GAH!

Downey- I missed you today… but I don’t want to text you. So… I will pretend you heard this. I’m sure you missed my last ten messages because your phone is broken. And I’m sure then ten before that you were off taking your children to visit Italy. And before that… I hadn’t dumped you. I wonder if the reason you are avoiding me is you are secretly ashamed that we had sex even after I dumped you. But shouldn’t I feel shame (though I don’t) if anybody does? I came crawling back even after you treated me horribly! And my timing! it was horrible! it was the day after you changed your status from “in a relationship” to “not in a relationship!” I mean, can it get any worse? And when I saw you, you said “you were SUPPOSED to show up YESTERDAY.” Oops. But you were nicer to me that time. You growled and said I wasn’t your teddy bear, but you still cuddled up to me. So THERE. Not that I ever think about it. it never crosses my mind. Except that you keep ignoring me. If you didn’t ignore me so much, the pink elephant in the room wouldn’t BE there. So, you wanna know what is YOUR FAULT? (hah! This is my writing and YOU CANT ANSWER!!!) it is your fault that I think about you because if you tried to contact me I wouldn’t feel so threatened by this sudden DROPOFF of ALL contact of yours truly. It’s like when says “don’t think about carrots and onions.” Oops.

You said “don’t want me anymore, I am undesirable!!!!!!!” That didn’t make you desirable. But your contradictions… somebody should write a book on them. “I don’t contradict myself except when I am always contradicting myself.” It’s more subtle of course. “I am REALLY weird.” and then you put on this persona and wear it and GAH!!!! do things that are mean. Seriously mean… What if I overreacted when you said you wanted it to be casual and you overreacted when I dumped you? I mean, we had all those jokes about how I was going to break up with you and then we could make up and get back together. I guess somebody sort of dropped the ball. I keep picking it back up, you know, but when I pick it up and toss it to you it’s like you aren’t playing. And when you are playing I have NO IDEA because your silence ensues interrupted. So… why interrupt it? I do feel like it is lose-lose.

I do have to ask myself, what the hell do I want out of this? I want you to be better! but you did too. And yous said you failed. Not so much as failed but discovered there were too many limitations. But E- I mean Downey- I don’t believe in limits. I guess that’s the problem… Hey!!!! I JUST FIGURED OUT THE PROBLEM!!!!!! LOOK AT ME!!!!!

the difference between hesitation and “i want to jump his bones”

