss his hugs. I am writing this, now, having a good old selfish sappy cry. Just, I fucking miss him. I haven't seen him in dreams lately either. I usually get a good one every few months, and it's like seeing and old friend.
So, with the tank and armor thing, Nancy nearly quoted Irv. When I was younger, I was that tank. Just going and going fully armored, nothing could hurt me. I drank and fucked and fought, and went around filled with anger. Irv was the first person to get inside those walls. Like, he was the first person that didn't take me at face value. He called me "little girl" and "sweetie" which...in those days I definitely was no sweetie. He still calls me those things. Something between him and parenthood had me take the walls down entirely. And now I'm reverting to that old behavior "armed and armored". I somehow think I don't need anyone, and people fucking suck anyway. Which...is not untrue. But it's also not healthy.
I touched on how when I met Irv, I was in pretty bad shape, but he was stable and good. She asked if he was the one that influenced me to clean up, and...no, that was Tom. So, we talked about Tom a bit, and I fucking lost it, because I never talk about him. Ever. I lost it because of where the world is now, and whenever I accidentally remind myself that he's not in it, I cry. He would love smartphones, and look where we're at on the transgender issues? He'd be thriving. I miss him, a lot. I miss his wit, and his smile, and his voice. I miss his companionship. I miss his hugs. I am writing this, now, having a good old selfish sappy cry. Just, I fucking miss him. I haven't seen him in dreams lately either. I usually get a good one every few months, and it's like seeing and old friend.
Therapy
I've been going to therapy, this is my third week. Every time I get home, I feel like writing, expanding on what I've covered.
So, overall it's been helping. It's nice to just talk. To just have someone that seems interested in helping me...like that would be enough. I don't talk to anyone, really. I constantly feel like no one gives a shit about what I'm going through, and I don't say that with bitterness. Everyone's going through something. I digress. But she's qualified, and professional, and I feel like with the slightest nudge, I'm making breakthroughs.
The first week, we talked about spontaneity and my ability to be functional and get out of the house. She had me write my whole routine, and not only did I do that, but I wrote down the things that derail me, or keep me from being spontaneous, and since I just outlined and examined why and how, now I'm getting out of the house in a much timelier fashion. It seems like a small thing, but for a first session, it was a big change. So far, I can count about half a dozen times since that exercise that I got out of the house quickly, with no long drawn out routine. This morning, included.
Last week, I had just stuck Alden on a plane, had a huge fight with Meredith, a huge confrontation with the house people, and a huge meltdown with my mother, and a nice fight with Luiz to boot. When I got to therapy, I was 15 minutes late and all over the damn map. I couldn't settle down, I couldn't talk about any one thing. Nancy suggested a book for me to read, and a song to add to my "get out the door" playlist. The song was a little saccharine, but pretty, and the book...it's called Mean Mothers, and it's just what I need. Just the forward alone got me crying, and it's a whole world I never really thought about. Like, I thought all mothers were kind of assholes, and that what you see on TV, or the nice relationships my friends had with their mothers was just like mine...fake. Like a rotted apple. Shiny and inviting on the outside, but rotted on the inside. Turns out, no.
This week was the first real actual therapy session. She has a sand table, and she prompted me to select three figures (she has huge bookshelves crammed with all sorts of little chachkis) one to represent my past self, my current self, and my future self. I chose a cute squeaky toy cartoony bull, as my past self, a nursing pig with like a dozen little piglets, as my present self, and for my future I picked a tank. I chose a tank, because in that moment I felt like it was a representation of my ability to rally and plow through anything, and just get through things unharmed and...
Then she asked what resources I'd need to help me get to the future self. I added more pigs, I need help. I need more people that empathize and understand, and that I can share my burdens (the dozen or so nursing piglets) with. I also added a house, which is obvious.
Then she had me re-examine my future self. Tanks are isolated and heavily armored. We talked about what I do to relax...I play shooty video games, for catharsis. I smoke pot, and I read. I spend time in the garden. I read a lot. I paint. She was like, ok, you want more people in your life to empathize and help...I don't see you making room in your life for people. So. That's a thing.
