For Good.

My friend Hood finally put her blog back up and I am greatful... And a bit addicted.

I thought that I was going insane. I thought that I was perhaps the only person on the face of the planet that had anxiety attacks over my future flyng out of control and into oblivion. I thought I was the only person who was stressed out about what I am doing vs. what I need to be doing, but nope, Hood is too and I feel comforted.

I guess I'm not that far off the mark with this adult bullshit. I'm just in a state of limbo.

My relationship with Hood reminds me of the relationship between Glinda and Elphaba in Wicked. I don't know who is the outcast and who is the social princess, I think we're both a bit of each character, but the fundamental characteristics are just too similar. Maybe it's just because both Glinda and Elphaba were two strong women in their own ways and I would like to think that both Hood and I own those same qualities.

I think Katie and I need to find a rad karoke bar somewhere in the middle of Canada and sing, "For Good" duet styles. I missed out on singing talents when we were in highschool - I blame that on the crap ass district board of education and their dislike of anything musical.

I'm not trying to be gay over Hood, I'm just sayin' she was good times and now that I have the opportunity to read her life, I'm beginning to realise that Katie and I aren't so different and I like that because I'm an egotistical art fag that thinks no one understands me (to put it frankly).

So now I just have to convince her to move back to Niagara so that we can hangout (I'm selfish like that).

"I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason,
Bringing something we must learn.
And we are lead to those, who help us most to grow,
If we let them and we help them in return.
Well I don't know if I believe that's true,
But I know I'm who I am today, because I knew you.

Like a comet pulled from orbit, as it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a bolder, half way through the wood.
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
Because I knew you...
I have been changed for good."

Yeah. I'm gay for Hood.

Breaking Down The Walls.

I had been talking to this guy for the past couple of weeks and it was honest to god, a fucking pleasure to do so... Well, for the first week it was.

I've been sitting on a fence with almost every single emotion I could possibly own for the past twenty-one days. There were days when I felt completely sound and then there were days when I thought I was going to turn inside out. There were days when the only thing I could do was cry and there were days when I was so excited about the future that I thought I was going to burst. He, unfortunately got stuck right in the middle of it.

I admit that I squeeze people too tightly. I don't know if it's because I'm afraid that they're going to leave or if it's because I'm desperate to be loved. I didn't treat him properly, but to be fair, he was about as proper to me as I was to him.

One of our first conversations he told me how much difficulties he was having with his friends. He said that he found his relationships very frustrating because he was the one to listen. All he wanted in return was a thank you, but he never got it. Poor boy.
So that night, while sussing out his mind I sat and listened to him till very late in the evening. I listened to him because I thought that was what he would have wanted. I sat and listened because I thought he deserved the attention and the sincerity. I sat and listened to him because he was upset and I wanted to help him and by doing so, I thought that he would return the favour.

He didn't say thank you.
In fact, the only thing he did say was that I was a mental and unstable nutjob that didn't have any self love. I believe his exact words were, "You would be an alright person if you had love for yourself." And in some aspects of my life, I tend to agree, but fuck him for being such a self-righteous piece of shit and fuck him for making such a glorified assumption of my character.
Don't get me wrong, he did listen to me. But he did it with the gusto and the grace of a bull in a china shop and by the end of it, the summary of my problems were, "You're not special, if you don't like it, change it." And again, I tend to agree with him, but easier said than done mate.

I perhaps put too much faith in the grace of a stranger. I should have been more tactful, should have realised that not everyone is as enthusiastic and needy as I am. I should have been well aware that I had just broken up with my boyfriend and was looking for an emotionally available man to comfort me through a shitty time.

I should have been smart enough to not let him get to me.

By the end of it he just kept telling me that I didn't mean anything to him and that he couldn't be arsed about how I felt.
It didn't hurt because he was saying it, it hurt because I hadn't let anyone get close enough to me to hurt me in that way for years and just when I had put the bridge down to let someone in, he pelted me with burning arrows.

A couple days after our last conversation I felt bad that it was so miserable and unkind. Now I couldn't give a fuck if I ever talk to him again.

Back to being an ice cold bitch.

My Iron Lung... Not.

I cannot breathe.

Every time I take a breath, a stabbing pain jabs me in my lower ribs that feels like Edward Scissor Hands is using me as a pin cushion for his digits. It fucking hurts.

Andrew and I spent six hours in the ER waiting on results and doctors only for them to tell me that they're not sure what's wrong. I've never had tests done on my heart, or X-rays for my chest and I was oddly enough, mildly ok with it. Doctors, hospitals, needles have never been my thing.

The doctor actually said, "I don't think you had a heart attack, it's highly unlikely. So are blood clotts, but if you feel any pain in your legs, come back for an ultrasound right away."
What the fuck is that? We don't think you had a heartattack? Well I think that you shouldn't be a doctor if all you can do is guesstimate the probability of my heart exploding.

He thinks I have an inflamed lung and I'm just going to run with that theory because the other options are considerably more scary. Inflamed lung, I can deal with.

We got home at two thirty in the morning.
When I woke up the next day Andrew was gone for work, but the pain was still there.

I can't do anything.

Walking up the stairs winds me. Carrying my laundry down the hallway is impossible. Getting in and out of the truck is like climbing a mountain and I don't even want to talk about yawning.

It just sucks, feeling this useless. I absolutely hate it. It makes the constantly busy life of last week incredibly desireable. It makes me feel fat and lazy. It makes me scared that I've done something to cause such a horrendous pain.

