Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Aliens and Rainbows

June 6, 2008

I’m going to deviate from my normal type of post.  It’s related only in the fact that these are the type of things that lead me into having (lots of) casual sex.

I stopped writing after that first paragraph to send an email to someone.  I decided that instead of writing what was happening I’d just post that message.

Subject: I Love You

And I have since I met you. Don’t worry this isn’t an admission of secret passion.

I know that I fucked up. I’ve fucked up a lot, and if I’m being completely honest, I want to do it again. Your friendship (along with Desirae’s) has been what’s keeping me from going back down that path. Losing you two was traumatic. I feel like it happening again, but this time I know I haven’t done anything to cause it.

I remember when I was one of the people who you would tell when you had a problem. I remember when I could come to you with anything and not have to worry about straining our friendship.

Tonight you snapped at me, you bit me hard enough to break skin and draw blood. For once, I didn’t do it back because I feel like I constantly have to keep my feelings in check around you. I wasn’t doing it for attention, but I purposely walked away from the group hoping that someone would ask me what was wrong. I don’t like putting my shit on people without their permission, but especially when I have to wonder if they even care.

I feel like I’ve been replaced. You’ve just found a new Musketeer. I like Bo a lot, but he’s taking my place. I don’t expect to be a part of everything, but I also don’t expect to have to invite myself to everything. If you guys are my friends you should want me there. I’ve never cared about driving to Biloxi to see you guys, but when I do it just to be shunned it pisses me off and hurts my feelings. I don’t want to make it sound petty, but gas is fucking expensive and I’ve never asked you guys for a dime when I wasn’t driving around with you. That’s not really the point, but I feel like it is somewhat a part of it.

You and Ryan is your business, but I thought that you were my business to an extent. I wouldn’t be bothered if I didn’t have to see the list of everyone else who gets to know, and it bothers me even more when they’re my friends too.

I think what I’m trying to say is, “I’ve made an effort, and I have nothing to show for it.” If you don’t want to be my friend any more just tell me, and if that’s not it at least be open enough to tell me what the problem is. That’s part of how we got to be such a mess in the first place. As much as it freaks me out to have yet another person wandering the world with my secrets in their head, I’d rather not feel like a dog begging for approval and attention.

I’m sorry I got high for six months straight and ignored you. I’m sorry that I overslept and missed your mom’s memorial service. I’m sorry if you heard that I ranted to Desirae about you canceling. I don’t know what else I have to be sorry for. I’m feeling very alone right now, and I’d like to stop feeling that way.

That’s why I do it.

“A Modest Proposal” or “Child of a Lesser God”

May 12, 2008

I’m scared.  There are so many things that I’m trying to say right now that they have created a sort of traffic jam in my head, and nothing can come out.  I’m not sure how to do this.  I’m not sure how to be loved.  It freaks me the fuck out.  I’ve become so accustomed to being a toy, a pawn, a cumdump, that when someone takes an interest in me I begin to crawl inside myself and shut down.

I’ve met someone new.  It was only supposed to be a thing.  Nothing of substance or of any consequence.  It should have only taken an hour- two tops.  Instead it’s taken three days.  Three days and a modest proposal.  Boyfriend.  What does that mean?  How do I do that?   What if I get in too deep, and I’m too afraid to get out?

I’ve never had to make a commitment to anyone but myself.  I’m kind of a dead beat in that department.  I missed a funeral today because I was still too high to get up this morning.  I’m flailing.  I can feel the reigns slipping between my fingers, and I’m not sure how to regain control.

I said yes.  I don’t feel any different.  I don’t have butterflies.  I don’t feel somehow more complete.  It doesn’t feel wrong, but it doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel perfect.

Getting fucked is a performance I have perfected.  Maybe I’ve been typecast for a reason.  Maybe I’m not meant for anything better than that.