But then, I have to wonder, do I let the wrong people in? This may be something for next week. Am I shutting out the right people? I spend tons of energy thinking about, preserving, and maintaining certain relationships, but are they the kind that will add to my burdens, or will they help relieve me?
So, overall it's been helping. It's nice to just talk. To just have someone that seems interested in helping me...like that would be enough. I don't talk to anyone, really. I constantly feel like no one gives a shit about what I'm going through, and I don't say that with bitterness. Everyone's going through something. I digress. But she's qualified, and professional, and I feel like with the slightest nudge, I'm making breakthroughs.
The first week, we talked about spontaneity and my ability to be functional and get out of the house. She had me write my whole routine, and not only did I do that, but I wrote down the things that derail me, or keep me from being spontaneous, and since I just outlined and examined why and how, now I'm getting out of the house in a much timelier fashion. It seems like a small thing, but for a first session, it was a big change. So far, I can count about half a dozen times since that exercise that I got out of the house quickly, with no long drawn out routine. This morning, included.
Last week, I had just stuck Alden on a plane, had a huge fight with Meredith, a huge confrontation with the house people, and a huge meltdown with my mother, and a nice fight with Luiz to boot. When I got to therapy, I was 15 minutes late and all over the damn map. I couldn't settle down, I couldn't talk about any one thing. Nancy suggested a book for me to read, and a song to add to my "get out the door" playlist. The song was a little saccharine, but pretty, and the book...it's called Mean Mothers, and it's just what I need. Just the forward alone got me crying, and it's a whole world I never really thought about. Like, I thought all mothers were kind of assholes, and that what you see on TV, or the nice relationships my friends had with their mothers was just like mine...fake. Like a rotted apple. Shiny and inviting on the outside, but rotted on the inside. Turns out, no.
This week was the first real actual therapy session. She has a sand table, and she prompted me to select three figures (she has huge bookshelves crammed with all sorts of little chachkis) one to represent my past self, my current self, and my future self. I chose a cute squeaky toy cartoony bull, as my past self, a nursing pig with like a dozen little piglets, as my present self, and for my future I picked a tank. I chose a tank, because in that moment I felt like it was a representation of my ability to rally and plow through anything, and just get through things unharmed and...
Then she asked what resources I'd need to help me get to the future self. I added more pigs, I need help. I need more people that empathize and understand, and that I can share my burdens (the dozen or so nursing piglets) with. I also added a house, which is obvious.
Then she had me re-examine my future self. Tanks are isolated and heavily armored. We talked about what I do to relax...I play shooty video games, for catharsis. I smoke pot, and I read. I spend time in the garden. I read a lot. I paint. She was like, ok, you want more people in your life to empathize and help...I don't see you making room in your life for people. So. That's a thing.
But then, I have to wonder, do I let the wrong people in? This may be something for next week. Am I shutting out the right people? I spend tons of energy thinking about, preserving, and maintaining certain relationships, but are they the kind that will add to my burdens, or will they help relieve me?
Apr 10, 2015
I'm ok at home. I'm ok at work. I'm marginally ok out in the world, socializing. I figured out where I'm not ok. Driving to and from work. At home my brain is always engaged, from the minute I get up to long after I go to bed, and pass out from exhaustion, I always keep mundane distracting things front and center so I am not alone with my thoughts. Cooking, cleaning, shopping, gaming, reddit, reading, writing, tarot, focusing on my customers and helping them work through their problems, studying, crafting... But as soon as I slam that car door, it's just me and the road, and music. And then I burst into tears. Like fucking clockwork. My car is parked in the driveway, so as I'm backing down the driveway, I'm staring at the insurmountable object of pain and heartache. Every fucking workday. I am getting sick of showing up at work all puffy and snotty. I've taken to keeping eye makeup in the car, for the inevitable repairs.
