The story is complicated, and I’m not sure I even want to make it make sense for you (yes you, random clickhole casualty). I wasn’t even going to touch this name, I’ve spent years avoiding this name despite how incredibly common it is.
It calms me. As does recounting this past, all this past that is a part of me and will never belong to my ex. There, he was not there for everything it’s not like my whole life is ending. He never knew me. There was so much he never knew, and I am still all of that. My collarbones hurt, pinching in towards my throat on that place that I love so much on a man, and yes on him. On the place that I know, from my previous studies, autistic and aspergers patients focus on instead of the face in social interactions. On the place where animals focus, on the place where you must be sure to control when you’re facing down dogs so that they know that you are dominant, and you have orders for them.
However, I have a bad feeling about it… I will talk about that now. I have learned over the course of time to trust my gut, and my gut says that some of these side effects, which are deemed negligible at this point, will show up in rising numbers as the longitudinal data comes in. It makes sense. One can’t use the past to predict the future, we can only narrow down possibilities of incident outcomes.
I had dreams last night, many. However, there was one thing that I kept telling myself to remember, it was a date written on my computer screen, with a note in red type next to it. I believe it was in Windows explorer, but I wonder what the red note was. And now I wonder what the date was…
She asked me for pictures of me and the boy (she never got pictures of me and my ex, there were some amazing pictures), and I have none. It was then when I questioned if we were actually in a relationship. He’s not a performative partner, he’s actually lazy as hell in that regard. Should I even bother getting pictures of him?
How do these men think they can come back, I believe I made them fully aware that they were not welcome, do they have no self respect? Are they utterly oblivious to the social cues that solidly tell them to fuck the hard way off? I realize now that I have no idea how much of my real self becomes apparent through my fake mask, which I wear dutifully every time I see them. They probably think they’re helping me, giving me money. They probably are.
There’s an awful lot that happens. Again, The Order of Time, it feels like a lot when it’s happening but not much at all once it’s gone, crumpled and put into the pile with all the other rough drafts of days. This way I hit publish, this way I place the dots on a timeline, this way I can look back and flip through or search the index or somehow manage to hang on to the enormity of the year. This really has been a year, I don’t think people, or myself, are ready to accept that. How do we accept what just happened, mountains of bodies, our friends.
My Haitian friend is coming over tonight and I’m a little nervous. Perfectly flat and clear, I think she’s a crackhead now. Like literally smoking crack. Plus, I have on good authority from my Bermudan friend that she has been talking shit about me, plus I do know that she has been trying to undercut me in business in ways that there’s no point in explaining. She has been horrible to me in the past. I don’t know why, but I’m also not sure why I’m letting her over my house to try again.
My life would be so much easier if I just learned to love him. Instead, I tried to end this post 3 sips early, just because I always hit a brick wall when I think of him. He’s the only person that I can text my point for the day that would understand what I mean, and think about a reasonable response. For me, and for himself. He’s the only person that ever found me actually useful in the actual way I wish I was. He really is everything I’ve been looking for, but maybe I’m just enjoying the search. I wish I could just love him. Fuck it, I just downed half a cup in a single gulp, I need to bail.
I got a jab in on my left side, in front of the bottom rib, and so I got up to take a look around and lost a few sips. Moving should be ok. Why is so much of my productivity tied to sitting down? I have to change that. I have to really get some thought into redoing this apartment, which I will honestly probably leave as soon as I do.
I saw my ex yesterday, and fully fuck that guy. He had one of his girlfriends with him, even though he knew that was expressly not allowed. Of course, he just took the fact that he had done wrong as a trigger to scream at me, as always.