No Title Given
Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Alan was supposed to call me yesterday, but he didn't, since his phone got turned off from not paying the bill. Hmm. He had called me three to four times the day before, and I really liked that. Talking to him on the phone is so much better than just though AIM... I act completely differently towards him depending on which we are using when we talk in the evenings. I like myself better on the phone.
He's supposed to call today... He asked me when I was going to wake up today. I told him sometime between 10 and 11AM... I spent a portion of that talking to Stephen (FINALLY! I've been trying to contact him for ages... and he had not called me... I wanted to do something with him tonight, with it being New Year's Eve. But, he had already made plans with another friend, John. Yeah 
So now I'm stuck here, watching whatever movie is coming on, and seeing the ball drop... all alone... just like last year. Fucking sucks) and I also had to go to the bank, as my parents gave me $300 for my checking account to deposit (but I am not spoiled - I have a -$44 balance, and the rest of the money is for books.) I just got back. When I got back, I thought I would try to bury my frogs in their final resting place... But when I tried to dig, the ground was just too hard. I tried in about three locations, and got stuck at the same point each time. So there was nothing else I could do but sit them back in the breezeway, like they had all night. Maybe the ground will be more thawed by this afternoon. Maybe. Maybe.
I'll write more about their death this evening, I guess. How it happened. I'm going to meet my mother in town around 3:30, because then we are going to Wal-Mart to get me some new frogs. Watch them not have any. My mother suggested fish, but I could pick fish that were much more expensive, believe me. And she only agreed to get me one, to replace 3. Ughhghg. I'm going to use what money I have left from the $20 they gave me to spend on things I want to do, on buying a second frog. I don't even really feel that great about getting new ones... Less than 24 hours after the old ones died... Who knows, maybe this other Wal-Mart will not have frogs. Then we would go to PetSmart and see what aquatic creature I can get. But I really don't want fish... I really don't. The only reason why I am so bent on getting another pet is because I've got a $30 tank full of water back at my room, as well as a whole shit load of food, just sitting around. It would be such a waste to have only used them for 2 months (which was as long as I had the frogs... It was almost three. A couple days short of three, but they died. They'll never know the year 2002, the poor little bastards. )
No Title Given
All three of my frogs died today. I don't know why. I changed the water, and 2 hours later, they were dead and stiff and just floating there. I'm making some meringues to help take my mind off of it. I didn't mean to kill them, whatever I did. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.
No Title Given
I tried to do some yoga a little while ago, around 2. I purchased some videos for it the day after Christmas... One for beginners, one for lower body, and one for abs. Sarita got me into wanting to do it... I just hope I'm going about it the right way. 
I watched the beginners one all the way through (or, until it got to the part where I couldn't do it anymore. Apparently there are poses that cannot be done while a woman is on her period... the introverted poses, or whatever.) I figured today would be a good day, with my father in bed and my mother gone. I went about 1/2 way through the tape, which was probably about 15 minutes worth. When I had watched it through, I remembered thinking that it did not look that hard. I ended up almost falling over and in general just losing my balance for most of the standing poses. I felt really calm afterwards, though... It sounds so stereotypical, and I'm annoyed because that is how they described how the feeling would be all during the video (repetition is not my friend) but that was really the only word for it... Not mentally calm, but physically. It was nice... we'll see if I feel anything tomorrow.