I am so not ok, these days. It's a struggle to get out of bed, every day, then more of a struggle to accomplish anything. If I have to leave the house or otherwise socialize, I need at least 3 hours to mentally prepare, and I mean stupid shit like going to the laundromat. Seeing friends is hard, I feel like I have nothing to ever talk about, and I've been such a downer lately, that I can't imagine anyone wanting to hang out anyway. I've become fragile. Today, after a good car-sob, I mustered my shit and got to work. Susan was here, and I haven't seen her in over a month, she asked me how the house is going, and I tried, I swear, I tried to hold it together, and tell her the latest very bad news, just the facts, no emotion...and I burst into tears. Right here in the shop, in front of customers. I just went from composed and chatty to a fucking snotty crying mess. Nothing is good.
I feel like I'm losing myself. I feel like I've already lost it. Whatever "it" is.
I am so not ok, these days. It's a struggle to get out of bed, every day, then more of a struggle to accomplish anything. If I have to leave the house or otherwise socialize, I need at least 3 hours to mentally prepare, and I mean stupid shit like going to the laundromat. Seeing friends is hard, I feel like I have nothing to ever talk about, and I've been such a downer lately, that I can't imagine anyone wanting to hang out anyway. I've become fragile. Today, after a good car-sob, I mustered my shit and got to work. Susan was here, and I haven't seen her in over a month, she asked me how the house is going, and I tried, I swear, I tried to hold it together, and tell her the latest very bad news, just the facts, no emotion...and I burst into tears. Right here in the shop, in front of customers. I just went from composed and chatty to a fucking snotty crying mess. Nothing is good.
I feel like I'm losing myself. I feel like I've already lost it. Whatever "it" is.
Feb 8, 2015
I have been not ok with something for about two weeks.
I am sick over this. I feel violated. I feel used. I am filled with hatred. I can't sleep. I can't stop crying. I've been trying to not think about it all day.
For Christmas, Luiz gifted me with a piece of art. This is already where the controversy starts, because I asked him not to, this year. For the past like 3-4 years, he's given me art as a "gift" and, it somehow never makes it to my possession. One year, he gifted me a blank canvas, and promised me an amazing surprise. I watched him paint a beautiful rose galaxy, and he kept it. I never thought about the blank canvas, I assumed he forgot. Two years later, I said something about how much I loved the piece, and he was like "oh? That's yours, anyway." Then indifferently thrust it into my hands. Another year, he gave me an underpainting, for Christmas, with the promise that it wouldn't take too much longer to finish. 26 months later, it's finally hanging on my wall. That's after it spent time in a gallery (while it was half done). Then came my birthday picture, the one of Bella, my sweet beloved pug. I'm not in possession of that either, it's in his room. Merry fucking Christmas to me, right? So, when he asked me this year, if I wanted a piece of art, I said "no." Why? Because he's never actually given me a piece of art. Nothing. Not one piece is actually "mine" Mine to hold, mine to hang, mine privately. Mine. Like a gift. Like when you give something to someone as a gift. So, I said no.
I just went through the house collecting all these bullshit "gifts" and gave them back to him. Well, he's sleeping like a baby, so I just rested them by his bed. They're meaningless to me, at this point.
In standard Luiz fashion, not only did he create a piece of art for me, after I specifically said I didn't want one, it wasn't even remotely done by Christmas. But, you know, when we're all unwrapping things, it was lovely, blah blah blah.
It's a picture of a nude reclining "fairy" that looks exactly like me, with a few body flaws smoothed out, but nude all the same. He took nude photos of me, curled up, to use as a model, then changed the structure of my body just a tad, to make it more like an Ingres painting. The fairy is curled into the fetal position, on a cushion of marijuana buds, drifting off into a sleepy smoky dream. There's images of my own incorporated, my doodles, my glyphwork, I even drew a spider on it, at Luiz's request. Because this was a painting for me, of me, for my bedroom wall. I wouldn't even hang it in the living room, honestly.
Ok. I struggled with it, as a gift. I don't advertise that I smoke pot. I keep that rather private, and I definitely am not into displaying an image of my naked body. Unwrapping it as a gift made me a little uncomfortable, but, that was on me. I fight body image issues every day. Just because I'm comfortable enough to walk around the house naked, does not mean I am even remotely comfortable enough to parade around in public the same way. As a piece of art, what he presented me on Christmas looked rushed and unfinished, and he even said so himself. It took him till just days ago to finish it. Why the rush now? Because he wanted to use it in a show.
