?

Log in

No account? Create an account

May. 30th, 2011

I started my own business, I have clients who like me, I just had a good session with a new psychiatrist, and I'm getting married to the best, best, best person that I have ever met, this October. Life is good. Life is awesome.

It's amazing what a change in perspective can do for you.
I went off my effexor for about 2 weeks because I couldn't get my shit together to refill my prescription [which is a longish, stupid story] but I finally did, and my stomach, which is unused to it now, is rebelling. I feel like crap. This shit works, but my body is not a fan.
Seriously.

Seriously.

What is my hangup on emotionally unavailable boys?

Is it self-sabotage? Am I subconsciously trying to avoid committed relationships? Or am I just a fan of rejection? What's the deal here, Self?

I've got GREAT relationships with four cats. Why can't I make ONE work with a human?

Obviously, that's a rhetorical question. The answer is undoubtedly hidden somewhere deep within years of psychiatric treatment.

Oh, wait - I've already done that.

Well, fuck.
I'm enamoured of two boys. Which never happens. Except it has.

Fantastically [and by fantastically I mean fucking tragically], one has a girlfriend and the other won't invest in me because he lives in Kalamazoo and I now live in Ann Arbor.

One of them is interesting and comfortable and relatable and intelligent and it's horribly attractive. And because I feel like offering full disclosure, this boywithagirlfriend is interested in me sexually [and unfortunately that appears to be the extent of it, offuckingcourse] and recently cheated on his ladyfriend with me. Obviously I'm a shit and so is he, and his poor, ignorant girlfriend is a victim of both our broken moral compasses. The problem is that I truly care about him and would commit myself to him if he wasn't in a relationship. Obviously I'm a moron in addition to a shit, because who else would engage in a coupling with someone whom they know for a fact is willing to cheat on their partner if they're attracted to someone else? Me, evidently. Fuck.

The other boy is a painfully nice person. He's genuine and smart and hilarious and sardonic and socially observant. He has a good heart and converses expertly and knows who he is. And I love that. And he regularly tells me how much he likes me and how pretty I am - and then makes it clear that we're too far apart to be involved romantically because he's stressed/busy/poor/etc, etc, etc.

I'm involved in a three-way mind fuck. It's fabulous.

And I'm totally complicit; don't get me wrong. I'm completely aware of my ability to extricate myself from the situation by way of cutting off contact with both of them. But I LIKE them. I WANT to talk to them. I WANT to see them. And it's hard enough being interested in two people; it's fucking terrible when neither of them want to be with you.

Fucking sigh.
I hate when someone else puts me in a bad mood. Only I should be able to do that to me.
So.

I can't help trying. Maybe I shouldn't; maybe I should let it go and let the status quo sit with me for a while and see what happens. That's kind of not my style though...I'm more of a...fuck with it until something good or bad happens and then do damage control if necessary...kind of girl. Huh.

In completely unrelated news:

I LOVE my new apartment. Love it. I sort of don't even want to go anywhere just so I can enjoy being in it. I love loving it. It makes missing my old apartment much more bearable - though I do miss having a second floor. Oh well. Totally worth it. My life is exponentially cooler than it was 6 months ago.

And I think I've been more productive in the last week than I have been in the last 3 months. This is probably due in part, if not fully, because moving forces one to organize, prioritize and evaluate one's lifestyle. Whatever has caused it, I'm glad, because my life was pretty clusterfucked until recently.

In sum:

With a few exceptions, shit's pretty awesome right now.
I really, really want my feelings to stop being hurt. Really, really a lot.

Dear October: Give me a break, man. You're supposed to be my favorite month. Get working on that.

Wherein Our Heroine Feigns Intellect

Sometimes I wonder if maybe I should subscribe to a specific philosophy instead of tripping my way through life the way I do.

Determinism is appealing because it kind of gets me off the hook for all the shit I've done, but I can't get behind it; not really. I frequently call myself a hedonist, which feels accurate sometimes, but it conflicts severely with my masochism. ...But do I act masochistically because it ultimately brings me pleasure? Do they really necessarily conflict? I suppose if the masochism is fed by an underlying depression maybe that would compromise the integrity of the philosphy. Can one be a depressed hedonist? If, despite one's depression, one seeks pleasure and considers it the ultimate good, would one still be considered a hedonist?

And then, my true love - objectivism. I'm pulled in different directions. Part of me wants to scream at anyone I can the tenets of objectivism and wisdom of Ayn Rand [who was totally batshit, but whom I still love] and how our global society would benefit unspeakably if we got our shit together and took care of ourselves and made our individual growth a singular priority. On the other hand, I'm aware that as a sole means of direction, it's completely impractical. As much as I love the idea of Roark and Dominique as beacons of inspiration in creating myself and ignoring anyone else's perception of my existence, I'm not strong enough to be quite that alone. Can you imagine living your life as a true objectivist? Surely there are some who attempt this, but it would be so isolating I don't know that it would be worth it.

Can you be a hedonistic objectivist? I feel like Howard Roark would laugh bitterly at that.

I'm moving my shit out of my apartment tomorrow. I have one box packed. Mostly I've been 'organizing' [read: moving things from one end of the room to another, considering what should be packed together, and writing lists. Writing lists makes me feel productive whatever I'm doing] and trying to justify my lack of progress with 'it'll all be so easy to pack once it's organized'. This should surprise absolutely no one.

I don't know what I want. Sometimes, saying that sounds like an admission of defeat. Right now it feels like I have a thousand doors waiting to be opened.
September has been one long mind fuck.

And I'm totally complicit.

Ah, fuck.
I want someone to think I'm worth it. I want someone to love me and not be afraid of me.

I want to not be afraid of me.

I'm exhausted thinking of all the people who are afraid to invest in me because of what happens in my head. I wish there was someone who understood. And loved me. And just...gets it.

Fuck.