Same Old Song
Dear Charles,
Life is hard. It's nothing you didn't already know. But I've never been homeless, I'm in reasonably good health, I'm surrounded by people who mean well, yet I'm not a happy person. I never was. I've lived in this building for about twelve years. My mother moved out in 2005 to live with her current boyfriend. My first roommate was a 35-year-old acquaintance who happened to be my father's ex-girlfriend. It didn't work out. She had a lot of personal issues and couldn't respect her own self-imposed budget, so I eventually kicked her out. My best friend of six years moved in with me along with my step sister shortly after. I love them both dearly, but they are creepily disorganized/untidy and unable to keep stable jobs. The lease as well as the bills are my responsibility and their slackness has cost me a severe struggle to maintain my credibility and a good name. My best friend's girlfriend has been living with us for two months and has yet to obtain a source of income. She chain-smokes and is just as messy as he is. I've confronted them many times about it, I've even put little notes all the fuck over the place when I got tired of repeating myself. Evidently I'm expecting too much from them and unfortunately, I can't bring myself to tolerate this shit for financial reasons any longer. I wrote them a very brutal, honest e-mail to tell them that they were to leave as soon as they found another home.
I spent the entirety of my teenage years between four walls, analyzing and writing and dreaming. There are so many things I didn't do. But I never felt like I was wasting my time. Wasted time that you enjoy and choose to waste is not wasted time. I chose this. I leave the house to buy food and pay my bills. I'm not afraid of people. I'm just not interested in them. I get tired of my most dearest friends after a while. My empty room feels safe and pleasant. All of this, I thought, made me a strong girl who knew herself very well, but the truth is, I'm not so sure about that anymore. I'm twenty years old, I have very little education, no motivation, no ambition, no hopes. I don't know what I want, I don't know what I want to do or where I want to be, I don't feel that I have control over myself or my environment anymore. I cry often, I lose my temper more than I used to, I catch myself praying to a god I never believed in to free me from the hate and questions and regrets that eat me alive.
I fell in love for the first time in years in November but the relationship didn't last very long. He'd just moved out of his ex-girlfriend's place, took the apartment three floors lower and talked about hanging himself. A common friend thought it'd be a good idea to match us up. The said friend gave me his phone number, I called him, we talked for about twenty minutes. Initially I just wanted to make sure he was all right. He called back about ten minutes later, asked for my e-mail address and we talked every night for about two weeks. We connected very well. We understood each other in ways his ex couldn't comprehend and it amazed him. We were faceless strangers to each other but we quickly developed strong feelings. I'd never sent a picture of myself to anyone before. I was pleasantly surprised when he seemed to think I was attractive. And when he sent me his picture, I think I forgot to breathe for a minute or two. I'd seen it somewhere online before and liked it so much I saved it and used it to inspire one of the main characters in my latest novel. I couldn't believe I was talking to him, it was all too good to be true. He lived two hours and a half away and asked me, every single day until we met, to just jump on a bus and go meet him. Then he decided to come to me.
Before he got here I was so nervous I threw up. We talked for about an hour before I almost begged him to smoke a joint with me because I couldn't tolerate the chaos I felt inside just looking at him. It made me feel a lot more relaxed and the minute he lay next to me, we kissed. It was awfully forward of me, I didn't recognize myself. He couldn't stop blushing and hesitating and I was shaking the whole damned time. I'd never wanted anyone as much as I wanted him that night. It felt surreal when he finally crawled on top of me; his skin so warm, his hair like a curtain of black in his face, the curve of his back, his jawline, his hands like spiders, his breath, everything. He was perfect. Even better than in my dreams. The pressure was exquisite. I just wanted to touch him. We tried to have sex, but he was so, so dreadfully excited and nervous that it just didn't work. And I was lying there thinking I'd done something wrong, feeling awkward and undesirable and literally asking him to stop fucking with me and to just fuck me already because I thought I was going to die if he didn't. He kept saying, "don't say that, you're making it worse" and he was hard hard hard, facing me and then away and touching me between blushes and boyish little laughs.