He asked. I said "I'm uncomfortable with it, I'd prefer you didn't. That's my piece, you gifted it to me." Then I said "but I would feel like a jerk if it prevented you from earning money, lets let ask the cards." The cards said, as a print, it would be met with indifference. It wouldn't earn money. It doesn't speak to people, people can't relate. Full stop. I was satisfied with that answer.
Luiz displayed it at the gallery. Today, I got to stand in front of my nude-curled-on-a-heap-of-pot picture, for three hours, while people looked at it. It definitely looks like me. No mistaking who that maybe could be. That was psychological torture, but, again, what the fuck am I going to do at this point, it's in the gallery, the art opening is in full swing, I'm standing there talking to friends of mine 3 feet away from my naked ass. To add insult to injury, they insisted on hanging the piece sideways, so it unflatteringly looks like I am sitting on a fucking pinecone. This gallery, by the way, is about four doors down from my actual workplace, and many of my customers and friends drift through there, daily. It's closely affiliated with the shop I work at. In fact, he never would have even met those people, if it weren't for me. I hooked him up with them in the first place.
So, we get home from the opening. I am exhausted, and socially wrung out. I go to my internet playground to blow off steam. He posted it on fucking reddit. He posted my nude image to fucking reddit. Luiz posted this picture, his first art post ever, the first image he chooses to share (of ALL his art) is that. fucking. painting. Which he unceremoniously just called "the weed fairy".
I'm beside myself. I fucking hate him. He's taken everything from me, at this point. Over the years, he's fucking stripped me bare, emotionally, mentally, financially, and now, physically. My privacy. Gone. My bedroom picture, a gift from him to me. An image I won't even hang elsewhere in the house, because it's so private. Spent all fucking day on reddit. It's hanging RIGHT now in an art gallery.
I'm so shellshocked. I feel so literally violated. When I discovered it, I was upset, and I told him so, and that I've been upset about the whole thing since he decided to put it in the gallery. Upset. No. Physically ill. Totally fucked up about it. Shocked. Horrified. Fuming. Angry. Devastated. I am furious. His response? "I reserve the right to all my paintings and images, it's mine to do what I want with." I told him I hope he goes back to Brazil, where he'll live as a failure, mooching off his alcoholic father, and probably get aids from fucking hookers. Like, I didn't even mean that to shock. I literally meant that in that moment.
I'm not sure how or if I'll come back from this. Nothing he's said tonight even remotely touched me. It's all bullshit self preservation. He says he loves me. How can he love me, if he doesn't even know me? That was devastating to learn, tonight. He doesn't even know me. It keeps repeating itself over and over in my head. How can someone say they love me, then do this? Me? I am such a private person. I have struggled my entire life with ownership of objects, and ownership of self. My whole childhood, my mother told me ad nauseam that I didn't own anything, everything I had was hers, because I lived in her room, in her house. I never had a room, a sanctuary growing up. I never had a shred of privacy. They drilled the locks out of my doors, and burst into my room at any hour day or night, if I was changing, sleeping, anything. My stepfather used to come in my room at 3 am, with a flashlight to do a "bed check", and stand there leering at me in my sleep. They went through my stuff daily, and threw my possessions out with abandon. Nothing, and I mean literally nothing, was actually mine. They sold cars out from under me. I struggle with ownership of self. I lost my virginity without my consent, when I was 14. Luiz created a real problem with my self ownership too, with the rape and coercion situations of the past. I really struggle with that.
He claims he had no idea that I would react this way. Even though I told him dozens of times that I didn't want that piece in a gallery or as prints or anywhere besides right on the wall in my bedroom. For the simple sake of having just ONE fucking piece of art that I could call my own. I figured if I could even ask that about one fucking piece of art, it would be the nude, right? The one I trusted him with. But, what's the first thing he does? Puts it on the internet.
