Emancipator and Missing John
I don't know whether to love or hate that part of myself that is still, and probably always will be, in love with John. I guess my job is to just accept it. My friend sent me music to listen to this morning. It's Emancipator, the music John and I always listened to during late nights. It's not my friend's fault: he didn't know. Funny, because some of the songs are new to me, and I didn't recognize that it was Emancipator at first, and the first thing that popped into my head was that John would like this music. Ha.
I love him. Well, I love who he was. I don't love him anymore. There's a huge distinction. I love who he was. Maybe I'll just be sad today. That's alright.
My account with him closed yesterday, which is good. But it was my last connection to him. I keep having flashbacks to opening that account with him, even of the decision to open that account with him. It was a hard decision for me to make, because it meant I was truly committing to him. Oh, John, why did you fuck everything up? You're such a child. You tried at one point-I really think you did. You gave up in different ways, and it wasn't me that you gave up on; it was yourself. And it's not because of me. When we had our first date, you weren't really all that good of a guy, but you came a long way, from recycling to becoming an advocate for people of different ethnicities to verbally shooting down catcallers. You were cruel to me, though, and I never felt special or appreciated for the myriad things I did for you: from sex treasure hunts to proverb boxes to poetry boxes to birthday trips with activities of things you'd always wanted to try to fixing your house to scrubbing drool off walls with a toothbrush to being abused by your family to cleaning up the back yard after your 200-lb dog to making you surprise batches of cookies to having the patience to deal with you every time you were mean to me and would come back apologizing in tears (and the times you wouldn't). It's actually very sad that all I would ask for is your appreciation, not even to be treated well-not even for reciprocation. I'm bigger than that, though.
God. I'm sad today.
I haven't been able to eat in five days. Maybe it's the aftermath of that food poisoning. I'm not sure, though. I think I need to control something, so my body has done a symptom imperative, giving me stomach problems as a distraction rather than acne. I wish I had time to write more this morning, but I have to get ready for work. I hope I can eat today. I wanted to lose weight, but now I'm actually concerned about myself.
Irrational Id thought of the day: I want John. Without fucking Sergio. Without his drugs. Without his asshole attitude. Without the shadiness. Without the lying. Without the pain. I just want to cry on his shoulder and have him make it temporaririly better.
He's not really the person I want, though. I want myself in man form, I think. Someone who would be kind and understanding and loving and would know how to comfort me and who would not lie to me and who would strive to make things better and better and more fun and more loving and tender. I want someone who knows how to be responsible and an adult and not a crazy maniac. Who would defend me because I am the most precious thing to him.
Jesus. I guess I needed to write this today, but I have 25 min before I have to catch the subway, and I'm a sobbing wreck.
One observation: I speak much more eloquently without John.
I was going to marry him. God, I wanted so badly to marry him.
I love him. Well, I love who he was. I don't love him anymore. There's a huge distinction. I love who he was. Maybe I'll just be sad today. That's alright.
My account with him closed yesterday, which is good. But it was my last connection to him. I keep having flashbacks to opening that account with him, even of the decision to open that account with him. It was a hard decision for me to make, because it meant I was truly committing to him. Oh, John, why did you fuck everything up? You're such a child. You tried at one point-I really think you did. You gave up in different ways, and it wasn't me that you gave up on; it was yourself. And it's not because of me. When we had our first date, you weren't really all that good of a guy, but you came a long way, from recycling to becoming an advocate for people of different ethnicities to verbally shooting down catcallers. You were cruel to me, though, and I never felt special or appreciated for the myriad things I did for you: from sex treasure hunts to proverb boxes to poetry boxes to birthday trips with activities of things you'd always wanted to try to fixing your house to scrubbing drool off walls with a toothbrush to being abused by your family to cleaning up the back yard after your 200-lb dog to making you surprise batches of cookies to having the patience to deal with you every time you were mean to me and would come back apologizing in tears (and the times you wouldn't). It's actually very sad that all I would ask for is your appreciation, not even to be treated well-not even for reciprocation. I'm bigger than that, though.
God. I'm sad today.
I haven't been able to eat in five days. Maybe it's the aftermath of that food poisoning. I'm not sure, though. I think I need to control something, so my body has done a symptom imperative, giving me stomach problems as a distraction rather than acne. I wish I had time to write more this morning, but I have to get ready for work. I hope I can eat today. I wanted to lose weight, but now I'm actually concerned about myself.
Irrational Id thought of the day: I want John. Without fucking Sergio. Without his drugs. Without his asshole attitude. Without the shadiness. Without the lying. Without the pain. I just want to cry on his shoulder and have him make it temporaririly better.
He's not really the person I want, though. I want myself in man form, I think. Someone who would be kind and understanding and loving and would know how to comfort me and who would not lie to me and who would strive to make things better and better and more fun and more loving and tender. I want someone who knows how to be responsible and an adult and not a crazy maniac. Who would defend me because I am the most precious thing to him.
Jesus. I guess I needed to write this today, but I have 25 min before I have to catch the subway, and I'm a sobbing wreck.
One observation: I speak much more eloquently without John.
I was going to marry him. God, I wanted so badly to marry him.