It has been a very long time. I was curious to read where my mind was two years ago. To see what is the same and what is different.

It was interesting re-reading my feelings about my father's attempted re-entry into my life. And how I shut it down so completely because he was unwilling to admit the wrongness of my childhood and could not understand my discomfort at my grandmother having access to my baby stepbrother. I did respond to that email, by the way. If I recall, I told him to go fuck himself.

I told him I hate Christmas and had only ever missed him on my birthdays, which I didn't know if he even remembered. He said "Happy Birthday x 13." I responded "Merry Christmas x 13." It ended peaceably there. And he did not contact me again.

I recently finished reading a memoir called the Glass Castle. In it, the author catches their grandmother molesting her younger brother, whose name is Brian. Just like my younger stepbrother. The author tells her father and he puts his hands over his ears and he's refusing to hear or believe it and later the author and her other siblings are talking at night and seem sure their father was also abused. The authors older sister tells her not to think about it, it would drive her crazy. I thought I had long ago forgiven mine for just not being capable of being a good father and admitting what had been done to me, because I felt certain it had also been done to him. But it was a very difficult book to read for me. Her father is violent and manipulative... and he also loves his daughter very much and its obvious many times. After feeling rage and betrayal on the authors behalf multiple times when her father placed her in dangerous situations where she was almost raped, I cried when he died near the end of the book. RIP, Rex Walls, one hell of a man.

It was hard to read this book. I have made peace with not seeing or knowing my father. But even after almost 4 years, the knowledge I have a brother, who is now likely 9, barely older than I was when I last saw my father, still gets to me. What I feared happening to him back then will have happened by now if it was going to. I am unsure I will ever meet him, not even at my father's funeral. When my father dies, who will tell me?

As for the other unrest I read about in my life, I can now put a name to my sexuality which helps me understand my discomfort and flustered reaction at being seriously hit on or propositioned and how easy it is for me to remain devoted someone I'm no longer with whereas a lot of people (men specifically) feel an emotional distance when there is a lack of physical intimacy. Demisexual. /balloons and confetti.

I didn't pick this and I feel like part of my identity was stolen once more by my father and grandmother, but I just really don't want people to touch me (I don't even feel desire for them to) unless I truly trust them and love them. I have tried experimenting with this but that's the simple fact. I can feel lust better when I'm drunk, but I really would rather not constantly be drunk just to try and feel "normal." I feel attraction to people I don't know, actors and the like, but I'd rather ship fictional characters and think about them together than imagine myself with those people I don't know. I have still only felt recognizable lust for Warren, because I loved him every other way first. I remember crying once when we were together in my living room because I realized he made me feel that normal feeling I had been looking for all my life. To be able to let someone touch me and actually want it was a very big deal.

The loss of that still hurts. I saw him in a store unexpectedly a few weeks ago. I turned the corner in Marshalls and he was just there. It felt like Thor had smashed Mjolnir into my chest and I just went "Yep. You can have the store." and left.

This was an interesting trip down pain lane. But is time to move on.
I don't know to where, or how, or with whom, but it is really time to stop holding on to this mess of a past. I want to start over.

I'll miss you in my living room
But we don't have much room
I said does anybody need that room?
'Cause we all need a little more room
To live
My Konstantine


Goodbye, blog.

-

I wish I could remember to update this when good things happen, but I really just use it for sad shit when I have no one to talk to or don't want to.
I don't know what to do with myself. The way I get emotionally attached to people is not the way other people do it. They do it conditionally. They do it in a "I love you. But only until you're useful to me or as long as I get something from you" way. That's probably normal. That's probably healthy. You get hurt less. I do it unconditionally. Every time someone hits on me, it makes me uncomfortable because I'm not ready.

And is there a reason people keep talking about it this week? Mind your fucking business. Today someone from work asked me why I have no boyfriend, and I said I wasn't ready, and he said "Oh. Must love one before very much." His English is very broken. I just said, "Yes. Very much."