I can't trust him. He did a lot of untrustworthy stuff last year. He lied a lot, and did a lot of horrible shit to me. It took me months to start trusting him again, and feeling secure in our relationship, and even though this is a different kind of betrayal, that trust is destroyed again.
I know, though, because I am a fucking loser doormat, that he will make a good show of apologizing, and promise to never do this again, and say nice things, and seem very sincere, that we will just continue on much the same after this. Just like after last summer, when he was looking for gay and straight hookups on Craigslist, and actively cheating on me, while resenting me and sneaking into my bed in the morning and fucking me, in my ass, and in my sleep without consent. Just like the summer before when he decided he had a crush on Michele, and almost destroyed not only my friendship with her, but most of my social life. Just like after all the times he's hurt me in big and little ways. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Writing, usually a catharsis, is just torturing me.
I don't know what to even do.
I am sick over this. I feel violated. I feel used. I am filled with hatred. I can't sleep. I can't stop crying. I've been trying to not think about it all day.
For Christmas, Luiz gifted me with a piece of art. This is already where the controversy starts, because I asked him not to, this year. For the past like 3-4 years, he's given me art as a "gift" and, it somehow never makes it to my possession. One year, he gifted me a blank canvas, and promised me an amazing surprise. I watched him paint a beautiful rose galaxy, and he kept it. I never thought about the blank canvas, I assumed he forgot. Two years later, I said something about how much I loved the piece, and he was like "oh? That's yours, anyway." Then indifferently thrust it into my hands. Another year, he gave me an underpainting, for Christmas, with the promise that it wouldn't take too much longer to finish. 26 months later, it's finally hanging on my wall. That's after it spent time in a gallery (while it was half done). Then came my birthday picture, the one of Bella, my sweet beloved pug. I'm not in possession of that either, it's in his room. Merry fucking Christmas to me, right? So, when he asked me this year, if I wanted a piece of art, I said "no." Why? Because he's never actually given me a piece of art. Nothing. Not one piece is actually "mine" Mine to hold, mine to hang, mine privately. Mine. Like a gift. Like when you give something to someone as a gift. So, I said no.
I just went through the house collecting all these bullshit "gifts" and gave them back to him. Well, he's sleeping like a baby, so I just rested them by his bed. They're meaningless to me, at this point.
In standard Luiz fashion, not only did he create a piece of art for me, after I specifically said I didn't want one, it wasn't even remotely done by Christmas. But, you know, when we're all unwrapping things, it was lovely, blah blah blah.
It's a picture of a nude reclining "fairy" that looks exactly like me, with a few body flaws smoothed out, but nude all the same. He took nude photos of me, curled up, to use as a model, then changed the structure of my body just a tad, to make it more like an Ingres painting. The fairy is curled into the fetal position, on a cushion of marijuana buds, drifting off into a sleepy smoky dream. There's images of my own incorporated, my doodles, my glyphwork, I even drew a spider on it, at Luiz's request. Because this was a painting for me, of me, for my bedroom wall. I wouldn't even hang it in the living room, honestly.
Ok. I struggled with it, as a gift. I don't advertise that I smoke pot. I keep that rather private, and I definitely am not into displaying an image of my naked body. Unwrapping it as a gift made me a little uncomfortable, but, that was on me. I fight body image issues every day. Just because I'm comfortable enough to walk around the house naked, does not mean I am even remotely comfortable enough to parade around in public the same way. As a piece of art, what he presented me on Christmas looked rushed and unfinished, and he even said so himself. It took him till just days ago to finish it. Why the rush now? Because he wanted to use it in a show.
He asked. I said "I'm uncomfortable with it, I'd prefer you didn't. That's my piece, you gifted it to me." Then I said "but I would feel like a jerk if it prevented you from earning money, lets let ask the cards." The cards said, as a print, it would be met with indifference. It wouldn't earn money. It doesn't speak to people, people can't relate. Full stop. I was satisfied with that answer.
