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.