And then again! My other friend from work tells me about his last relationship, and then asks me about mine and what happened and what Warren looks like. And today he says he saw what Warren looks like on FB and he's pretty attractive. Then he proceeded to hit on me in that way which is kind of sweet and kind of confusing. bfzjhgfykjhg. I know he meant it in the beginning, but I wasn't interested and he got it and stepped back. But now that we're actual friends, he hugs and hugs and kisses me on the head, cheek, wherever. And it wigs me out. He touches me as intimately as Warren did while we were dating, but acts like it's nothing. But I still don't like it. I don't want anyone to touch me that way. And I certainly don't want to be reminded of how it felt to get my forehead kissed. It's fucking with my damn head, but this guy is so nice and kind and sweet and well-meaning that I don't know how to say "Please stop touching me. Do not wrap your arms around me from behind. Who the fuck told you you can just come up behind girls and just do that without permission? Especially ones like me that hate feeling vulnerable, and you're about twice my size and it makes me go into fight-or-flight every damn time."

I just hate everything. After the whole Andrew debacle,  I was so devoted to him while he became the worst friend to me while dating Amber, that I didn't date anyone else until Warren three years later. I didn't want anyone else. I still loved him even though he was over it. I do not want to do the same thing with Warren. I have had a long time to try and move on, while he's been fucking whoever, male or female, and even worse, actually having feelings for other people. I should accept that other people don't love like I do, but I STILL feel fucking betrayed. Every time I see some Mulder/Scully reference between him and Hannah, I want to murder somebody. I want to scream and say how dare you? How dare you lie to me and say you would never replace me, that I was your Scully and that you would love me forever, when what you really meant was I love you as long as you're dealing with all my emotional baggage and until you need help with yours. I love you until it's convenient for me and then I'll move on while you still fucking miss me. I love you and I'd kill myself without you but I resent you and think about kissing this other girl while we're dating, while even on the worst day you didn't want anyone else. When you were having that panic attack because I might have hurt myself I was "falling" for someone else already, fucking replacing you and laughing at you when you got jealous and saying it was all in your head when you're really just being fucking perceptive. How fucking dare you waste two years of my life, be my first everything, and then replace me in a matter of months like I was never there in the first place when you told me I was your Stacy, your Karen, your Scully, the girl you wanted to fucking marry and spend the next 60 years of your life with. How dare you convince me that you actually loved me and have me believe it for the first time in my life and then take it back.

And now I'm crying. Fuck this.

I think I should get "Fuck all you basic bitches, I'm going to be Queen" tattooed onto me so I stop forgetting.

I'm so unhappy. I hate both my jobs, the insanity of one and the monotony of the other. I'm getting ready to sign up for school, but still don't know what I want to do with my life. No idea. I helped Brittanie move into her condo in Orlando yesterday. I'm happy for her. But I officially have no friends in this town again, except for a few from work.

I've been moving on. I deleted the link to Warren's blog and never look at it, and that seems to have made me a lot less miserable. But he's still on my facebook. With his new Scully. And that one picture edit was enough to ruin my entire fucking night.

I kissed somebody last week. A girl I work with and my other friend went out after work and she seemed to want to kiss me all night, so I let her. I think just to see what it was like. I hadn't kissed anybody but Warren in like, four years. And it felt just like kissing used to before him. Like nothing. Chris and I were talking about kissing and intimacy after that and he told me he doesn't usually kiss the girls he hooks up with, because the idea wigs him out. I told him about how kissing always kind of felt like I chore I owed somebody, because I was their girlfriend, but it always felt wet, and kind of gross. I told him about kissing that girl, how it felt like that again.
And how when Warren would kiss me, I finally got it. I had thought everyone was romanticizing or making up what it could feel like, but with Warren, I felt it. And my voice cracked and Chris said "Aww" and looked away like a good friend and let me compose myself again. I keep getting surprised with things that hurt, even still.

I just checked the email address my father set up for me on a whim, I check it ever few months in case. And there was something new: "Merry Christmas if you even get this. Miss you more at holidays.
Its a shame you dont give a fuck about me."