The day after, without a thought in my head, I just left with him. We got high and drunk one night with his roommate, watched a movie, listened to some old Laibach, and eventually we excused ourselves to go to bed and that's when the magic happened. We both felt relaxed and confident. I was so wet he just glided in and for a second it was like the entire world had just paused to hear the only thing I managed to say in what had to be the most pure, mind-erasing moment of my life : "Oh, God..." It was so good. We kissed the same way, moved the same way. It felt a lot like dancing. We came together. It was the beginning of countless overwhelming sessions, some of which were unprotected. It was a very new and stupid card for me to play and we're lucky we got away with it without negative consequences. But I don't regret any of it. He made me feel beautiful and wanted and I couldn't get enough of it. I got back home and left again barely a week later and stayed at his place for another seven days. It went on like that for several weeks.
He met my mother and her boyfriend, they loved him and he loved them. I met his ex, became good friends with her. I went to her New Year's party, got along famously with everyone. He kissed me in public, which he never does according to her. He told me "I love you" more often in two months than he did with her in three years. She said that I was the one he needed, that she was glad he'd picked me. She was impressed with the way I patiently dealt with his insecurities and loved all of him, unconditionally, because and not in spite of. He wanted us to officialize our couple. I was in heaven. Then something happened, I'm not sure what. He started talking with the guy I was fucking before him and began to feel very inadequate. I tried to explain to him that as wonderful as the guy in question was, I just wasn't in love with him. From there, things got complicated.
His paranoia sometimes infuriated me. He felt that he wasn't interesting enough so he shut himself in the world behind his eyes. I often felt that I was bothering him and I ran to the other guy for an attentive ear, which made things even worse. We were reading each other all wrong, we felt that the things that had originally brought us together were gone because of outside influences and we decided to end the relationship. I was devastated. I couldn't stop thinking that I'd knocked many walls down to let him in and that it was all for nothing. But in reality he made me realize that I wanted and needed to belong to someone and I thank him for that. He met another woman at his birthday party (two days after my own) and they're together now. I heard that it's not going very well, that she isn't nearly as patient as I was and that she already wants out. I wish them the best. Meanwhile I'm still seeing mister perfect and I feel very privileged to have him.
We still talk, we're good friends, he believes that I'll never be outmatched in the bedroom and I'm afraid I'll never find that kind of compatibility again. Sometimes I wonder if I'm truly capable of feeling something stronger than vehement lust. I cried for about a week and then poof, nothing. I don't get it. I miss the sex, that I can't deny. I let his body become an extension of my own and now that it's gone I feel like half a woman.
The pot thing is relatively new. I didn't have anything against drugs before but I never felt the need to use them. My dad has some serious back problems and is unable to work, so he decided to make a lucrative hobby out of growing marijuana to survive. He was a source I could trust and I decided to try it. My first attempt was a total fiasco; I did it all wrong and couldn't feel a thing. I thought it was one of the many things that were wonderful for other people but nothing extraordinary for me. I was very disappointed because most things except maybe sex and music usually fail to move me and I was just starving for intensity and newness. The second joint hit me like an express train. I was in the kitchen standing in front of the counter and then suddenly I was on all fours in the living room, rocking back and forth and laughing and laughing and laughing. It felt like a dream; sometimes I had control and other times I didn't, it was like we were two in my head, fighting and trying to make sense of what was happening. I cried a lot too. Then I just wanted to lie down and feel. I've been a heavy user by human standards since. My moods are more stable, I sleep like a rock, activities seem even more interesting, everything tastes like the food of the gods, masturbation is indescribable, what's not to enjoy?
Still not happy. I was going to have my novel published this summer but I'm having serious second thoughts. I'm not sure I want to have to owe half of its success or non-success to him. Sometimes it feels like my inspiration's left me for good.
So that's what's been going on in my life lately. Nothing particularly dramatic, but then again, it's very difficult to track down what the problem is exactly. I'm just not well, inside. I wake up angry, I go to bed sad, everything I write is sterile and dark. I feel lost and hopeless.
*checks time* Heh. I'm going to go play Vice City for a little while. Man, sometimes I wish you lived closer.
