hindsight.
i've been turned off LJ ever since that writer's block question about your first journal entry. after reading my first entry, back in march of 2001, i went on to read the second entry and the third and fourth... an hour later i was in absolute awe of my own stupidity. the first year of my journaling chronicles little else besides my relationship with p. i met him in september of 2000 but we didn't connect until a few months later. we started "dating" in february of 2001, a few weeks before i discovered LJ.
looking back through those early entries hurts. from the first weeks of my relationship with him i knew exactly what i was setting myself up for. entry after entry of "i know i'm setting myself up", "he makes me sick to my stomach", "i don't trust a word that comes out of his mouth" and yet, somehow, someway, it took 6 years of heartache to finally rid my life of his vile presence.
i kept justifying my involvement with him by telling myself and others that it's not as if i'm sitting home crying on the days he decides i'm not good enough for him. and it was true enough. while i did more than a fair share of crying, especially in the earlier days, i also kept on keeping on; enjoying the company of my friends and forming far more fruitful relationships. the problem was that never during those breaks was i truly free of him. he'd vanish for a few days then come back and if i ignored him he'd stalk me, call my friends, send me 100 text messages a night, wait for me on my fire escape.
eventually i'd lose my resolve to stay as far away from him as possible [after all, i did love him madly. i have no idea why but so it was.] and settle into waiting until next day/week/month when he'd inevitably decide to break up with me again.
i spent 6 years asking myself -- "what the fuck is wrong with you? why do you keep doing this to yourself?" unable to come with any answers, i continued going at it.
what i can't stand now is looking at those 6 years, looking at the insight i had from the first moment yet did nothing about. it makes me angry that i was ever foolish enough to come back for more and more and more. i remember writing an entry about how i felt inferior to pavlov's dogs, because, unlike them, no amount of lather rinse repeat conditioned me to stop doing what i was doing.
12/01/2002
[voice mail from p after i told him i loved him] you're a soulless, empty, shallow, easy, naive, fuck of a fuck. fuck you.
12/02/2002
he came by my house with a bouquet of flowers. he shaved his head. it hurt to see him. he said he's not here to talk, just to give me flowers and beg for my forgiveness. he left. he called to ask if i'll ever forgive him. i told him i can't be on the phone with him and if there's anything good left in him, he needs to let me be right now. he let me go. he text me saying he wants to die in front of me to make me feel good. how dramatic.
and a few days later: it only took him 5 days to get through to me. i asked him to tell me honestly whether he thinks it would be the right move to forgive him. he said "no". i felt strange all night because i keep thinking i should be angrier...but i'm not and i can't fabricate it for the sake of pleasing myself. i was too tired to fight after i dragged myself home at 10 pm last night after class and found him on my doorstep. i haven't forgiven, but i'm no longer pissed.
in this manner we spent another 4 years.
it makes me angry that up until i started reading those entries i had no idea how angry i was and it makes me even angrier that it is STILL not p i'm angry at. i wish him well and i hope he found peace to calm his psychotic mind. i'm angry at myself for being ignorant of my own knowledge. always.
i'm angry at myself for being unable to feel and retain anger at others. always.
looking back through those early entries hurts. from the first weeks of my relationship with him i knew exactly what i was setting myself up for. entry after entry of "i know i'm setting myself up", "he makes me sick to my stomach", "i don't trust a word that comes out of his mouth" and yet, somehow, someway, it took 6 years of heartache to finally rid my life of his vile presence.
i kept justifying my involvement with him by telling myself and others that it's not as if i'm sitting home crying on the days he decides i'm not good enough for him. and it was true enough. while i did more than a fair share of crying, especially in the earlier days, i also kept on keeping on; enjoying the company of my friends and forming far more fruitful relationships. the problem was that never during those breaks was i truly free of him. he'd vanish for a few days then come back and if i ignored him he'd stalk me, call my friends, send me 100 text messages a night, wait for me on my fire escape.
eventually i'd lose my resolve to stay as far away from him as possible [after all, i did love him madly. i have no idea why but so it was.] and settle into waiting until next day/week/month when he'd inevitably decide to break up with me again.
i spent 6 years asking myself -- "what the fuck is wrong with you? why do you keep doing this to yourself?" unable to come with any answers, i continued going at it.
what i can't stand now is looking at those 6 years, looking at the insight i had from the first moment yet did nothing about. it makes me angry that i was ever foolish enough to come back for more and more and more. i remember writing an entry about how i felt inferior to pavlov's dogs, because, unlike them, no amount of lather rinse repeat conditioned me to stop doing what i was doing.
12/01/2002
[voice mail from p after i told him i loved him] you're a soulless, empty, shallow, easy, naive, fuck of a fuck. fuck you.
12/02/2002
he came by my house with a bouquet of flowers. he shaved his head. it hurt to see him. he said he's not here to talk, just to give me flowers and beg for my forgiveness. he left. he called to ask if i'll ever forgive him. i told him i can't be on the phone with him and if there's anything good left in him, he needs to let me be right now. he let me go. he text me saying he wants to die in front of me to make me feel good. how dramatic.
and a few days later: it only took him 5 days to get through to me. i asked him to tell me honestly whether he thinks it would be the right move to forgive him. he said "no". i felt strange all night because i keep thinking i should be angrier...but i'm not and i can't fabricate it for the sake of pleasing myself. i was too tired to fight after i dragged myself home at 10 pm last night after class and found him on my doorstep. i haven't forgiven, but i'm no longer pissed.
in this manner we spent another 4 years.
it makes me angry that up until i started reading those entries i had no idea how angry i was and it makes me even angrier that it is STILL not p i'm angry at. i wish him well and i hope he found peace to calm his psychotic mind. i'm angry at myself for being ignorant of my own knowledge. always.
i'm angry at myself for being unable to feel and retain anger at others. always.