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.