not the entry i wanted to write april 26 2010 - 4.13 am
what am i doing here?
oh, internet. loyal stalwart. i *always* turn to you, don't you know? i turned to your dating sites when i needed to feel attractive, i turn to your spacebooksters when i need to feel friended, i turn to your repository of south park when i can't face reality. and i turn to this diary whenever i feel so completely without companionship in any real, solid way.
this december i will have had this diary for 10 years. my longest relationship. there have been lulls, some period of lesbian-writer's bed-death (the passion can't be constant, after all) but it's been a consistent on-going relationship, this diary and me. we should get married.
oh! right. that's why i'm here.
my girlfriend got married this weekend.
to her boyfriend, now husband. they were common-law anyway, i suppose, if we want to get technical about it. he was definitely there first.
our relationship is, as i see it, contingent on their's. if it weren't for him, we would have never met. he and i have some features in common, such as our love of hoodies, hoarding, and seretonin re-uptake habits. but i am not a 40 year old artistically inclined guy. there are some very basic things and some not-so-basic things that we do not have in common.
but that's not the point; i don't wish to be him in those ways, but i have wished to have been him to her. that's what this whole wedding business has accentuated for me. if by some circumstance he wasn't around anymore, i would not be husband #2.
and that is haaaaaaaaaaaaaard. coupled with my general sense of self-worth (or lack thereof) it's been incredibly hard.
i've been experiencing extreme frustration because i feel like dying, or i feel like i *am* dying, and yet, i'm not dying. i don't want to die because there would be too much to clean up, too much to pack away, too much for prying eyes to discover. but otherwise? lately i've wanted to die.
i'll be 31 years old in less than a month, and i'm not sure that anyone knows how much it sucks to read back over this diary and see myself say that i'm 22, 25, 27 and that i've felt such gut-wrenching pain, that i'm going on this next set of pills, that i've fallen in love and oh look, broken my own heart and fallen right out. i'm nearly 31 years old and little has changed. i'm not the kind of person who someone else would need. i'm the one constantly in need.
i think i want to prove it to myself that i don't need anyone, or anything. i want to live in a hole dug out of the side of a mountain and eat twigs and berries and mutter to myself about fluffy sparrows i've spotted.
i don't want to give myself to anyone else anymore.last time***next time