I started the video twice, because after I had started the first time, the phone rang, and it was Alan. I had been thinking about calling his phone and leaving a message... When I told him that while we were talking, he asked if it would have been a good or bad message. I said good... Honest truth, too. The conversation was odd... I can't really talk about it, because if I do, I'll get out of the good mindset that I am in now. I'm making the effort to keep happy, be above it... Got to keep on track and keep trying. I've been writing too much, that's the problem. Must refrain from that. But, anyway, we talked. He had lain down last night while we were talking, since I was not happy and not saying much, and he fell asleep. I figured that is what he had done, since it was almost 2AM and he had not responded for about two hours. He woke up around 5 not realizing just how long he had slept. He told me he hasn't had a cigarette in a week or so. I'm not sure if that's good or bad... I don't really want him to stop things he may enjoy just because I do not like them. He said it was bad for his health, anyway. I told him there were worse things for this health, and he said for me not to push it, since he assumed I was talking about pot. I corrected him, and told him driving was dangerous, too... since I was trying to be cute. Yeah. Told him a very, very small portion of a conversation with my mother about how I have been feeling... I asked her if I should break up with Alan. I didn't tell him that part, just that I had asked my mother for advice. For her response, she was using "code", since my dad was in the living room watching TV... She asked me if it was like the fourth of July. I looked at her odd, and she gave me that, "you know what I'm talking about" look... I still really didn't know, but eventually I guessed sex. I told her yeah... that now it was like that. When I told Alan that part over the phone, he was like, "it wasn't before?" And I told him before it wasn't good... And he said, "Because it was forced." I feel bad that that's how he thinks I perceive it, because there were times that I liked it, too. It was just the anger he had toward me when I did not want to... I corrected him and said, "no, timing was just off." And a lot of other stuff. Anyway. My mother said, "well..." Hmm. Apparently my mother thinks that if the sex is good, I should stay. Interesting. So, I asked her, did that mean my father meets up to those expectations. She just gave me a look accompanied with the response, "surprisingly enough, sometimes, yeah." eww. Goodness, I never saw my mother had a horn ball.
Alan apologized that we have been fighting the past couple of days. I told him it was my fault. He agreed, and said he wasn't omitting me from the blame, but that some of it was his fault, too. I still told him no, that it was me. He said he knew, and that he was trying to be sweet.
I just don’t want to think about it anymore. I am just glad he called me. It grounded me.
This was written very, very poorly.
No Title Given
The process of release - written on 12/25 & 12/26.
I've wanted to write all day, but then I really don't. I... I don't like how I write anymore. I feel like I need to prove something when I'm writing, and sometimes that works out... helps clarify things so much better. I wish I could have a different mind set when I'm writing, instead of wanting to say something so profound that it would change whoever read it, but it's a force of habit. I spent so many years writing in here specifically to Alan (since it was so much easier to say what I wanted to say in there instead of trying to get him to take what I had to say one on one. It was wrong of me all along, and I feel bad about it now, but at the time it was a lazy method of talking seriously with him.) But since I spent so much of last year, and especially the last couple of months, actually not wanting to write, or being afraid to write, well... It makes me dislike most of everything I try to communicate... which in turn makes me lose the need to write. Alan is having the same problem, but I can only assume that his source conflict is somewhere else than my own. The difference between us is that I need to write. I've grown up using it as a tool to help me through things, and to keep myself from doing so... just makes it all the worse for me, and for anyone related to whatever issue that I am having. More times than not, that person is Alan. I wish things were better in general for me. My thoughts trouble and scare me. I'm mulling over choices that I don't really think are available to me, choices that I want and don't want, and I'm playing with the logics of what I want for me and what is best for me. I don't recall ever being so confused.
I have been crying more this evening. I'm trying to pour this awful feeling out of me. I can't be carrying it around. And the more I deal with it, the more I feel myself wanting distance from Alan. The deeper I get, the more I wonder why I do not hate him. What posses me to keep wanting it, being love and attention, from him. At some of my lower points, I wonder why I think it will be different now. I start wondering how long it will take this time until he bails on me again. That it's all just a matter of when, not if. I then start to hate him at those moments, and I can feel it in my chest. Resentment and hurt just all balled up, right below my throat. I'm assuming that these are normal feelings, considering all I have been through. From being with him, because of him; whatever applies best. And with the added fact that I am now revisiting a once healed scare, just as if it has happened again, all because of Tabitha being added to the equation, and what he did with her... It's like unfinished business. I'm trying to rush myself through it, forcing as much as I can out of a little opening of time, to keep it from poisoning my mind. And my relationship. I could quite possibly go crazy otherwise. Do crazy things. I am sure people have for less of a reason. So, I bring it upon myself because I have to.
I am not sure if I analyze this as to help others and myself understand me, or to just help formulate an excuse to help cover up my addiction to pain.