Thanks for listening. *Huggle* Happy birthday
Life is hard. It's nothing you didn't already know. But I've never been homeless, I'm in reasonably good health, I'm surrounded by people who mean well, yet I'm not a happy person. I never was. I've lived in this building for about twelve years. My mother moved out in 2005 to live with her current boyfriend. My first roommate was a 35-year-old acquaintance who happened to be my father's ex-girlfriend. It didn't work out. She had a lot of personal issues and couldn't respect her own self-imposed budget, so I eventually kicked her out. My best friend of six years moved in with me along with my step sister shortly after. I love them both dearly, but they are creepily disorganized/untidy and unable to keep stable jobs. The lease as well as the bills are my responsibility and their slackness has cost me a severe struggle to maintain my credibility and a good name. My best friend's girlfriend has been living with us for two months and has yet to obtain a source of income. She chain-smokes and is just as messy as he is. I've confronted them many times about it, I've even put little notes all the fuck over the place when I got tired of repeating myself. Evidently I'm expecting too much from them and unfortunately, I can't bring myself to tolerate this shit for financial reasons any longer. I wrote them a very brutal, honest e-mail to tell them that they were to leave as soon as they found another home.
I spent the entirety of my teenage years between four walls, analyzing and writing and dreaming. There are so many things I didn't do. But I never felt like I was wasting my time. Wasted time that you enjoy and choose to waste is not wasted time. I chose this. I leave the house to buy food and pay my bills. I'm not afraid of people. I'm just not interested in them. I get tired of my most dearest friends after a while. My empty room feels safe and pleasant. All of this, I thought, made me a strong girl who knew herself very well, but the truth is, I'm not so sure about that anymore. I'm twenty years old, I have very little education, no motivation, no ambition, no hopes. I don't know what I want, I don't know what I want to do or where I want to be, I don't feel that I have control over myself or my environment anymore. I cry often, I lose my temper more than I used to, I catch myself praying to a god I never believed in to free me from the hate and questions and regrets that eat me alive.
I fell in love for the first time in years in November but the relationship didn't last very long. He'd just moved out of his ex-girlfriend's place, took the apartment three floors lower and talked about hanging himself. A common friend thought it'd be a good idea to match us up. The said friend gave me his phone number, I called him, we talked for about twenty minutes. Initially I just wanted to make sure he was all right. He called back about ten minutes later, asked for my e-mail address and we talked every night for about two weeks. We connected very well. We understood each other in ways his ex couldn't comprehend and it amazed him. We were faceless strangers to each other but we quickly developed strong feelings. I'd never sent a picture of myself to anyone before. I was pleasantly surprised when he seemed to think I was attractive. And when he sent me his picture, I think I forgot to breathe for a minute or two. I'd seen it somewhere online before and liked it so much I saved it and used it to inspire one of the main characters in my latest novel. I couldn't believe I was talking to him, it was all too good to be true. He lived two hours and a half away and asked me, every single day until we met, to just jump on a bus and go meet him. Then he decided to come to me.
Before he got here I was so nervous I threw up. We talked for about an hour before I almost begged him to smoke a joint with me because I couldn't tolerate the chaos I felt inside just looking at him. It made me feel a lot more relaxed and the minute he lay next to me, we kissed. It was awfully forward of me, I didn't recognize myself. He couldn't stop blushing and hesitating and I was shaking the whole damned time. I'd never wanted anyone as much as I wanted him that night. It felt surreal when he finally crawled on top of me; his skin so warm, his hair like a curtain of black in his face, the curve of his back, his jawline, his hands like spiders, his breath, everything. He was perfect. Even better than in my dreams. The pressure was exquisite. I just wanted to touch him. We tried to have sex, but he was so, so dreadfully excited and nervous that it just didn't work. And I was lying there thinking I'd done something wrong, feeling awkward and undesirable and literally asking him to stop fucking with me and to just fuck me already because I thought I was going to die if he didn't. He kept saying, "don't say that, you're making it worse" and he was hard hard hard, facing me and then away and touching me between blushes and boyish little laughs.