I wanted company tonight while I cleaned my apartment. My heart kept racing from too much coffee this afternoon. My morning hadn’t gone as planned. But I went to lunch with a physicist who considered it a date. I didn’t feel so much of a connection because I feel like I can’t connect to anybody. But then, later, this evening. Jason (an ex, and a friend) calls. Guilt covers me from head to toe. He has tried continually to stop by my place and be my friend, and for a year I have flaked out 99 out of 100 times. He doesn’t overdo it. Sometimes it felt that way, but that was my irrationality, not him calling too much, just my guilt talking. Anyway, I told him things I don’t tell most people. I told him the problem with the book I was sending out compared to the person who reads it first and I talked to him about ethical fears. He told me to be less self-conscientious. He kept trying to touch me and I ended up on the phone with Michael having a great conversation. I looked at Jason and asked Michael why it wasn’t a good idea for you to be with somebody you had dated before. Michael gave a brilliant answer about two people occupying a space and time and how you can’t repeat that space and time. I repeated his answer to Jason. But before I could repeat it, he said he was going to go. So I got off the phone with Michael. He had been here for about two hours at this point. I said “why are you going?” I had said things like “I just want to be friends.” Anyway, I told him I still wanted him to keep me company. He showed how to really make a bed with the corners sharp. Mostly, he is a quiet but keen person and I babble on in his presence because he doesn’t interact that much conversationally. But he is supportive and is the one person I know who has been a homeless teenager,  lived in a millionaire home, (but turned down the girls offer to stay there), has been kissed by Jenny McCarthy, has had a younger sister die tragically, and has gotten off methadone and xanax. The last two parts are huge. I have kept my distance from him. But still, I am not afraid to let him see me when I am a mess. Mostly that is the reason I have kept distance from me and him. He buzzes my door and I don’t want him to see my problems. I can’t hide them from him and he can’t make me escape from them, so I’d hide behind the door when he buzzed. He started massaging my hip, (he has a degree in massage) and my feet began to tingle. I asked him why it was doing that, and he explained about the tension in the hip bone. From there it progressed. He wanted to know why I was so shy. The transformation was so extreme if he didn’t know me better, the way he does, he would have freaked out. I would only let him do certain things. But I felt a small part of me open up. But it is the first time really being with somebody so different, and the comparisons to Downey were so huge. Downey makes me just want to do anything to please him, while Jason wants to please me. I don’t know why Downey would turn me on so much when all he would do there is act like he didn’t want me. Jason turns me off by telling me all the things he wants to do, pushing too hard, trying too much, always pushing too far so I have to pull back. But something was different this time. I didn’t let it progress to sex but I didn’t pull so damn hard. I let him touch me and I gently touched him back. He held me ways Downey would never hold me. That is neither bad nor good, but what it is. The most important part was when he wrapped me up and I began to flow tears emptily on his white shirt. He rocked me back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He didn’t understand why, when he was touching my pussy, and he said “he could tell I wanted to DO it” I wouldn’t let him get anywhere. At one point, he asked what was wrong, and he commented again on how I become SO shy, and I said I became uncommunicative. he said it was both. But after he asked what was wrong he also included “you can’t lie.” And I burst out with “I was just really hurt by that guy okay? It’s nothing!!!!” And he said “Oh” and held me to his body over and over again, caressing my hair, massaging me, pressing his body against me. When he kissed me I managed not to compare it to Downey. Much. Not very much. I could tell we were expressing different things. The only thing that I did to him that I used to do with Downey is write letters on him. With Downey, he was so scared of the words “I love you” that I would write them gently on his skin, and not care if he knew what I wrote or not. This was very different. Jason has word tattoes all over his body. it was important he