So, the other day I was going through old 750words posts and stuff, and pulled out a bunch of things that I thought were worth saying in public.
A lot of them are kinda depressing, because I think words often flow better when they've got a pinch of melancholic to them. But here. It's like a sundries post, only just with things I've written.
Author's notes are in italics
There is a boy.
Who likes me and other girls.
And likes me more _anyways_.
Being loved by someone sweet and devoted to me is nice, and I love them all for it.
But being loved by someone sweet and devoted to me over other girls is just a whole different realm of exciting. And of course, we don't actually have much of a romantic relationship at all, but still.
I've never been the girl who wins before. It's the scariest damn thing, but gods help me, I like it. Yeah, this was really startling when I realized it for the first time, and I still kinda refuse to believe it's true.
And of course, there is no "winning" in poly (except maybe making everyone involved in your relationship scheme happy) but there's also not quite a word to express what I mean here. I am perfectly content to be right where I am in all the relationships I'm in --hence the reason I'm in them-- but sometimes it's nice to realize all a sudden that someone thinks you're special enough to set aside a girl who is clearly hotter and more interesting than you are.
...then it just hurts more and I am tired of it hurting _more_. Things aren't supposed to keep hurting more. Shouldn't pain level out at some point?Yes. Yes it should. I think this particular pain might've gotten close to level for now, the problem is just that level is a lot of pain, and so I can only lock it away for so long before it rages at me again.
What, no, I'm not emo, nope.
I hate because the only other option is to hurt, and this hurts so bad I'm not sure I can deal. I don't remember who or what I hate here. Very plausibly myself.
And really, if you don't have all your words sorted out beforehand, if you don't know what you're going to say, what's the point of trying to say it anyways? I'm a fucking writer, if I can't put a problem into words, there's probably not much of a problem in the first place.
...and even if I can put it into words, I'm a cynic, and a victim and extremely clever. If I can put it into words, I can figure out arguments against the problem until it no longer exists, or boils down to just me being a tiny idiot. And no one but me can fix me being a tiny idiot. And this is why I am not very good at speaking up when there is something wrong in one of my relationships. If I can sort it out on my own, because I was just being silly, why would I bother my partner?
Yeah, I'm _really_ not good at this relationship thing. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.
And when the going gets tough, I am presented with one option -to overwhelm myself in sensation.
Tense certain muscles past any reasonable point, shut my eyes tight, or stare meditatively into something lovely, or run and run until the body runs out of energy, or most used of all, drown my internal monologue in music.
I drown myself in music all the time. Hell, let's be honest here, it's one of the most useful coping mechanisms I currently have in order to fight bottom. I get sad, I pump on the Next to Normal, or s00j, or Vienna, or whatever else I've got, and I make the sad, if not go away, at least have to struggle past the noise to actually get to me.
It's a really really nice coping mechanism. It also means that I'm going to be deaf before I turn thirty. My made up mind was not put here for you to try and change. Cheers, s00j.
But the best part of today is that I've hit upon two separate things that make me incredibly _incredibly_ happy.
The first is pretty logical. Giving Blood. Me donating a pint makes me both incredibly pleased with myself, and punchy as fuck due to the light-headedness. I am okay with this state of affairs, especially if it makes me unlazy enough to go give blood more often than the twice yearly I've been doing. Speaking of which, I'm almost eligible again. Anyone want to go to the red cross with me this weekend?
I am amused by Hyde, protecting me from the ghosts that lurk for hours after I read anything creepytastic, no matter how far I remove myself from the immediate.
"Don't worry dear. There is nothing in this house as scary as I. Except maybe for you."
Oh, excellently played you delightful fucker. y'all do know who Hyde is, right? He lives in my head and gives me not terribly good advice. Because I am, say it with me folks, a little bit broken.
I am, for the first time in my life, willingly sitting out while actively at dance.
I just...don't feel like dancing. I'd say maybe I'm tired, except I know I've danced in physically worse shape before --and that's not even counting on the sprained ankle!
No, I just can't cope with the idea of doing more dances tonight. There is apparently a point where the pain of dance overtakes the pleasure --I know, I didn't realize it could happen either. But there is, and I've finally hit it.
I don't want to sob in the middle of the dance hall, in the middle of a waltz. I don't know that I could explain why if I did. I do know that I don't ever want to have to. I hate crying, I hate the pain, and I hate people giving me sympathy, because I hate being weak enough to need other people.
All I want is to just be strong enough to survive independent of outside forces. Maybe that means I need to break up with everyone, not have outside forces that affect me any longer. GO LIVE IN A CAVE AND BE A HERMIT, SOR!
I am such a whiny cunt1
. It is beyond me why anyone at all gives a damn about me in the first place. :PCunt explained below. No, you don't get an explanation for the rest of it. But this is a pretty common mental path --emo -> yelling at myself for being emo.
Dog and I get along well, and that's really really important.
I need to remember that having friends who I can bitch about the odd parts of my life to are a really crucial thing for me to have. I also need to remember how much I appreciate having friends who will slap me down when I am using inappropriate language, or otherwise being an elitist jerk. (see also, Jesse glaring at me when I used bitch. I want to give him a cookie and a hug for that alone)Dog is
awesome. I really want to hang out with him more this fall, when I'm back in Boston.
(I don't know how to feel about the fact that I'm using Amanda right now for a little extra bit of stability. She is a fucking idiot. But her art, when it's good...
It's good. It's the best. Right now I am angry and hurt and sad and scared. And that is the perfect mood for listening to Amanda, because she will reinforce the parts that are okay to be reinforced, and she will eradicate the parts that need to just Go Away.
I use music to blank myself out. She's really really good at that.
Hate the artist, love the art? I don't even know anymore. It is so hard to be a good person sometimes.)Can we have an Amandadebate-free space in my journal comments? I'd appreciate that.
Yes, this is all just because I handle arguments extremely poorly, and I can't freak out and walk four miles in this state.
I find it telling that I've had two boys in a row who were just for sex. And I'm in love with both of them.Sex is a bit of a misnomer --I have what the Shakers2 call an "unsullied cunt", which is apparently terribly valuable and should be protected at all costs. But boys who I am into with the kissing and such, and not the romantics. And...yeah. My traitor of a heart has started to sigh wistfully, and doodle our initials together on my school notebooks.
The emotion involved, this is more than sex. Sex is just endorphins and dopamine. Waltzing is...joy.So, I almost just wrote "fucking _this_" as my author's note. Which means that I just tried to emphatically agree with something I wrote. So, uh, yeah, I'm a bit of an idiot.
MOOP!1: This is not a word that I should use. It's a slur, flat and simple, and I should not use it to refer to myself (which I do, occasionally), or any other woman (which I don't.)
That being said, there are a lot of things I call myself that no one else may touch, and yes, cunt is one of them. There's a hardness to it, all edges and corners and sharp, and in some moods, the words I feel that fit best are the words that fit this hardness.
2: See also, Shakesville here, and the specific origin of the term unsullied cunt here.