Luiz displayed it at the gallery. Today, I got to stand in front of my nude-curled-on-a-heap-of-pot picture, for three hours, while people looked at it. It definitely looks like me. No mistaking who that maybe could be. That was psychological torture, but, again, what the fuck am I going to do at this point, it's in the gallery, the art opening is in full swing, I'm standing there talking to friends of mine 3 feet away from my naked ass. To add insult to injury, they insisted on hanging the piece sideways, so it unflatteringly looks like I am sitting on a fucking pinecone. This gallery, by the way, is about four doors down from my actual workplace, and many of my customers and friends drift through there, daily. It's closely affiliated with the shop I work at. In fact, he never would have even met those people, if it weren't for me. I hooked him up with them in the first place.
So, we get home from the opening. I am exhausted, and socially wrung out. I go to my internet playground to blow off steam. He posted it on fucking reddit. He posted my nude image to fucking reddit. Luiz posted this picture, his first art post ever, the first image he chooses to share (of ALL his art) is that. fucking. painting. Which he unceremoniously just called "the weed fairy".
I'm beside myself. I fucking hate him. He's taken everything from me, at this point. Over the years, he's fucking stripped me bare, emotionally, mentally, financially, and now, physically. My privacy. Gone. My bedroom picture, a gift from him to me. An image I won't even hang elsewhere in the house, because it's so private. Spent all fucking day on reddit. It's hanging RIGHT now in an art gallery.
I'm so shellshocked. I feel so literally violated. When I discovered it, I was upset, and I told him so, and that I've been upset about the whole thing since he decided to put it in the gallery. Upset. No. Physically ill. Totally fucked up about it. Shocked. Horrified. Fuming. Angry. Devastated. I am furious. His response? "I reserve the right to all my paintings and images, it's mine to do what I want with." I told him I hope he goes back to Brazil, where he'll live as a failure, mooching off his alcoholic father, and probably get aids from fucking hookers. Like, I didn't even mean that to shock. I literally meant that in that moment.
I'm not sure how or if I'll come back from this. Nothing he's said tonight even remotely touched me. It's all bullshit self preservation. He says he loves me. How can he love me, if he doesn't even know me? That was devastating to learn, tonight. He doesn't even know me. It keeps repeating itself over and over in my head. How can someone say they love me, then do this? Me? I am such a private person. I have struggled my entire life with ownership of objects, and ownership of self. My whole childhood, my mother told me ad nauseam that I didn't own anything, everything I had was hers, because I lived in her room, in her house. I never had a room, a sanctuary growing up. I never had a shred of privacy. They drilled the locks out of my doors, and burst into my room at any hour day or night, if I was changing, sleeping, anything. My stepfather used to come in my room at 3 am, with a flashlight to do a "bed check", and stand there leering at me in my sleep. They went through my stuff daily, and threw my possessions out with abandon. Nothing, and I mean literally nothing, was actually mine. They sold cars out from under me. I struggle with ownership of self. I lost my virginity without my consent, when I was 14. Luiz created a real problem with my self ownership too, with the rape and coercion situations of the past. I really struggle with that.
He claims he had no idea that I would react this way. Even though I told him dozens of times that I didn't want that piece in a gallery or as prints or anywhere besides right on the wall in my bedroom. For the simple sake of having just ONE fucking piece of art that I could call my own. I figured if I could even ask that about one fucking piece of art, it would be the nude, right? The one I trusted him with. But, what's the first thing he does? Puts it on the internet.
I can't trust him. He did a lot of untrustworthy stuff last year. He lied a lot, and did a lot of horrible shit to me. It took me months to start trusting him again, and feeling secure in our relationship, and even though this is a different kind of betrayal, that trust is destroyed again.
I know, though, because I am a fucking loser doormat, that he will make a good show of apologizing, and promise to never do this again, and say nice things, and seem very sincere, that we will just continue on much the same after this. Just like after last summer, when he was looking for gay and straight hookups on Craigslist, and actively cheating on me, while resenting me and sneaking into my bed in the morning and fucking me, in my ass, and in my sleep without consent. Just like the summer before when he decided he had a crush on Michele, and almost destroyed not only my friendship with her, but most of my social life. Just like after all the times he's hurt me in big and little ways. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Writing, usually a catharsis, is just torturing me.
I don't know what to even do.
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