Two Years
It's been nearly a full two years since I've made an entry. Two long, hard years. Reading all of my past entries, it's hard to imagine how that life lead to this one. So much has changed, so much is different now.
Vlad and Ashley broke up. He found another Ashley. "My" Ashley. I was the last to know, despite my inqueries, which were answered with lies and patronizing appeals to relax. When the truth was finally revealed, our friendship was dead, and my living situation was far from pleasant with him right next door to me fucking her every night. Needless to say, I no longer speak to either of them.
Steve and Caitlin broke up, too. I don't see much of either. Steve spent the year we lived together in the constant presence of his Vero buddies, a tight-knit group that allowed for no outsiders. He's still a good guy, though. Just hard to reach. And Caitlin, well, she's the same as she's always been. Maybe a little more adult. It's hard to tell. We don't talk much.
Bri is getting married. I can't really believe it, and I can't really endorse her situation, but I've resolved to support her regardless.
Dinah and I did not speak for a full year after she broke my heart that weekend. She made first contact. I was with Vivian, and hesitant to allow myself to feel those feelings again. Of course, I did, and six more months later, we hung out. Every so often, a shade of who she was is visible, but only for a moment. Those moments keep me wishing in spite of myself. Right now, though, it appears as if we won't be speaking again for another long stretch of time. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe too much is different now. Of course, I can't really believe that she'll ever not be in my life in some way.
Adam and John moved to Orlando. Not much ever changes there. There's been a lot of pot smoked, a lot of deep conversations, some conflict, some hurt feelings, some tension and egg shells, but a faint yet enduring love throughout. Now they're moving on to Gainesville and taking the foundation of my social life with them.
Erik is still up there at UF. He's the same as he's always been. Thank God.
And Vivian. She wasn't the one for me. For all my campaigning against settling, I was very eager at first to settle myself. After a year and a half, it became very apparrent what I'd done and I had no choice but to keep looking for real love. The search, of course, continues. But Vivian, I think she'll be all right. Hopefully I haven't subjected her to any lasting damage. She's fiercely independent, at least in certain aspects of her life, and I think she has the strength to survive, despite appearances.
Things with the mother are much as they've always been...one step forward, two steps back. The same can be said for the father, though the father is far ahead of the mother in terms of progress. The rest of the Gorman children may be just as fucked up as me. Hopefully, we can help each other someday.
And as for me, well, I just don't know anymore. I used to feel righteous, I used to have passion. Anyone reading my journal of that first year at UCF can see that. I wasn't exactly happy then, but I was fierce and defiant. What's happened since then? I don't know. Another year at Publix, another empty relationship, the loss of many friends and acquaintances through neglect and the natural progression of time and events. All I know is that by this past December, I was overweight and joyless. My GPA was in the toilet. My social life was worse. Since then, I've tried hard to recapture the things I feel have been missing from my life, but have met with many failures, some of my own making, some beyond my control. I've been diagnosed with a depressive disorder called dysthymia. I guess I should've expected as much. Looking back on old postings, you can see the warning signs and the struggle against it. Maybe I just lost the will to fight what is hard not to call a losing battle. As I sit here, though, I'm beginning to feel like maybe the joys of life are not in the success of overcoming, but in the pride in fighting. I have a lot of baggage. At times, I feel like an escaping convict, with my past hurts and let-downs a ball and chain preventing me from attaining freedom, despite my mad struggle. What's next? I don't know. I've lost myself, and I can't be found. I will need to be remade. That's a task for this summer, after this miserable year is over. I'm going to New Jersey. I'm going to clear my head and return with a game plan. Because barring any tragedies, life goes on. Every morning, I must wake up and face the day. There is no conclusion, no happy ending as there is no end. Just ups and downs that I must learn to handle in a far more productive and practical fashion. I've got to grow up. I've put it off for far too long.
Vlad and Ashley broke up. He found another Ashley. "My" Ashley. I was the last to know, despite my inqueries, which were answered with lies and patronizing appeals to relax. When the truth was finally revealed, our friendship was dead, and my living situation was far from pleasant with him right next door to me fucking her every night. Needless to say, I no longer speak to either of them.
Steve and Caitlin broke up, too. I don't see much of either. Steve spent the year we lived together in the constant presence of his Vero buddies, a tight-knit group that allowed for no outsiders. He's still a good guy, though. Just hard to reach. And Caitlin, well, she's the same as she's always been. Maybe a little more adult. It's hard to tell. We don't talk much.
Bri is getting married. I can't really believe it, and I can't really endorse her situation, but I've resolved to support her regardless.
Dinah and I did not speak for a full year after she broke my heart that weekend. She made first contact. I was with Vivian, and hesitant to allow myself to feel those feelings again. Of course, I did, and six more months later, we hung out. Every so often, a shade of who she was is visible, but only for a moment. Those moments keep me wishing in spite of myself. Right now, though, it appears as if we won't be speaking again for another long stretch of time. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe too much is different now. Of course, I can't really believe that she'll ever not be in my life in some way.
Adam and John moved to Orlando. Not much ever changes there. There's been a lot of pot smoked, a lot of deep conversations, some conflict, some hurt feelings, some tension and egg shells, but a faint yet enduring love throughout. Now they're moving on to Gainesville and taking the foundation of my social life with them.
Erik is still up there at UF. He's the same as he's always been. Thank God.
And Vivian. She wasn't the one for me. For all my campaigning against settling, I was very eager at first to settle myself. After a year and a half, it became very apparrent what I'd done and I had no choice but to keep looking for real love. The search, of course, continues. But Vivian, I think she'll be all right. Hopefully I haven't subjected her to any lasting damage. She's fiercely independent, at least in certain aspects of her life, and I think she has the strength to survive, despite appearances.
Things with the mother are much as they've always been...one step forward, two steps back. The same can be said for the father, though the father is far ahead of the mother in terms of progress. The rest of the Gorman children may be just as fucked up as me. Hopefully, we can help each other someday.
And as for me, well, I just don't know anymore. I used to feel righteous, I used to have passion. Anyone reading my journal of that first year at UCF can see that. I wasn't exactly happy then, but I was fierce and defiant. What's happened since then? I don't know. Another year at Publix, another empty relationship, the loss of many friends and acquaintances through neglect and the natural progression of time and events. All I know is that by this past December, I was overweight and joyless. My GPA was in the toilet. My social life was worse. Since then, I've tried hard to recapture the things I feel have been missing from my life, but have met with many failures, some of my own making, some beyond my control. I've been diagnosed with a depressive disorder called dysthymia. I guess I should've expected as much. Looking back on old postings, you can see the warning signs and the struggle against it. Maybe I just lost the will to fight what is hard not to call a losing battle. As I sit here, though, I'm beginning to feel like maybe the joys of life are not in the success of overcoming, but in the pride in fighting. I have a lot of baggage. At times, I feel like an escaping convict, with my past hurts and let-downs a ball and chain preventing me from attaining freedom, despite my mad struggle. What's next? I don't know. I've lost myself, and I can't be found. I will need to be remade. That's a task for this summer, after this miserable year is over. I'm going to New Jersey. I'm going to clear my head and return with a game plan. Because barring any tragedies, life goes on. Every morning, I must wake up and face the day. There is no conclusion, no happy ending as there is no end. Just ups and downs that I must learn to handle in a far more productive and practical fashion. I've got to grow up. I've put it off for far too long.