Wow. Thanks, dad, for reverting to trying to make me feel like shit when you're the one that couldn't keep it in his pants around little girls. The same way you tried to guilt me when you first contacted me and you got offended that I wouldn't pretend my childhood was normal in any way or that I didn't cry because you got drugged up and slept through your visitation rights half the time.

Fuck you. Fuck everyone in my life that has ever mistreated me and then tried to make me feel like shit for not being okay with it.
I have no idea how to respond to that email or if I will at all. I just want to sleep.
Forever.

It's bitterly hilarious to me that there was a time in my life I thought that I could handle this. HAH.

You've Got Mail was on the telly. So I watched it like a masochist and cried at the end. 

I have work tomorrow. And the rest of my life after that. And I just want to be done.

So, tonight I jabbed myself in the eye with Sephora product and spent the next hour trying to flush my eyes out because I was essentially blinded and it burned and make me sniffly and cry-y against my will. I was late to work and then they didn't need me when I called on the way, so I just bought a Starbucks mocha from Publix and wandered around waiting for proper vision and came back home after squinting to not hit pedestrians since it still burned to focus. I saw Corey for .03 seconds and it was kind of awkward which made me feel cry-y again because I was already alone and miserable and they're already selling Valentine's things in Publix, and now the most cheerful person I know looked at me like he didn't want to see me.

I'm so glad Christmas is over. No more Christmas music. No more people saying Merry Christmas. I have have hated Christmas ever since I was seven. All I did in high school was listen to Forget December by Something Corporate like an emo kid every winter. And it is still by far the best anti-Christmas song.

We skipped it in my house this year. Pretended it didn't exist. None of us had the money, and I didn't mind, but it's my mom's favorite holiday and she kept feeling guilty and devastated. I kept forgetting on the actual day that it was, in fact, Christmas. We had a small dinner on Christmas Eve, wherein I tried not to look like I hated my grandmother by focusing on the Jane Austen movies on the telly and burned the gravy, which I did not even know was a thing you could do. I'm glad to have skipped it. I hate it every year, even when there are presents. I like giving presents far better than I like getting them, but I like buying things for the people I love all year round. Christmas is wasted on me, I treat people like it's Christmas all year. I hate the music. I hate that people are nicer, and its all fake. Try doing it the whole year round when you hate everyone, like me, and see how much energy it takes out of a person, see how bitter it makes you.

I hate Christmas to this day, because when I was seven, my father had spent all of his and my mother's money on drugs and our electric was shut off on Christmas. So he tried to take us to his work, Wendy's, and break in and make us dinner there. When that didn't work, we ended up at Denny's. The next day, my 90 pound mother had some epiphany that she was going to die if she lived there any longer, and told my too-high-to-believe-her dad that she wanted a divorce, told me, I cried in his lap, and she took us to her mom's immediately. Which was probably smart because the next time she went there to get our things, he was presumably sober and threw the top of a bedside table at her head and it got stuck in the wall next to her face.

And what I hate most about knowing all these things, and being reminded of these memories every Christmas, is that this is the same guy I still miss. And it makes me feel terrible to miss someone that's done the things he has, ruined young girl's lives, let me be sexually abused. He hasn't contacted me since he originally did a year or two ago. And even though I could tell he was still shifty and likely still not a good person, it still hurts that he hasn't told me Happy Birthday since I was eight, and shortly after I was told he was a child molester on the run from the police and I'd never see him again. And I told my mom he had contacted me, which he had definitely told me not to, and all she asked me was if he had said Happy Birthday. And no, he hadn't. And he's known the e-mail address to reach me at for the past two years now. He set it up for me, and I still check it sometimes, in case. And I hate myself every time for caring.

