Bliggity Blah

eighty-seven years and i haven't updated.

at first i started this thing with the minuscule hope that there would be readers, but i'm a terrible self-promoter so that idea was rubbish to begin with. so now i'm writing here for me.

yeah, me.
mmhm. so i can look back on it and cringe to myself with how self-indulgent i was or corny or funny.

good ol' me.

i slipped up again and got involved with someone that i said i wouldn't. let's call him . . . Bob. cuz his real name's just as terribly generic and boring, though it has a tendency to make my heart race inappropriately anytime i hear it, which is a little more often than i'd like. and by "involved" i mean i fucked him.

yep, after two years and five months, the weekend before my twenty-seventh birthday, i gave my second virginity to yet another asshole. let someone in that would rather shit himself in public and eat it than become emotionally involved with me take the one thing i was holding onto.

my vag.

not to say i instantaneously fell in love with him or anything. we'd been involved before some years back and i thought i'd learned my lesson then, but apparently my masochistic side needed repeats. (he was the one i was pregnant by.) i don't seem to wake up until i'm in pain. like terrible pain. even resorted to cutting myself again a few weeks ago, i felt so bad.

last time i talked to him was early November. i was candid and honest with him, open, if you will. not professing love or adoration (neither of which i feel, honest), but just . . . honest. honest about the fact that i'm scared of my steadily declining health, about the fear of being alone, about having to handle everything alone.

and he did what he does best. he disappeared.

just as he had when i told him that i was starting to have feelings for him almost three years ago now. just as he had when i (childishly) told him that i not only was pregnant with his kid, but i'd lost it through a MySpace message. just as he had when i (stupidly) slept with him the weekend before my twenty-seventh birthday.

at first i was angry. angry at him, at myself, at how stupid this all was. and i guess to some degree i still am. i'm still fighting the duality of rational processing and emotional thought.

on one hand, i have a right to be angry. he claims to be my friend, but only seems to act in accordance to what would benefit himself.

on the other, i should just simply move on and forget about him, just as he's forgotten me.

act nonchalant and soon enough you'll start to feel it as well.

so that's what i've been doing. about alot of shit lately, not just him. i've been nonchalant about the bruises on my brain, been nonchalant about feeling like i want to off myself, been nonchalant about wanting to scream at the top of my lungs just to check and make sure i still exist to some goddamn body.

so far, i think i'm doing okay.

when i think back on it - and i can't help but think too fucking much - Bob never really ever knew me. never wanted to know me. it was evident in the small things he'd say, in the assumptions he'd share with me about myself or my friends, in the way he treated me. and i was too . . . hesitant to speak in order to dispute him. anyone that knows me well knows i'm very vocal, but only to a certain degree when i'm around certain people.

some people love to talk, love to hear themselves talk and feel good about their righteous opinions. and love to do so loudly. this is Bob. loud. very loud. he's very observant, but interestingly judgemental within a very small time-slot. he sections people off quickly, sees them as characters in comedy routine, rather than actual fluctuating humans. he claims to be a writer, though i've only seen one thing he's done. and it was . . . sub-par. not to say that i'm the greatest judge of all things written; i've only been published once and am struggling to get up the courage to push my serious work out there. my "career" under a pseudonym as a romance writer seems to have some merit though and hopefully by 2012 that'll be in full swing. but for now, i'm only just a fellow wanna-be artist, while he's doing the damn thing.

perhaps that's why i was so mum around him. i admire the hell out of his quiet determination and willingness to put himself and his skills out there. i don't stand a chance against myself. i have some faith in my writing, but i'm constantly comparing myself to others and thinking there's no way in hell my shit's that different, that out there that'll take notice.

but enough of that.
i've had enough of the self-pity. enough of this cyclical pattern of fear.

love may never happen for me. the happy family with the kids and the wonderful husband may not be in my future. i'm still . . . sorta young, but i can feel it. i'm pretty sure i'll be alone. i'm too weird, too quiet at times, too hypocritical with too many idiosyncrasies to even think that i'd be remotely comfortable enough with anyone to be completely myself around. i have my soul mates in my parents and my Robster (though she's pissing me off now) and that's good enough for me.

for now.

i'm also keeping myself away from Facebook until the New Year. don't want to fall into dumb habits that i had before of checking Bob's page for signs that he thinks of me in some regard other than a momentary comfort. i've been successful since the 6th of November and i think i'm good for it until the 2nd of January.

in lieu of that habit, i'm picking up a new one: throwing up my feelings here.

and just for me.

yay!

BloggityBlah!

forever and a day since i properly updated this thing, huh?

i think what frustrates me most is my need to elaborate on background explanations for everything so i just give up, thinking i'm boring the one or two people that actually read this thing. bleh! fuckit. if there are questions, let there be.

from now on, i'm rambling, bitches.

lately, my head's been in the clouds. been listless and out-of-sorts. well, not really lately. been for a while now. and i'm apparently the biggest klutz on the planet. i have reason to believe i hurt myself something awful last week after i'd already left the doctor's office. waited until today, thinking, "yeah, i'm fuckin' young. i got dis shit!" only to feel like i'm closer to eighty-six years old without LifeCall. i can't sit without shifting, i can't walk without limping (granted, it is pretty pimp), and i can't sleep right.

oy!

so i gave up and went back to the doctor today, got an anesthetic injection to the area that helped for all of an hour. was sitting in the x-ray place, ready to burst into tears, my fucking leg hurt so bad. even sitting here on the couch is hurting.

my back feels better though. lol

i like my new doc though. he's a little less hesitant with the 'script pad than my PCP, so i've been doing some blood testing and things of that sort to get to the bottom of my symptoms as of late. we've discussed many possibilities that are beyond individual occurances and piecing everything together, it looks like lupus. he didn't want to necessarily pinpoint anything or make any affirmations about his speculations, but nervous, freak-out little ol' me started doing my own research and of course in this WebMD age we live in, i see one too many coincidinks with the various symptoms' lists that i've read. it makes sense, considering how i've felt for the past year or so, but nothing is known or definitive until my bloodwork comes back in a few days.

one part of me hopes it's not, the other would find relief in it, cuz then i'll know what the effshit is wrong with me and i won't feel so goddamn nuts. what i don't quite get is the shift in my health. i was as strong as a horse when i was a kid. sure, i'm much heavier than i used to be and there's a lot less physical activity, but my diet has never been destructive (for long), i am still somewhat active, and i don't do drugs. anymore. kidding. maybe.

but now, i've got daily aches and pains, i'm tired all of the fucking time (there's some days i'm a little less tired, but, hell, i'm beat all the time), i've got wicked heart palpitations that have been taking my breath away these last few months, i'm in a foul mood most of the damn time when i really don't want or mean to be, i can't pay attention to shit for more than two minutes . . . just simply feel a little - okay, so a lot off-kilter.

all i want to do is read, write, read some more, and watch movies all day. i lose weight on weekends cuz if i don't go anywhere, i don't eat (unless it's cereal; hotdamn, cereal's delish!), yet i'm still fat. ha! i'm just . . . a little more frightened than i ought to be. the not-knowing is what's getting to me.

only time shall tell, i suppose.