know exactly what I wrote. I wrote the word “WHY”. Then I did it again. Then I did it again with a question mark. Finally, I did it one more time, with my fingers pressing hard into his back, punctuating every letter. He responded somehow with his body, touching me in some way. I knew not to ask “you don’t hook up with girls like this all the time do you?” I don’t think he does that. I felt a little bad that I don’t want to jump his bones the way I do with Downey. I loved the time with Jason,but I still felt I wasn’t ready to have sex with him. On the other hand, I could have slept in his arms. I have slept in his arms before. The part about being shy- I wasn’t so shy when I dated him before. I would become inarticulate and push him away, but I wasn’t silent, and refusing to look at him in the eyes. The lack of eye contact meant something. It meant I was only going where he and I could go. And so when I did meet his eyes for a moment, it had a context. I don’t understand why Jason doesn’t make me want to have sex without foreplay, why I have so much foreplay with Jason but don’t want to go all the way. While with Downey, there were times when I felt so deprived that I would have felt happy if I had just been able to give him a blow job and he touched my hair. TOUCHED. Is it because Jason doesn’t stand there and act like he isn’t attracted to me? Is it because Downey really had issues with being touched, and I always want what I can’t have? I guess this proves that playing hard to get is awful but that people who do it end up with lovers who want to be their slaves. I don’t know. I am confused. I felt precious and loved being with Jason. It’s when I think about Downey (and I can’t ban him from all thoughts, even though I had forgotten our sex life and didn’t want sex anymore until Jason pushed the issue to the forefront.) Maybe if I tell Jason all the things I want him to do. But all this Dan Savage, talk about it and it makes it better ruins the mystery and doesn’t necessarily make sex better. But I thought it would work with Downey. Now I feel like such a hypocrite. I am one person with one person, and a very different with another. With Downey I am somebody who always initiates with wild abandon and when it doesn’t happen feels let down and angry; and with jason i feel like a teenager who loves the time spent together and can trust him but is afraid to lose their virginity and has to keep pulling back. Here is a film clip: Jason, who rocks me back and forth and holds me until I subside and calm down, and Downey, who sits there stonily, ignoring me, ignoring me, ignoring me, and if I get upset or sick or anything at all (one time I was loudly sobbing and he asked me if I had allergy problems when at the time we were 8 months into the relationship and discussing something incredibly intimate that led to me dumping him). A part of me feels like Downey and I had some kind of weird gay romance and he just can’t come out so he forced me to dump him by making is unbearable- oh trust me I put up with unbearable so unbearable isn’t the word… impossible, I guess, he made it impossible… I couldn’t even get a hold of my so-called boyfriend and yet we were supposedly together, we weren’t physical for a month, and yes, I had a problem with that. On the other hand, if I were with another guy and we didn’t have sex for a month, I don’t see how it would be such a big deal. But it was with HIM. I hate these contradictions because I don’t understand them and can never get the answers. Even if they are in science.. or something else. Finding Downey was like coming out. it is another metaphor to add to my grave of metaphors. Whatever the case, Jason was beautiful. Jason was worth the moments. And when he stood up and kissed me, I could feel myself getting wet. Maybe I just need to work on some things, (although sex should not be WORK) and I will want to “jump his bones.” I just DONT understand how it could be the exact opposite with Downey… and how I could be the one, as always, pushing away. I’m always pushing away except in extreme exceptions… I don’t know how Downey got (gets?) me to come to him in every way when with every other person I push and pull. Downey just makes me push… Jason makes me do mostly pulling. Maybe I found two very opposite examples I don’t understand. The awful thing was- but my wounds are too fresh to be saying this- I liked loving better than feeling like the recipient. The only person I have had a healthy balance of these things is B. My heart gets fast. i want to come to him. but he also comes to me. They both turn me on. Life is SO strange…..

