helllo; i know i haven’t posted in a while, but nothing has really happened. however, i have been doing quite a lot of thinking, i told myself i was making this little personal blog into my mental space, because i don’t really have one besides it, and it should be therapeutic in it’s own way. so i decided to come make a post since my mind is feeling overly cluttered and i’d like to clear it out a little if i can. i’ve decided to switch out people’s names in case any of them see this, or anyone who knows them see it, because, well, it’s just embarrassing on my part, really.

so i’m reading a really wonderful book called Miss Harper Can Do It. it’s by Jane Berentson, and i’m a little over halfway through it at the moment. really, it’s fabulous, i highly suggest it.
whenever i’m reading a book, especially novels, i always seem to sort of..assess myself. since i’ve been doing that a whole lot lately anyway, it’s sort of like tenfold right now. i’ll be lost in the story and suddenly a paragraph or chapter ends and i’m falling into my own life. sometimes in relation to the book, or like now, just the whole of things that are happening.

i’m constantly filtering through my mind and looking back on past relationships. platonic and romantic. i think back to my first girlfriend, Annie, who sexually assaulted me. i think of how good of friends we were, how happy we were, how naive. Annie’s long blonde hair and pretty blue eyes, her chubby cheeks and chubby legs. it’s funny to think back to our nine year old selves being sexual. it’s actually really disgusting, and not funny at all. but i try to laugh about it now, because, i mean, it’s done, right? right. i wonder if she thinks about me, too. if she remembers me at all. if she remembers how ignorant we were, how blissful that ignorance was. we were pretty young, and it was pretty insignificant. i think about how no one knew. no one but us. i think of the time she spilled nailpolish and i got really upset because it was black and she was really unconcerned. “Annie, this is going to stain, could you be a little more serious? God.” she got really hurt, and stormed out. i followed her, of course, my precious lady, and apologized for being cold. she apologized for spilling the nailpolish. i’m relatively sure the stain still remains.

my first boyfriend, Nick, i never actually met. i forget how old i was, but i know i was young. i don’t think i’d hit middle school yet. actually, i’m positive of this. anyway. my sister was dating this guy, and Nick was his little brother’s friend. we talked on the phone all the time, and eventually started dating, despite not having met. and it was weird, you know, because looking back, we acted so grown up all the time. he didn’t actually live that far; just in the next county, but for obvious reasons (we were like, ten) we couldn’t just make visits. i remember us saying how much we wished we could have cars and drive and go places. it’s funny because i still do that now. i remember him constantly making fun of me for being two months younger than him, you know, the way kids do. i remember him telling me he was going to get a watch for me for my birthday, because he liked watches, and wanted to get me something he liked because he liked me too. i remember him calling me, a full two years or so later, and i was struck with nostalgia. “Nick?” “Yeah. You know any other Nicks?” his name was actually really unique. “What’s up?” he said, casually, like we talked the day before. he sounded very old to me. you could tell he’d hit puberty, probably grown a foot tall. we talked again for a few months, sparsely, and faded out again.

i remember Peter, who i’m still friends with, who is still one of the sweetest people i’ve ever met. who i’ve still not met in person. and Charlie, who i went to school with, and still know, and still have added on facebook. but i wouldn’t call us friends. 

and Timmy, who i’ve also still not met in person, who i’m also still friends with, who caused me worlds of heartache. he was the light of my life. everyday was Timmy day. he had a hard life. Timmy is more of a Tiana now, so we’ll switch to that, even though i didn’t know it then, and neither did she. Tiana cheated on me with Sarah, and chose Sarah over me when the time came. it was okay for a while. i forgave them both and we moved on. i went with Peter and Mike and Barbara and she went with Sarah and Mike and various other people. we were still best friends. there was a time where we sort of got back together, where we were both single and in love with each other and didn’t even worry about commitment enough to make it official. the distance was killer, but our sort of “reunion” happened after it got better. i still hope we can meet someday, and i can hug her, and hold her face and look her in the eyes and tell her how much i still love her and think of her all the time, and how much i care about her, and how much i wish i could have been there in person those five or six years ago to protect her when her father came after her, or hold her hand in the hospital, or comfort her through the awful retorts of school children. i’d hold her face and look her straight in the eyes and tell her “thank you, thank you, thank you,” for all the times her words were the only words i needed to hear, and did hear.

i think lovingly of Luke, who i dumped after four days of officialness, because i felt like i couldn’t hold conversations with him due to his being ignorant of just about everything, despite how sweet and loving he was. i think of Mark the tall pale and perfect, who just doesn’t “love [me] like [i] love [him],” of Derek, who just “hate[s] everything about [me].” and you know, i think “whatever. it’s in the past.” except not really, because i’m always thinking about it, always critizing myself and everything i did, and everything i did that probably resulting in harsh thoughts and feelings towards me, of how much “you hate me because i hate myself,” of how i’m still so similar now to who i was then. how i wish i wasn’t. of how much time has changed, and sat here, festering. not really changed at all, just aged, and faux prepped.

and i feel a little guilty, looking back on all my past relationships. analyzing them like i do. i’m constantly saying “what’s in the past is in the past, so we should be looking to the present and future” because it’s supposed to be emotionally comforting. but it’s not true - well, it’s true, we SHOULD - but i never actually do this myself. i literally live in the past every second of my present. i constantly think about Annie’s laugh, and Nick’s voices, or . and why? why do i? i don’t know. it’s kind of pathetic.

i feel so overdramatic all the time. like, i’ll feel really intensely over something, and i look at myself, ever-so self aware, and think “should i really be feeling this? should i be feeling just this strongly about something that actually might be really unimportant?” and even when i find myself saying “well, no. you’re definitely over-reacting.” i still feel the same. i’m still over-reacting, even as i’m telling myself i’m doing so. why is it so hard to calm the fuck down?

i’m so sad. i’m so sad. i’m so sad. i’m so sad. i’m so fucking ridiculously awfully sad. and i don’t want to be. i don’t don’t don’t. but it seems like no matter what i do do do, i’m still sad sad sad. i’m constantly giving up and then minutes later getting back into the battle i never want to be in. it’s really hard, you know? it’s really hard.

there are still songs that i listen to and when i remember where they sit in my memories my mind lurches and my heart lurches and my stomach lurches and every memory that’s ever been hurtful falls into my lap, looking up at me, whispering to me, “i still matter to you.”

and they do! they do. and it’s horrible, it’s really just. it’s SO. IRRITATING. because i don’t want them to matter to me, they just do for some reason. and it’s not that i don’t want them to matter sentimentally, or nostalgically, or that i want them to disappear - to the contrary! i cherish memories so very much - but i just want them to not cripple me in the way they so often do.

i guess i don’t have the option, choice, et cetera. well, whatever.