Log 22

Really fucking frustrated right now. 

I feel like everyone has a million expectations of me. I'm being torn apart left and right. Pay this, finance that, get this done, get that done. I'm in over my head and I'm still being treated like a child. 

For the record, I DO fucking know how to cook. 

For the record, I DO fucking know how to train my dog. 

Don't give me this bullshit fucking crap about how I would have ruined the food if you hadn't taken over, or how you had fucking ANYTHING to do with my dog standing still for his food bowl. You never feed my dog, so what in god's name makes you think you trained him to stand still for his fucking food? 

Don't fucking TEAR my dog and KICK him off the couch. It's something I'm lenient about and I don't fucking appreciate you tearing at him like that. What the fuck. If he's doing it, TELL ME so I can train him the way I--I am attempting to train him. That intimidation bullshit is fucking pathetic. You talk about how traumatized your dog is from cruel people, and then you treat my dog like he's a cretin. Pisses me the fuck off. 

Stop treating me like you're my parents. I do not need to be coddled or taught in anything. 

I am bending over backwards to cover monetary expenses and carry three people through right now and I just can't fucking handle it anymore. I'm fucking done. 

Log 21

Today was not good. Way too much stress. The package I got from my mom was the only good thing about today. Toffifees, gummy bears, my bible, and a water cooker. As mom said, I can munch toffifees and sip tea while reading it. And I think will. 

I need something right now. One of the reasons I don't turn to God when things go to crap, is because I don't believe that if he is there, he is to be treated like Santa Clause. Either I'm there for him like he is there for me, or not at all. It's a full on commitment, a life changing one. 

And yet all I want is someone to talk to. Someone not involved. Not Kylie, no one who is living in this situation. I don't know if God is trying to tell me something. I don't know anything right now. All I know is that this keeps coming up and it tears at my heart everytime. I trust him, but it bothers me anyway. It hurts me whenever I see those words come up. And now they're getting personal. Acting like I'm the enemy. Acting like she ever had something to lose. Acting like she ever had a chance and I didn't. Lies, I'm surrounded by them. Accused of spreading them. 

Where am I in all this? No promises, nothing to hold onto. Nothing to assure me I am really where I'm at. Nothing to tell me I'm not in the wrong. My feelings are all over the place. I wish I could erase all those words out of my mind but instead I'm too busy trying not to cry. I don't want him to feel bad, but I feel too bad to act like it's just brushing past me and I don't even care. 

Cause in the end, I do care. I care that she keeps bringing things up, that she keeps asking people to ask questions for her; that she or one of her friends is personally attacking me. 

And the most hysterical thing about it all is that she still has no idea that he and I share a couch and hang out all the time, much less that we have been sleeping together. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. She has no idea, none whatsoever. She barely knows of my existence. What does she think of me? Does she think I'm another pathetic person vying for his attention? Trying to care for someone I have no right to care about? 

This whole thing is like a twisted property exchange battle. I know how I feel. I know where I am every night. She either doesn't know or won't accept it; I have no idea. She is quite obviously still under the impression that she and he will have a relationship, and I'm the annoying girl trying to drive a wedge between their happiness. The only reason I know it's not true is because of what I have experienced on my side. I don't know what she's experiencing on her side or what she knows or what he has told her. Either way, the message has not been received. 

And ultimately that's what bothers me. I don't care whether or not she knows he and I are more than just platonic friends. I do care that she does not think that's all he and she are. And if they are not, then I have a problem with that too. We're not dating, but there is no room for him to be treating her and me the same way, if not physically because she's a long way away, then at least emotionally/verbally. 

I trust him when he says it's not the case... but just because he thinks he has made it clear doesn't mean she thinks that. She obviously doesn't. 

And the vicious words against me on my public site just make everything that much worse. 

Log 20

I like being alone, in my head. I don't like falling asleep by myself. I don't like sitting on the couch by myself. But I like having my thoughts to myself. I liked our house, growing up. There were always people there, but I never felt like I had to talk to them. They would hang out in the kitchen. Occasionally I'd wander in to talk, snag some food off my mom's plate, and then head back to the couch to write. I wrote all the time. I was always writing. I have been glued to my computer since I got my first laptop at 13. 

It was an old Toshiba. 2 GB harddrive. Can you imagine? But it was mine. And though it was nothing more than a typewriter with a screen and solitaire, it got the job done. I would go to bed at midnight. I would get up at five. All I did was write. But I wasn't alone. I was surrounded by people. 

I suppose this is why I have always like writing at Starbucks. Or any coffee shop, for that matter. In a room full of people. Safe. Secure; yet to myself. People all around me, talking, and living. I like when that's all there is to it. It's like in the horror movies. People are always alone when something happens. I don't mind being left alone in my creepy thoughts as long as I can come back from them to get another refill from the barista behind the counter. 

I do like talking. I like having someone there that I can talk to about my ideas and everything that is on my mind. I like talking through words and paper. The problem is that I cannot turn my brain off. It never stops. That's not to say I cannot control what does go through my brain. And even when crazy thoughts keep coming back, I know that they are crazy. They may still be there, but they don't drive me insane. 

It doesn't change the fact that I still think about things. Things that have happened, could happen. Things that happen in my head. What ifs. My brain is full of constant what ifs. 

Sitting here, alone in the living room, yet not alone because there are others in the bedroom over, I don't feel so bad. The TV is running. The TV is always running. Music or the TV, calming and soothing or loud and morbid... I don't care. My brain shuts off then. I don't become consumed by my own thoughts. Instead, I can channel them. I can write, like this, and feel calm. I still am filled with uncertainty and lack of answers, but it doesn't seem so bad, in this moment. 

I feel like everything is in pieces... but it just doesn't seem so bad. 