more honesty

Mike tells me I’m going to break his heart because I expected the best of people and that it was true love and that nobody else did that. He says I don’t have any defenses against other people.  I’m not a hard person to break. Maybe a long time ago, when I felt I was treated carefully and preciously I would have kept things to myself, or respected Downey’s wishes not to write about him. But he can’t respect a single wish of mine. Not that he would ask what I wish for, or care. Now I am treated like tobacco that needed to be spit out of somebody’s mouth already. I can’t find words for the rush of pain. It is much worse than what happened with B, and I didn’t think it could get worse. I don’t understand this. I try not to understand, and I try to understand, and nothing dampens. I tell Mike that Downey told me he didn’t want to be the guy that hurt me, that he wanted to me my friend, that it was really important. I said Downey respected me, so he said, so it was. Mike sighed and told me that everybody lies like that. I told him it wasn’t true, that it couldn’t be true. I emphasized this and emphasized this. I told him that we slept together afterwords yet Downey told me it was my fault we had sex. I keep thinking that I am more patient because of what i went through with B, but perhaps I am less patient. I was willing to wait for three months of silence and ambiguity from B. But there is no way to wait for that with all of the “fluid” lies piled on by Downey. I thought I knew him. I think I do know him. I think that is what he hates the most. Is it possible some people don’t want other people to know how incredible they could be? Maybe they need to lock it away in a closet so that they can not feel bad when they don’t try to do anything good. That sounds extreme, never trying to do any good. But all I know is I followed what he said. I tried, and I tried. And he failed me more times I thought was possible. And I forgave. And forgiving seemed to be a bad thing. I don’t want to be a doormat. But when I got angry, he responded as if I had become the devil. I believed him when he said he wanted to be friends, how desperately important it was, how deep his respect for me was. I believed him….. I always believed him even when he didn’t come through. I even know I could go up there and show up and he would pretend… you can never know what is happening, but I told christina that I felt like a stalker. She laughed in my face and said how could you be a stalker? He told you that he wanted to stay close with you. He is acting the same way he did in the relationship, which is ignoring all calls. I told B in a text, “thanks for being my friend. I hate how I love. I hate how I love. ” I slept with B because the vortex inside me grew and grew. it was tender and right, but could I handle it?  I love B, he is a perfect friend to me in his own way, which is so different from what I thought a friend was, that our evolution has taken on some kind of supernatural mystery. But B has his own life, and there is no pushing for more. That is part of the built in friendship. I do know that I have stopped fearing that B will kick me out of his life because I will send him an overwhelming email. I might still have a slight fear that I’ve crossed the line, but every single time, he reminds me that it is okay, it is alright, it is “all good.” The problem? I still wanted Downey, who treats me like dogshit. I told him so long ago love meant sacrifice and I meant it, and I would have and did sacrifice so much for our relationship. Am I really such a masochist? I just keep believing that he can be who he was the first three months. I saw something, and everybody says I need to let it go. But friends believe in each other… I think this is getting overboard. I am trying to move on to the next phase of my life. But not receiving a word from him even when I am talking about his birthday present is such a slap in the phase i forget how to breath. Downey said I did nothing wrong. Why can’t we be together again? I don’t know why it is so hard for me to understand, or why I want somebody back that everybody says is so selfish. and I know he acts selfishly. So very selfishly. But I still miss something and I hate myself for that. For caring at all about somebody who dares to treat me like this. Without respect, without dignity, with total and utter silence as if I do not exist. So I keep apologizing to him for my existence. I don’t know what else to do. It is horrible. And he is doing exactly what he said he didn’t want to do. He is causing me more pain than anybody has ever caused me in my life. More than my mom. More than my sister. More than B did in 2003. Much, much more. But can pain be measured? I don’t know. All I know is that the pain only stops for short recesses. Perhaps I am exaggerating. James said I was stronger than him and Martin put together, and james is really strong. But Mike had a point. When mike got off the phone, we sat in silence for thirty seconds and the electricity pulled me. I cried out to Mike that I didn’t believe I would ever be made love to again in the same way. I didn’t use sappy words like “make love” because that isn’t me. I just said I didn’t think I could be physical with anybody again ever because I just didn’t see how it could happen anymore, no more, I couldn’t be touched because it wouldn’t be. It wouldn’t be who I had loved. I had been with many people and I had never felt that way- as if somebody was made to fit inside my body- and so it could never happen again, the rules of physics denied it. But something about the silence gave me hope. There was chemistry in the silence, and for a little while, the thought of Mike drowned out the pain. Even though I would welcome a life of solitude. I don’t care if I never have sex again. I never cared much for sex- (with exceptions like B and Mike.) I know I am biased but I wonder if the only person I really, really cared, more than cared, wanted, needed, and loved sex was with Downey, and he wants me to be dead. Or worse… he wishes I never existed. I feel like the only person who knows the real him… and accepts that he is a total hypocrite to the world. It’s okay.. and it’s not okay. I had something else to add, what was it? I haven’t been doing so well these last eight months, so I think that might be part of it. A lack of structure isn’t good for me. And I told him a million times that being ignored hurts me unreasonably so. I told Mike that me and Downey seemed to leave things at a point where we might get back together someday. Mike doesn’t say things like “Nicole you are breaking my heart.” He told me he was getting more cynical every single day. (Um…He also mentioned meditating.) But he said it the other day. I think somebody understood. It is compensation. Somebody understood. One person. But that is all that mattes. One person understood something. Oh, darling Mike, thankyou for understanding, even if it was for a second.

