A Giant Fucking Dump.

I am reeling.

I've never had the sensation before and I do not like it, at all. It's overwhelming and makes your head feel like fifteen thousand sinus headaches have rooted in your grey tissue for the sole purpose of making your head explode. And my eyes are itchy. I don't know why.

Life comes at you fast in your twenties. It seems like I've been leaving post upon post about stress levels and social pressure, but have come to absolutely no summary or conclusion, just more stress.

It occured to me this morning that I perhaps didn't want to have sex with my boyfriend because I haven't seen my boyfriend in at least a month. I've seen him in a tangible sense, but the man who is supposed to be supportive and understanding and willing to discuss the issues has been stuck on a cell phone for thirty days and I've been put on hold.
He admitted to me sometime ago that he's been a shitty boyfriend for the past couple months. I didn't realise it until now and even then, I'm not entirely sure if he has or hasn't been because there is no black and white with Andrew and there never will be. Just grey indifference, about everything.

The last time I saw Andrew we didn't have sex. When I left, I apologised for it and asked if he was angry and his response: "Well, I'm not happy about it." So I just walked away. He later told me that he was joking and that I didn't catch onto the sarcasm. Awesome backpeddling.
I did a lot of stupid stuff when I was a teenager. Sex is to an adolescent what Barbie is to a five year old. A toy that makes you feel good and allows your mind to wander into space so you can remove yourself from this horribly depressing world for the smallest amount of time. And like barbie's fragile plastic body, if you don't take care of yourself while engaging in such things, you're going to be left with a bad crayola-scissor haircut and missing several appendages. It's just the way things are.
So now with Andrew, because he's invested little to no time in my body (other than to fuck it), I am left with no hair and a severe lack of anything useful and I really am sick of play time.

I'm stressed out, terrified and emotionally drained and I have been for a long time and the best he's done to support me through all this drama has been to call me between periods during the hockey game.
He doesn't want to move in with me, despite what he says. He's worried that it won't work out and I honestly share the same sentiment. So instead of being joyous and excited about having our first place together (correction, it's not our place, it's his place. I just get to decorate 'cause he doesn't care what it looks like), we're both miserable.

And then the overwhelming burden of not knowing what the hell to do with my existence overshadows everything because Andrew's glorious piece of advice that's supposed to save all my sanity is:

"You're probably not going to find a job that you love doing. It's really rare. You just need to decide what you can compromise so you can make a decent life for yourself."

I don't even know where to start with picking that apart.
I'm an idealistic twenty-three year-old with three thousand dollars saved for the education that is going to bring me one step closer to being a happy and satisfied-in-life, fifty year-old. I don't want to compromise my happiness for the sake of a buck. The first time I went to school it was for art. I completely accepted the fact that I would never have money five years ago, and I still completely accept that fact and kind of like it. It keeps you humble.

And while obviously, his best intentions were there, I still feel like a massive set of hooters held together with a piece of dental floss.

So I'm left with the decisions of all decisions: Do I dump Andrew?

Do I dump Andrew and start life all over again? Do I dump Andrew and hope that I find all the things that he is and all the things he's not in someone else? Do I dump Andrew and walk away from the best relationship I could ever have, just because of inexperience? Do I dump Andrew and move to England? Do I dump Andrew and run away with Josh? do I dump Andrew and live with my parents for another year and a half? Do I dump Andrew and do I find the peace of mind I'm so desperately looking for, or does it just get worse?

The scales are balanced. I'm completely fucked and no one seems to have any sort of explanation or kind word that's ever going to make this sort of bullshit easy.