The day after, without a thought in my head, I just left with him. We got high and drunk one night with his roommate, watched a movie, listened to some old Laibach, and eventually we excused ourselves to go to bed and that's when the magic happened. We both felt relaxed and confident. I was so wet he just glided in and for a second it was like the entire world had just paused to hear the only thing I managed to say in what had to be the most pure, mind-erasing moment of my life : "Oh, God..." It was so good. We kissed the same way, moved the same way. It felt a lot like dancing. We came together. It was the beginning of countless overwhelming sessions, some of which were unprotected. It was a very new and stupid card for me to play and we're lucky we got away with it without negative consequences. But I don't regret any of it. He made me feel beautiful and wanted and I couldn't get enough of it. I got back home and left again barely a week later and stayed at his place for another seven days. It went on like that for several weeks.
He met my mother and her boyfriend, they loved him and he loved them. I met his ex, became good friends with her. I went to her New Year's party, got along famously with everyone. He kissed me in public, which he never does according to her. He told me "I love you" more often in two months than he did with her in three years. She said that I was the one he needed, that she was glad he'd picked me. She was impressed with the way I patiently dealt with his insecurities and loved all of him, unconditionally, because and not in spite of. He wanted us to officialize our couple. I was in heaven. Then something happened, I'm not sure what. He started talking with the guy I was fucking before him and began to feel very inadequate. I tried to explain to him that as wonderful as the guy in question was, I just wasn't in love with him. From there, things got complicated.
His paranoia sometimes infuriated me. He felt that he wasn't interesting enough so he shut himself in the world behind his eyes. I often felt that I was bothering him and I ran to the other guy for an attentive ear, which made things even worse. We were reading each other all wrong, we felt that the things that had originally brought us together were gone because of outside influences and we decided to end the relationship. I was devastated. I couldn't stop thinking that I'd knocked many walls down to let him in and that it was all for nothing. But in reality he made me realize that I wanted and needed to belong to someone and I thank him for that. He met another woman at his birthday party (two days after my own) and they're together now. I heard that it's not going very well, that she isn't nearly as patient as I was and that she already wants out. I wish them the best. Meanwhile I'm still seeing mister perfect and I feel very privileged to have him.
We still talk, we're good friends, he believes that I'll never be outmatched in the bedroom and I'm afraid I'll never find that kind of compatibility again. Sometimes I wonder if I'm truly capable of feeling something stronger than vehement lust. I cried for about a week and then poof, nothing. I don't get it. I miss the sex, that I can't deny. I let his body become an extension of my own and now that it's gone I feel like half a woman.
The pot thing is relatively new. I didn't have anything against drugs before but I never felt the need to use them. My dad has some serious back problems and is unable to work, so he decided to make a lucrative hobby out of growing marijuana to survive. He was a source I could trust and I decided to try it. My first attempt was a total fiasco; I did it all wrong and couldn't feel a thing. I thought it was one of the many things that were wonderful for other people but nothing extraordinary for me. I was very disappointed because most things except maybe sex and music usually fail to move me and I was just starving for intensity and newness. The second joint hit me like an express train. I was in the kitchen standing in front of the counter and then suddenly I was on all fours in the living room, rocking back and forth and laughing and laughing and laughing. It felt like a dream; sometimes I had control and other times I didn't, it was like we were two in my head, fighting and trying to make sense of what was happening. I cried a lot too. Then I just wanted to lie down and feel. I've been a heavy user by human standards since. My moods are more stable, I sleep like a rock, activities seem even more interesting, everything tastes like the food of the gods, masturbation is indescribable, what's not to enjoy?
Still not happy. I was going to have my novel published this summer but I'm having serious second thoughts. I'm not sure I want to have to owe half of its success or non-success to him. Sometimes it feels like my inspiration's left me for good.
So that's what's been going on in my life lately. Nothing particularly dramatic, but then again, it's very difficult to track down what the problem is exactly. I'm just not well, inside. I wake up angry, I go to bed sad, everything I write is sterile and dark. I feel lost and hopeless.
*checks time* Heh. I'm going to go play Vice City for a little while. Man, sometimes I wish you lived closer.
Thanks for listening. *Huggle* Happy birthday