not okay

I was writing a story, but fuck the story. This life has been filled with so much chaos I am breaking under it. I wasn’t meant to live under this much chaos. I would have more structure in my life if I was Jack Bouer in 24 never knowing if there is going to be a nuke or if his daughter is going to be attacked. I feel so subhuman and so beyond help. I can’t sleep I can only shake. I feel at a loss to do anything to make any direction because choosing a direction would be moving in one way and then I would be denying all the other options and I am so tired of Oshiro saying awful things to me but still I call him up because he is the one that picks up the phone even if he says awful things. At least he picks up the fucking phone. I hate him but he picks up the phone every time. I can’t handle this much longer this agony in my chest this hole inside me and I’m done with the raging anger that was caused by reaching a fever of 104 but I don’t know what is worse. Living in an environment where I am in denial or feeling like I might be able to do something about it. I can’t stand any of this anymore. I am lost, lost completely. And I don’t know I am lost anymore, and I am not calling out for rescue, I just want it to be for something good okay?

twilight

Scared
Sleep won’t come
Can hear the birds tentative songs
The cars are empty
My clock ticks
Can you be the most sensitive and still be tough and take things out and still be ok
This place feels beaten up like it was trashed
Kind of like my insides?
I’ve been alone so long it is easy to return to not knowing what caring feels like- I think I was fooled the whole time, he probably just liked my age and was a sicko. It is the most reasonable reason right now. Otherwise he would have tried to contact me.
Christina called me I need to call her back. It is hard when you and your friends can’t seem to climb out of the situations you are in. I don’t know where to go. I am not so angry now. I feel a loss of hope that transcends the birdsong

Maybe nothing transcends the birdsong

The hate won’t go away it pushes up against me raping me with its force

Take it away..- I am too sad to deal with any force at all. A gun in my hands is just a weapon that falls on the floor and who knows who might pick it up

want to write the past down but instead of being constructive, as it was in the past, I am certain it would circumvent emotional progress… which is really bad because I tend to write my way out of situations like this. But I can’t afford to feel the things I’ve felt… anymore… They kill me all the time…

I’d relive the memories but in this case- as opposed to the book where B is a main character and although he is not hugely sympathetic, the stories to tell about this one would be like the painting of a protruding, curved, mishapen dick, or the sound of a fart repeating. Unfortunately, the lack of finesse would be deadly for this book unless I changed it from realism to a more sympathetic, saccharine tone. Or omitted. But all the good stuff is in the omissions because the admissions display hypocrisy for how dangerous and ugly it can be in the wrong hands.it would be too low, too dysfunctional american dinner table gone wrong. That’s not my genre…it’s too gory and crude. When I present what is crass, there is always dignity. This story wouldn’t have dignity..unless in real life I give it one….

thrashing

i want to write a lullaby that is also a requiem… something sweet has to come out of all this thrashing.Something of music to myself, like Neil Cassady in White Collar finding the music box. But does he go all haywire when he finds out Kate was just conning him? We haven’t finished the storyline, and we don’t know for sure, and being a romantic, I still say Fowler might have her, but being the character and hero he is he finds violence banal and mundane. The cons who have known him taunt him, saying he never could get his hands dirty.