I still have my hospital bracelet on just incase I have to go back. I've never been this worried about my health before.

It fucking sucks.

Black Wednesday.

I am single.

I. Am. Single.

ohmygodi'mmotherfuckingsingle.

*sigh*

There's a dull ache every so often that bounces around the walls of my heart when I think of April. Leaving the newest home of the many I've had over the past three years makes me a bit gloomy, but it also makes for a very enthused and exciting adventure.

Being single rocks.

The calm that's currently residing in the depths of my soul (I've realised), has come from the fact that I do not need to make any decisions for another two months about the state of my life.

THAT, fucking rocks.

I simply have to go to school, do my job, clean the house, cook dinner, take care of a man and my two cats (whom are more like children). I finally, after five freakin' months of loosing my bloody mind over the most asinine garbage, have embraced the joys of being a selfcentered and carefree twenty-four-year-old and IT FUCKING ROCKS.

There are few things I've noted during this state of tempermental bliss.

ONE: If I ever choose to take on a man again in a long and everlasting relationship there will be a disclaimer before any type of engagement, mental, physical or emotional.
It will state: If the term "slob" can equate to any part of your personality, mannurisms or character, please just go away. It's best for both of us. I'm an anal retentive neat freak and I will reduce you to a shaking ball of hysterics if you don't keep my livingroom free of ick. It's not my fault, it's my mothers. I was raised in a bubble.

TWO: My food bill is going to drop dramatically. This excites me because it leaves more room for pineapple.

THREE: I don't have to look at horrid french provincial couches day in and day out. Nor do I have to sit on them and pretend that they're comfortable to make my boyfriend feel better about not being able to afford new ones. HA. SCREW YOU PROVINCIAL CRAP!

FOUR: I'm never going to fall into the toilet again.

I don't know why people fear being alone. I don't know why people dread valentines day. I don't know why anyone would be so upset over breaking up. If you do it well, everyone wins and you somehow, manage to find a part of you that had been forgotten about ages ago.

Hopefully this euphoria lasts through the night.

In The Closet.

I can deal with my skeletons. You gotta deal with them or else you just become one. A rattling box of demented memories and past hauntings that you can't seem to shake. And when you try to shake 'em, the rattling makes you go insane. It's all fucked, but I can deal with that. It's when the skeletons get buried and the ghosts start to boo, that's when it stings.

Being a fuckup comes naturally to me. That's probably why I can level with so many of my stupidly arrogant and young mistakes. Because I was young and that always balances as a more than acceptable exscuse.

It's the people though, my ghosts, that scare me. Generally when people decide to remove or be removed from your life, it's for good reason. I unfortunately lack the switch that prevents me from learning from our decisions and usually always, welcome them back into my life with open arms, a loving hug and a fair admission that yes, "I was the reason why our relationship fell to pieces. I am crazy after all!"

It's the birth control!

I know I do it because I'm lonely.

Sometimes I think that I'm far from human. Sometimes I think, ewe gah, maybe I'm a feminist. Sometimes I think that maybe I should become a lesbian because as I do generally loathe the majority of the female race, I don't understand a male mind and frankly, don't ever want to. It's hard to remain betwixt two races that seem so utterly different and stupidly selfish compared to myself.
I just want to find one person that's NORMAL. Whether they own a five inch dick or a pussy the size of a bus, I don't care. Just someone who is incapable of unleashing a world of pain and frustation on my ass, that doesn't want to, "do" Lindsy Lohan 'cause she's half naked, on the cover of Vanity Fair. WHO CARES THAT SHE'S A MENTALY UNSTABLE ANOREXIC PYSCHO, SHE'S HOT! Or someone that doesn't want to stay up all night and discuss strategical tactics to become the world's best American Idol. I just want someone that wants me and only me and doesn't want to look at other women, or be a stupid, stupid girl because hey, that's what gender roles do.

I JUST WANT A SIMPLE, FUCKING NORMAL HUMAN TO WALK INTO MY LIFE AND LOVE ME, FAIR AND SQUARE, EASY AS PIE, DONE.

And maybe that way they won't turn into a ghost.

Frou Frou.

I'm trying really hard to think that Let Go is anything but a musical campaign to get high, but I'm failing miserably.
Every time I listen to the god damn song I manage to block out the lyrics. It's a good song and it makes me happy to listen and sometimes, it makes me think of the conversations I've had over the past couple days and something in me feels content. The soundtrack to your life crap; that song would be playing on a loop, every night at 11 o'clock PM.

We've finally broke up.
It's done, completely. Nothing has changed though. Well, that's not true, we both realise that it's over, but also realise that we need to function as a couple till April. All those emotions that are supposed to settle in after the breakup haven't come. They're just hanging in the air, waiting to break the minute amounts of normality that exist in this condo.

I looked at the spice rack today and thought, "Why am I doing this? Make this work, you don't want to take that thing off the wall. You bought it with him." I spoke to his mother today and my soul ached over the realisation that the closest thing I've had to a family over the past eight years is going to be gone in four months. I look at him and I smile because I already miss him, but I've been missing him for a long time and nothing is going to set that straight, ever.

Every ten minutes my breath catches in my mouth and my eyes fill with tears and yet I somehow always manage to suck it back. It's like having a terrifying pang of selfrealisation and complete and utter pain pierce your middle and I'm tired of being brave enough to ignore it.

I just kinda want to go to bed for six years. Or stare out a window for a week, blankly, emotionless and absolutely empty. I want everything to stop for me.

I want someone to realise that I'm broken and I want them to fix it.