But these are the things I think about every Christmas, and reminded of. So I am glad that, for this year, I can try and forget about them until next year when the terrible Christmas music and cheerful people asking "How was your Christmas?" happens again. And I'll say "Great, how was yours?!" because I can fake cheerful like I'm being paid for it, even though what I mean is, "It was miserable. My mom worked, I spent the whole day alone and thinking of things I'd rather not. I was on my computer in my room and Sean was on his computer in the other room and neither of us mentioned Christmas. It did not exist." Sean and I do not talk, mostly. Sean would probably not talk at all unless forced by decorum to actually respond when talked to. It's a point of sadness in me, and I can't remember when it got like this. It's like every person in this house is being swallowed up by their own personal depression.

Mom keeps asking me about Warren, but only in public places, and I tell her not to because I immediately start tearing up if I try and say anything or answer her questions. I feel so hurt. And feel so betrayed. By myself for not seeing this coming. Because even at the worst point in our relationship, when he was bitter and depressed and blaming me for not going to USF and treating me badly and I was terrified he would hurt himself and I felt miserable all the time. I never wanted anyone else. I still haven't. And I feel hurt, because I thought he felt the same for me as I did him. And he never even said he had given up on us. And now I feel like he never loved me. Because how could he have actually loved me and then just moved on so fast to wanting someone else. He once said he wouldn't even care if I had sex with someone while we were on a break, because it would be worse if I actually connected with someone. And I get it now. Since I met him, no one else has given me butterflies or made me feel like I wanted to hold their hand or have them kiss my forehead or let them know the secret things about me like how touching the inside of my arm and elbow makes me all happy and sleepy. The idea of someone else knowing that thing about me that only he would, I couldn't have it. The idea of kissing anybody else but him doesn't even compute, disgusts me. But he wanted that with someone else. And I think I know him and understand him better than any other living person on this Earth, and love him just as much, so it just hurts that he never really tried. He tried the easy things like making me feel guilty or starting arguments so I'd talk to him, like when he typed all my love notes out and posted them on facebook. But I told him exactly what it would take, and he said he would do anything, but he never did try. And it hurts that once again, I have not been worth it to someone.

I am just so done. I am so miserable. I still owe my mom 2,000 dollars for this car. It's gaining interest on her credit card and stressing her out. Student loans now wants 3,000 dollars, and the interest will make it another 1,000. I'm working two jobs I hate. I'm not in school. I live with two miserable people. My only true friend I have left may well be moving to Orlando next month. And the love of my life does not love me. He tried putting all his plans for happiness and all his feelings of self-worth on me, and when it was too much for me, he moved on to the next girl to try it with in a matter of months.

Neither my mom nor I can afford therapy, but I know I seriously need it. Story of my life. In and out of counseling since childhood, but never enough to actually help me.

I am only 22. I can't even believe that when I think about it. I feel ancient. Ancient with all the disappointments and crushed dreams and all the bitterness in my heart that feels like enough to drown a person in. And I am drowning.

I hope my little brother had a good Christmas. And I wish I knew if my father thought of me at all.

I had a good day. One good day can change a lot after the days I've been having.

It may be the nerdiest thing that's ever effected me, but watching Lord of the Rings made me remember that I'm Arwen.

Fuck all you basic bitches, I'm going to be Queen.

My fears have come true and I've actually become Sam Winchester.
I just thought verbatim, "I am angry all of the time."

Jesus Fuck.

I just want to destroy everything. I'd like to watch my whole life burn.

I want it so badly it aches. It's the only thing I'd like for Christmas.

December 18: I did a lot of crying today.

Y'all motherfuckers dissing Coldplay can shut up.

If I did daily journal entries about my life, the only thing I could put under today is: "December 17, 2012: I did a lot of crying today."

This is not the end.

I need to be horrendously, tremendously, irremediably drunk right now.

So, today I sobbed to Bon Iver while driving home in the rain.

And the award for most dramatic goes to....

There is another world

There is a better world

Well, there must be

Put down the wrecking ball
Don't let a childhood linger
They'll take the world apart
And break my baby brother's finger

So he can't shake my hand
Guard the dead against my legacy
And lack the wound no more
Run from nowhere,

Nowhere follows you

Sicky and sad :(

Come snuggle me. I miss you and I want to watch more funny X-Files episodes and eat soup.

-