Back to the upsets. The thrashing has mostly been tonight. It calmed me down,all that thrashing, that it did, but my anger had no direction. Well, maybe one direction, one target, one I keep being angry at because of the things they don’t do, the precautions they don’t take, the truths they don’t tell themselves at night.. I’m not usually angry like that, and it was easy to blame it on the fever that took over my life, made me delirious, but mostly it seemed to overshadow everything inside my head and all of a sudden I found every good memory burned to a crisp. And so I no longer cared. I no longer cared at all and something in me wanted blood. I felt untied from any attraction I had ever had to this person. I used to care so much that I would imagine a shield protecting them, a soft shield enveloping them, and I would be next to them… or want to me. For a few hours I only could  feel  the bright whoosh that comes when you’re knocked out. The tumble of the sound of whooshing in my ears,  the sight of stars, and most of all the pressure.  A wounded animal is the most dangerous kind of animal is what they say.  The target of my anger only responded in a way that created more pain, and I just felt shame, the dangerous kind that tests your limits. Then I receive a nice reply from a friend, a friend that never had to try so hard to be a friend. Maybe we’ve had our upsets and our downs, and we don’t keep in touch as much as we should, but there is something different about my target that I feel that the friendship deserves a lot of time. Certain people, you can pick up wherever you left off. Other people, they belong in your life every day, and without that, you hate them for their absence. It might not be fair, it might not be just, but you know they aren’t even giving one percent, and how can you look past that, when you gave so much more, and would give so much more. And they can never look at the whole picture, think about how much they let me down, and how little anger I have expressed, and think for maybe one minute this isn’t about them, it’s about me needing to express my anger at them. I don’t care how they find it, and if the timing is inopportune then it’s their fault for not ever being available and ignoring every humane chance there is.  I think maybe there comes a time where I should walk away, but right now I am so blinded by the stars and the rage and the fall that I don’t know. I need a reason to care again, for it’s been taken away from me. And in its place is a beating drum, a knife, bullets, guns,  a kind of violence I find barbaric.
At least I am back at that stage in my life where I don’t care if the rest of my life is alone again.

I have blocked out the shrieking noises….And I have blocked out the idea that they care.. or ever did care and are nothing more than a loser.. Okay it is hard for me to believe they are a loser but I somehow lost something of heart when I burned passed normal temperatures… Or so I think… and the only imprint of the steps  taken are being washed away by the ocean.

Seattle

“You want a sleeve, dahling?” the barista says in his metro sexual tone of voice. I show him the tip of my brown sweatshirt. “Sleeve,” I repeat harmlessly. He reacts with a quaint mixture of how cute with it’s Seattle so it’s romantic and cool. Seattle is like Paris but instead of being about young love and young promise, it is about youth, illusion, and hardship. The promises broken, the naiveté shed, the days that repeat endlessly because you want your love to be more than a song. The hard edges come out, but the metal is the color of a hundred rainbows folded over on top of one another. Too many visions for it to come together. Graffiti too dense to wash over. The mixture is complete. Nodding Off Guy sits in a corner with his creepy stare, his jaundiced skin, and his battled veins. I’ve seen his face around these streets since I was twelve. Two asian girls sit with their calculators dedicated on solving a problem. A man with glasses and shorts and a big mug sits, wearing cache shorts that seem age inapropirate with his thin grey hair as he eyes a magazine, his square glasses stating “I must be an editor of something unimportant but recognized by a small number of people.” A woman of mixed descent wears a scarf and listens to music, her head going up and down. A girl sits on a couch surface, her toes curled up, reading The Stranger and cuddling up inside herself. Just another sunday night, the end to a start of a week. An old man with a hat sits down next to Nodding Off Guy and makes it his night to stare around observing everybody. The baristas do a quick sweep of the room. I remember the last time I was here, my friend saying “what a mix, oh, what a mix.” The music sings in a honey tone, edging everybody on with the lyrics “I feel good,” the song “I Got you” by James Brown.  I can almost feel Janis Joplin in this song but this music is celebration, and there isn’t enough edge for there to be a Janis song. Instead of “can’t do you no harm” she’d be singing “Oh you do me harm, and it feels good, what should I do?” This whole city is beating, it is a heart, it has veins all over the place, veins it doesn’t know what to do with. Veins that are blocked by cholesterol, veins that are blissed out by needle pricks filled with speed or heroin or both. Anything to speed up the mixture of colors. The city says, do it, do it now before you lose the chance. It is the place to lose everything because the next morning you won’t know what hit you or what you lost. The chances, they build up on you like drops on a flower until the flower falls over and the water hits the ground, splattering onto the sidewalk. There is too much color, not enough production. Too much possibility, not enough opportunity. Too much talent, not enough agents. Too much risk, not enough safety. There is a big divide. There is no stealth here, and everybody pretends to be a star. Everybody is young, and everybody can dress how they want. Everybody is immune to judgement, and nobody speaks to each other unless that person is giving you your coffee jolt. Only when you work as a barista do you learn about the people around you. And then you find that they need your inane small talk more than they need their java. You ask them how they are and they erupt. But ask the same person how they are when they are alone, cornered in their space, reading the paper or eyeing the room, and they will guffaw and find another chair. It’s just the way of the city. Don’t approach unless you are below 21 or can pass for 21, or are in the company of somebody who floats like an It-Girl butterfly, attracting party flavor energy everywhere you go. Putting everything into 3-d if need be, or giving everybody orange glasses to see the world from. People need limits, you hear? Just tell them to see it from one shade and you will be the babysitter that helps them as they travel within this acid trip, trying to make something of themself.

