Lies.

All we do is lie. Mother contacted me once more with a somewhat brief, but civil question.

She asked about me and H[redacted] well-being. I find myself hoping for further interaction with her. I do not know what it is lately, but I find myself missing my siblings. I find myself missing talks with her.

I find myself wondering why it does not actively bother me.

I have finally cleansed myself of T[redacted] who did not see me for the person I was. He was guilty of what he accused me of doing three years ago. He saw me for what he wanted to see. This became apparent when he said metal did not fit me. Then fumbled trying to justify that. His judgmental nature annoyed me as well. I do not care what traumatized him or bothered him in regards to what other women did. I do not care if he sees women as largely whorish and stupid. If his views are extended to the majority of women in that fashion, then that means that they would extend to myself in that fashion. Someone like that you need to watch what you say or do around them. That is the only reason why I care to even mention that. He saw me as different from that so when I skittered over to the “danger zone” he became angry and militant. What he called being “worried.”

Always tip-toeing. Afraid of being judged. Like the case with my mother.

Am I wrong in what I do? Am I wrong to want to taste what I have wanted for a long time? Whether it’s a damned tattoo or to just try different things that I have not tried before. I feel like I’m always tied down by the wishes and desires of others. The judgment they impose on me and my fear of being rejected binds me to them. It chains me to a world where I cage my thoughts and I express myself rarely.

Am I a whore? Am I stupid? Am I weird? Crazy? Why the fuck do I care?

J[redacted] saw relationships as exchanges. He felt that he gave me motivation to finish school and that I gave him nothing in return. I gave him myself as a person. Something he acknowledged but did not fully appreciate. Obviously. Me as a person was not something that he wanted. He wanted a reason to live and I was not enough. Finally had “the talk” during another drunken night of his. He made it painfully apparent that night that I was not enough for him; so I cut him off except for two emails that I sent him afterwards. It was my way of crying over it I guess. My pathetic way of going about it because that let him know I was feeling it. It would have been better if I wrote sad poems and cried alone in a corner somewhere. But I did not actually cry. I missed talking to him and I felt sad when my mind wandered during my walks. I listened to Jack Off Jill – Cockroach Waltz for several weeks as tribute. Couldn’t sleep without listening to that song. Scoured the net for it and emailed it to him before making it a dedication.

Part of me has always been scared of being alone. That is one reason why I hold on to destructive relationships. And I mean alone in any sense of the word. Books are not enough to occupy my mind because I know that I will finish reading them eventually. Afterwards, they become fond memories like friends that are no longer around. Like A[redacted]. Like the several friends I have had but no longer see due to circumstances. You can reread the book. Just like you can review your fondest times with someone in your mind, but you always know what will happen next. It’s nothing new. A book can not replace the excitement of actually doing things in the world. Just as memories can not replace actual interaction with the person that is their subject.

This site is meant to save me from that.

I have been speaking with B[redacted] a lot. I do not want to make the mistakes that I have repetitively made in the past with people off and on the net. I am trying hard to stop that from happening. I am trying to be as honest and open as I can. When he does not prompt me for answers on a topic that I know needs elaboration, I do it voluntarily. All the above are things I have had trouble doing in the past. I feel that my thoughts are inadequate to express or are not of much consequence. He has nervous tendencies and is about as enclosed as I am (or was), but he still expresses himself. Openly. Even if it is anonymously on the web, it’s something that I wouldn’t dare do even as a shadow.

I guess that’s what inspired me to make this small space. How he shares his creative works with me with almost no hesitation is something that I enjoy very much. It makes me want to be able to do the same with him. So I am. I am drawing again. I am writing again. My depression hits me now and then, but it doesn’t baffle him.

I understand him, but I don’t.

He has been busy today. Doing homework or something like that. He mentioned a lot of homework and finals being near. Sleep finally comes to me and I hope that it comes to him soon. Perhaps it did and he left Trillian running. Not like him though.