Log 19

Got an email from my ex today. Not really surprising. He likes checking in on me every now and then, to remind me of three things. 

1) Why I broke up with him. 

2) Everything I appreciated about him. 

3) I am pathetic. 

Say what you will about the asshole, one thing I cannot deny. He knows me. He knows exactly what I mean when I say nothing at all. He reads between every line in my blog and status. I read his email, committed it to memory, and then deleted it. Committing it to memory is not hard. Photographic memory, I guess. Some curse like that I suppose. 

"I've been reading your xanga. I feel responsible for your self destructive behavior. I feel like it's my duty to tell you what I think about your situation. It is a guy, isn't it? And you are giving everything you are to show him how you feel. And he's not responsive. Not very. Not really. Barely enough for you to hold on. But you're going to hold on, until he says no. Which ultimately is all you want. A yes or no. You wouldn't even be hurt so badly if he said no. At least you'd sleep at night instead of living in uncertainty. 

Have you slept together yet? Has he kissed you yet? Has he told you he wants something serious and that's why he's taking it slow? Take it from an asshole, (takes one to know one. Believe me, I know) you're hurting yourself. Anyone that uncertain is going to take forever to come around, if at all. You should know this. You probably do..."

blablabla. He goes on. As usual. He's almost right. I would be hurt with a no. I'd be crushed. I'd probably even feel betrayed. But yeah, I would rather hear a no now than later. 

It just annoys me that he pops up out of nowhere, just when I feel like I have myself under control, and throws all my resolution and rationality out of whack, so I am forced to rearrange everything, and feel sick to my stomach in the meantime. 

This is just not my week. 

Thoughts of Reoccurance

I asked my mom to mail me my bible. 

I asked my dad to find a church that he thought would be good. 

I don't know why I asked this. I had no desire in London. I didn't want to do anything in London. I felt listless and lifeless and didn't know what to do with myself, really. I woke up sometimes. Every now and then I would eat. I drank a lot of coffee. When I didn't sleep, I left the house. I barely cleaned my room. I never really unpacked. 

Here, I feel a certain amount of life coming back. I have the job I've always wanted. My co-workers are amazing. Everyone is encouraging and motivated. It's the one location that has a neighbourhood coffeeshop environment. People are regulars. They stay for hours on end. They are encouraged to stay. 

I currently am staying with someone I would currently consider one of my closest and best friends. She has been a great source of encouragement for me. I don't know what I would do without her. Suffer a lot more than I do, I guess. 

It annoys me, how "emo" my inner thoughts sometimes run. But after reading pewterrose's post on whether we have a soul or not, I cannot help but follow the familiar trail of thought as so often before. Do I have a soul? Am I just a bunch of neurons? I seek and I seek. All I want is a final answer. All I want is a clear message. 

All I want is a dove from the sky with a letter in God's own handwriting. 

I might as well ask to hold the rainbow in my hand. I feel a lot like Thomas; like I cannot believe until I have seen. But I'm supposed to believe without seeing. That is the whole point. Faith is to believe without proof. I should not need scientific proof. I should not need a Savior coming out of the sky in order to believe. That isn't what it's all about. 

And I don't know if I want to believe so that I finally have an answer, or because it is an indwelling desire to know and to believe. I don't know if it's so I finally have a sense of belonging. A community, a group of people who become your surrogate family no matter where in the world you are. 

I cannot believe that I have no purpose in life; for that is a truly depressing line of thought. And yet I cannot seem to put a clear and firm foot on the path that gives me purpose. I cannot seem to make that step and say "this is it" though I desperately want to. I hold back, because I know within me that I am not there yet. And I add the word "yet" because I wish to give myself hope that one day... one day, I will be there. 

It is most probably the one thing I cannot talk to her about. I know how she feels about christianity. I understand why she feels this way. I wish I could talk to Fiona about it again. She was the one person who really seemed to give me answers. Her faith so unwaivering and so different from that of anyone I had ever seen before. Her and Thomas both. There's a reason they belong together. They have made me feel about it in a way I had never felt before. 

You know it's sad when you feel even tempted to go to a confession box in a catholic church just so someone will listen to you. Just so someone is there for the sole purpose of listening to you while you pour out all the dirt in your soul and heart and life. 

I don't like talking about problems. I don't want to burden people with all the stupid things that run through my brain because I know that I overthink. I overthink and I cannot shut my brain off. I usually write to get things out but in the two weeks I have been here, this is the first time I have taken the time to actually sit down and type out how I feel. I got so angry with myself I nearly passed out on the cross trainer today. I didn't even realize how fast and hard I was going until my heartrate was suddenly blinking a rapid 187 and when I got off the machine I went to my knees for a moment. I couldn't walk at first. 

I haven't had a chance to work on my novel or write a story. Work has been my only outlet and James and Shawn have been absolutely amazing. They don't know how I feel or what I deal with. We don't know each other well enough to talk about that. But they see when I have bouts of being tired, and they toss me a drink and a friendly jab. It's just nice when someone notices the occasional frown, and lets you know that they notice it. I don't always want to talk about it. I just like that they notice and offer encouragement in a small way. It's easy to be a workaholic in environments like that. 

Now if only I can get more work done on my novel. I need to let it out. It has been six months and I have only barely begun to go into my horrible twisted past. I don't think I'll ever move past those demons until I have written it out, and have confronted myself with who I was... with who I feel like I still am. 

I am unworthy. I am unworthy of anything good. That is how I feel. That, and dirty. It's hard to ignore little things that have no significance, when you feel that they are a threat to something good that is happening in your life. I only feel like it's a threat because I don't feel like I deserve it in the first place. 

There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. I fight so hard against arrogance that I sometimes seem to move down toward the lack of self esteem line. 

But then again, when you're a whore... what can you expect? 

=//