Boing

I get so sore when I see that losers messy finger splotches on things, as if I can see the places in the bowl where they took the cake mix from a spoon and had a nice lick and then stuck the spoon back in. They get sloppy, just not with me, it’s okay for everybody else to be sloppy, but not for me, or those who they feel like judging. I thought they were completely gay when I met them with their pretentious hand-mannerisms trying to control everything around me, keep me close enough, far away, I’m dizzy enough now. And maybe they are still in the closet because they keep throwing themselves at their younger idiot friend, trying to be younger, trying to be stupider, and I get yelled at because I don’t pretend to be something I’m not. Just another mid mid crisis amidst crises or maybe just pants that they decided they put too much weight on to keep around, or maybe they just threw them in the trash just because they felt like it. I was just pants that got thrown out. So many weaknesses, things they can’t own up to that I find it disgusting, shatteringly so. It’s the hypocrisy that got me so worked up I needed to metaphorically put my head in an oven to start a new life. I need to walk away from the scene of the crime now but I feel like I’m going to pass out any minute here, and nobody in this ugly toothless house will pick me up, and nobody watching will give me a ride out of this place no matter how long my finger is planted, hello, I need a ride.

oij io jhj jghvgv

i GUESS what i meant by that last entry is the fever was like a symbolic vacation from my life; my life is like this autonomous “thing” outside of me that i feel is way outside of my control, or even grasp. I feel like I can’t even step on it without creating nerve canisters or ghastly murderers. I don’t think I can honestly say I am trying to make my life better… It’s more that I feel so betrayed and disappointed in people (not to be one of those people that is like “it’s everybody else’s FAULT!” because I dont believe that..)  but I feel severely let down by so many people I’ve encountered… I know my standards are too high in situations… But I am really loyal and that loyalty feels so unrequited right now. So it gets to the point where I feel like I am going to lose it if one more person ignores a phone call or doesn’t get back to me on time. And there are people that call me more than I call them, but it’s usually people who I don’t want to talk to all the time… So what can I say to that? That I always want the greener side? I don’t know how to make sense of things is all.. By the way I know my last entry didn’t make sense (I dont think anybody reads this anyway unless they feel like they have to cuZ I sent them an odd link, whatever) but in the context of my life it does if i explain it further… I know people who freak out every time i dont put things in the context of my life first..it makes me think about how much they have to hide and i have to ask why? Anyway.. I am very confused. I will try to explain the thing about my sister later.. It was just a very weak moment when my dad would not take no for an answer and then my parents wonder why I cant say no.. well not in that particular sentence, but it’s more like they think i let people manipulate me.. They have never done that no.. they only take me hostage and control every little thing. I’ll explain more about my anorexic sister’s Addiral fueled messages later. What happens if you are raised by two completely delusional parents and to love them you have to pretend you are on the same wavelength with them even if every time you leave and see other people you look around so hungry wanting to much to belong to the other reality the one you believe is true..