I'm a very pathetic person. I overload quickly. I can't deal with anything negative or emotional; it's not a workable substance. There's so much history there between Alan and I, so much of it so painful for me, and at times I almost cannot take it. The first couple of nights when I was at his place, I laid in bed, slowly slipping into this feeling of sadness. Almost all at once I would want to be at home, or anywhere else; just out of Kentucky. I would start thinking that I could not do this, I could not deal with this. I laid there, my eyes wide, my breathing deep and dizzy. I suppose it could have been a panic attack, a very very mild one. I cannot remember how many nights that happened, exactly. More than once, possibly more than twice. They resided after a while. Right about when Alan started asking me questions... maybe he felt the sadness coming off of me like heat. Or maybe he could see me, or hear me, in the dark. Possibly in my eyes? He kept asking me if I was going to break up with him. I would tell him no. One night, as we laid down, about to go to sleep, Alan asked me if I was going to break up with him after he dropped me off at home, once the trip was over.
I replied no, quickly. In truth, I had thought about it quite a bit. Had even given it real thought during those moments that I had lain awake. No part of me really wanted to, I suppose. It was just a quick solution to exterminate the feeling I was having. I've trying to make better decisions for myself, since in the past all of my decisions were directed toward being with someone, and then wanting to draw my happiness from them. It had always blown up in my face in the past, and my thoughts about leaving Alan was me trying to use the lessons I have learned from that. If it hurts, run. If there's smoke, there's fire.
Soon enough I was able to sleep at night, but my thoughts began to linger on Tabitha during the day. While Alan was at work, for 9 hours, I would sit and think. I would try to sleep more just to turn off my mind. My feelings of disappointment in Alan, my feelings of embarrassment... I would guess a large part of my hurt is a result of how offended I am... Insulted at the undeserved attack upon my trust. I believed everything he told me, right down to the last detail. I lived it and breathed it... used it as apart of my healing process. The structure for my security. How flattered I was when he said he left her because he missed me. Oh, my gullibleness. The thought that I never would have expected it of him, because he was godlike in my mind then. Flawless. Nothing he did was ever wrong, or intentional. And I understood him to be sorry for what he did. Even now, I cannot even fathom him doing what he did. The reality of it is just too painful.
My friend Brian told me that if he were really sorry, then he would not get angry at the mention of her by me. I wish he would say he hated her as much as I do, that he just used her for sex (even though that will be still painful to hear, it's better than knowing he actually cared.) The more I think about what their relationship was like, the more I can compare it to ours. Going by his actions, he very well could have cared about her. Either that, or he cared about me just as less as he did her. I... I hate this. Why do I keep having this shit appear in my life. I've been crying for a decade.
We had sex almost every night while I was there, and sometimes I thought that I shouldn't, even though I physically wanted to. I knew that I should not be doing something too emotionally tied until I felt good in my head. But I still did it. It did not really bother me afterwards, in neither a good nor bad way. Sex has never really been an emotional thing to me, although, it was the last night we had sex... But then afterwards he got upset about his computer crashing (which I would have been, too) but he started throwing stuff across the room and saying how nothing ever goes right for him... just talking all depressed and about how horrible his life is. Ranting in general. I hate it when he talks like that. So I just sat there. Yet again, wondering what I am doing there. He said a lot of things, when he noticed how quiet I was. In truth, I was crying. I had been trying to cry the entire trip, to let out some feelings, and my body decided to then. I made some responses, but not much. Alan moved from the couch to the bed, and curled up in the bed sheets beside me, hiding beneath them. His voice sounded as if he was crying. We stayed quiet. Alan at some point had sat up... was still talking some. Then he said, "Please hug me." I looked over at him, and I had never seen so much pain displayed on his face. It made me see how vulnerable he was... How I could literally shatter him if I left him. Much like how I have done in the past. Not by far did it make everything better within me. While he were hugging, he spoke about me... About how I had always been there, unquestioning, for him. In a quiet voice, he said he never should have left me the first time. And he promise me that he would never leave again, no matter how bad it got. As I hugged him, and tried to comfort him, I decided that I would try. Trying to express my thoughts at the time, I told him that he was my pot. Which is true on many different levels, now that I think about it. Deep down, I want to keep trying with him. Right now, there are a lot of valleys in the relationship, but the peaks are very nice. I have a good time with him when he is happy. I may still be wrestling with my thoughts, but I am not sure if anything would ever come from them, or if I could actually follow through. And I probably need to talk to him about them all. Actually, I know I do. Not sure exactly how. Maybe I'll let him read this. It would be a horrible decision, but it would be the best way I possibly could. I know it will make him feel bad, and he'll tell me that. But I don't know what else to do. I don't think I can deal with losing him, no matter what reasons I could possibly think of to leave. Love is tragic, after all.
No Title Given
I don't want to write bad things. When I was with Alan on my trip, we had good times. Even with his family, and his friends (the little time I spent with them.) With the exception of a few arguments... I really, really wish there were none, but it's something we still need to learn about each other, since being apart in such big gapes makes it easy to forget a person's "points." In addition, we both have some growing up to do as well. I'd like to be normal, and we're probably rather close to it, if not already. I do want to be happy with him, live with him, and love him. I came to this conclusion after writing the text below, as the troubled thoughts that I just expressed actually made doubts start floating in my mind. After having written them out, I feel better. I cannot be sure how long it will last, or if it's just because it's Christmas morning at 2AM. If nothing else, this writing will serve as a window to help me start rebuilding some things inside of me, if only the foundation. I just needed to make this note encase Alan ever does read this journal, although no one is supposed to know about it right now. I needed to do something about the thoughts in my head, and I'm sorry. I know you do not like it when I write bad things. If you do ever read this, love, maybe you'll understand my perspective more.
I've been crying all afternoon. I know I should be going to bed soon, after all it's Christmas, but I fear I won't be able to sleep. For the past 10 days, I've been drowning in horrible feelings about the past... And tonight I've been under water. It makes me lose feeling in my back and my neck, and I just start crying. Like I am now. I didn't want to cry this time around. Was that so much to want. And I want to talk, I want to ask questions... But that's not really an option, and in reality, I would regret having asked any questions. I just don't want to be like my mother, having to just "overlook" the things that bother her. I don't want it to be like this. I've been reading over old journal entries from diaryland... I had blamed myself that whole time. I thought it was my fault, when all I've ever did was just be there. Like a token. I was so tender... I think I may have still had hope then. And with that hope, I e-mailed him daily. I really didn't know what I was doing... It was like being locked in a room, with one window. And he'd read the e-mails. More than likely after he'd get home from fucking her. In my crulest thoughts, I wonder if maybe while she was still in the same room, watching TV, naked, as he read. And I was so puzzled at the time... puzzled... why he said he would write me a response, maybe even treat me to a phone call, but then never did. How every time I called him, he would be on his way out... probably to see her. Or he'd be gone... probably out with her. I would leave rather pathetic messages on his answering machine, pleading with him to call me back... Did she ever hear him play those messages? All I can think about is how I waited. All the time. And how those hours I spent changed me. How they beated me down, to nothing. And then one day, he called. He said he missed me. I had never been so relieved, so happy... but he lied. As to not to hurt me, he says... And it didn't, for a while. It just delayed it. I was healed... I was almost better... but it tore down my walls and my defenses and now I can't stop thinking about it. She was still on him when he came to visit me, for fucking sakes. When we had sex that Sunday, she was still a vivid image, a vivid feeling. What could have possibly been going through his mind, I ponder. We spent so many conversations discussing my issues with him just kissing another person... It seems petty to me now, but at the time, he was still the only person I had any experience with. How could he even look at me, or tell me he loved me, with that fact floating in front of his mind? Did he not feel guilt? Every silent moment I have to think, I do, in circles... On my trip, when Alan was at work, I would think.... I would try to make myself cry, as it usually makes myself feel better. But I couldn't. I wanted to be happy, and in present day, I was. But the 17 year old inside of me was still aching. I thought about what they could have been doing, while I was waiting. While I was writing and crying. I wonder if it was her he was going to visit the same day he broke up with me, just hours later. I wonder how many times they had sex, and where they did it. I wonder if he ever thinks about her, misses her. Fantasies about her. Was she better than me? Did he really care for her? Would he have ever broken up with her, if she had not done it first? I wish it would just go away... why can't some things just be taken back. I can't keep suffering like this, it's no way to function. I wish he hated her as much as I do. But he doesn't understand, and he won’t ever. The whole time I was there last week, I was just hoping for some compassion... Someone to help me... I would try to bring it up, but he would get so angry. I almost felt sick when he asked in a very loud tone, “Because I fucked her?” while we were in a Wendy’s having lunch on the 20th. It may have been two years ago for him, but it happened 3 months ago for me. I am sure, in time, I will get over the fact... but the lie is something very different.