(no subject)
when did i become such a paranoid he-bitch? i come home from classes afraid to unlock my door. i dread leaving the room for any amount of time and i hate it when they leave together. my stomach is constantly in knots and i hardly have eaten in the weeks they've stayed here.
it's almost as if a part of me imagines that they'll seize any opportunity that i am not present, as if they lay in wait for the first moment that the door clicks closed.
and i seethe and writhe inside myself with the terror of the day i come home to find the glaring reality of his glowing skin in the sunlight over her freckles and her red mouth open over the skin on his ears that makes him shiver.
one would think that considering the fact that they had (some form of) sex before he and i did, while i was watching no less, i'd be at least resigned to the concept of their fucking one another with or without me there; they are dating after all. it didn't become a duo thing just because he and i had sex.
i'm beginning to think that i wish it did, and that's a problem. for one thing it means that i'm getting in too deep. and for another, as he made clear before anything ever progressed this far, we are not first in his heart. we aren't ever going to be. ashley is, and should she ever decide to tell him that she wants us rendered obsolete we'd become blank space before the ink dried in my head over his name. knowing that as i do i would have hoped that my tendency never to give my all to something i know i can't have forever because of not wanting to have to suffer its being taken away would manifest itself in the form of my never getting attached enough to him for it to matter if he has sex with her, or loves her more, or touches her more, or any of those things that i've been fretting and agonizing and going on about.
there are two things that changed that, though.
the first is the simple fact that the idea of walking in on anyone fucking has always paralyzed me, since i was a child. when my mother and stepfather would have sex back when we lived in maine i would lay awake with my head clamped under my pillow and cry for hours because i was frightened (though of what i still couldn't tell you); when christina and mark would fuck while i could hear it i ran away. i remember once hiding in a laundry room for a few hours and crying until i fell asleep because i could hear them fucking upstairs-- and that was when i was eighteen. not seven. so clearly something is still wrong. and i have a feeling that that-- not jealousy, not paranoia-- is what makes me so terrified of the idea of walking in on them. something about people having sex still scares the shit out of me even though i do it myself now. i just...i don't know, it fucking scares me.
and the other thing is of course the fact that something (the things i've been saying, i guess, with the impunity and innocence?) about mary just makes me rage at the thought of sharing things with her, sort of as if we're entirely made of opposing ends and angles and they spark and flare into huge bonfires at the slightest brush of our personal force fields-- it doesn't even have to be physical contact, just the edges of me brushing the edges of her. a look, a glance, a wayward sigh, words, expressions, actual contact; anything and everything about her burns me up like frozen acid in my blood so that my stomach is always twisting and my internal organs are bruised and on fire, sore to the point of every breath causing me pain from so much rage and confusion and now this constant terror.
and nothing i come up with can explain why that is. nothing tells me why it even matters when lately i've begun to get the feeling that this isn't something strong enough to be possessive over at all, that when they go back home everything is going to resettle in its proper place and it will be like nothing changed at all. of course, i felt that when mary left the first time and i was wrong, and this time seems like if it does change things it'll be more of a drastic change (i mean, all things aside, i did just spend the last two and a half weeks sleeping next to a flesh and blood boy, and kissing him and making love to him. that does count for something in the book of Life Altering Events Great and Insignificant, doesn't it?) but if it doesn't...well.
is it even going to mean anything, in the long run? does it feel like it won't survive the long haul purely because i have no faith in anything (except music) or am i right to think that? how am i supposed to know if this is even worth investing so much time and terror in? and what am i supposed to do about the terror? jesus, i don't want to be a fucking paranoid clingy possessive bitch. he's not even truly the kind of person i tend to become violent over. Lyle was. Sam was. but troy is not lyle and he most definitely is not my hummingbird. the love that surges through me for him is definitely there, but it doesn't overpower me to the point of blocking anything else out (skipping classes and ignoring homework aside); i don't always feel the shaking desperate need to touch him. i do feel it very often, but i'm beginning to discover that i can control it a little. is that maturity or is it the sheen of my first wearing off?
what will be left when it's gone? and is he even going to remember any of this when he goes home to his friends and to starting school and shaping a life for himself, to focusing on getting out of Oklahoma while I continue to fight my way out of failures looming so close that when they sneeze the droplets splash my brain cells?
I can't answer any of that. All I can think is that it's long past time for me to have a job, to earn money and to raise my fucking grades before I'm kicked out of this university, and perhaps in accomplishing those things I can overcome and surpass any failures I encounter with him.
I just...I really hope I can do something besides continuing to stagnate like this. I don't like who I'm becoming right now.
it's almost as if a part of me imagines that they'll seize any opportunity that i am not present, as if they lay in wait for the first moment that the door clicks closed.
and i seethe and writhe inside myself with the terror of the day i come home to find the glaring reality of his glowing skin in the sunlight over her freckles and her red mouth open over the skin on his ears that makes him shiver.
one would think that considering the fact that they had (some form of) sex before he and i did, while i was watching no less, i'd be at least resigned to the concept of their fucking one another with or without me there; they are dating after all. it didn't become a duo thing just because he and i had sex.
i'm beginning to think that i wish it did, and that's a problem. for one thing it means that i'm getting in too deep. and for another, as he made clear before anything ever progressed this far, we are not first in his heart. we aren't ever going to be. ashley is, and should she ever decide to tell him that she wants us rendered obsolete we'd become blank space before the ink dried in my head over his name. knowing that as i do i would have hoped that my tendency never to give my all to something i know i can't have forever because of not wanting to have to suffer its being taken away would manifest itself in the form of my never getting attached enough to him for it to matter if he has sex with her, or loves her more, or touches her more, or any of those things that i've been fretting and agonizing and going on about.
there are two things that changed that, though.
the first is the simple fact that the idea of walking in on anyone fucking has always paralyzed me, since i was a child. when my mother and stepfather would have sex back when we lived in maine i would lay awake with my head clamped under my pillow and cry for hours because i was frightened (though of what i still couldn't tell you); when christina and mark would fuck while i could hear it i ran away. i remember once hiding in a laundry room for a few hours and crying until i fell asleep because i could hear them fucking upstairs-- and that was when i was eighteen. not seven. so clearly something is still wrong. and i have a feeling that that-- not jealousy, not paranoia-- is what makes me so terrified of the idea of walking in on them. something about people having sex still scares the shit out of me even though i do it myself now. i just...i don't know, it fucking scares me.
and the other thing is of course the fact that something (the things i've been saying, i guess, with the impunity and innocence?) about mary just makes me rage at the thought of sharing things with her, sort of as if we're entirely made of opposing ends and angles and they spark and flare into huge bonfires at the slightest brush of our personal force fields-- it doesn't even have to be physical contact, just the edges of me brushing the edges of her. a look, a glance, a wayward sigh, words, expressions, actual contact; anything and everything about her burns me up like frozen acid in my blood so that my stomach is always twisting and my internal organs are bruised and on fire, sore to the point of every breath causing me pain from so much rage and confusion and now this constant terror.
and nothing i come up with can explain why that is. nothing tells me why it even matters when lately i've begun to get the feeling that this isn't something strong enough to be possessive over at all, that when they go back home everything is going to resettle in its proper place and it will be like nothing changed at all. of course, i felt that when mary left the first time and i was wrong, and this time seems like if it does change things it'll be more of a drastic change (i mean, all things aside, i did just spend the last two and a half weeks sleeping next to a flesh and blood boy, and kissing him and making love to him. that does count for something in the book of Life Altering Events Great and Insignificant, doesn't it?) but if it doesn't...well.
is it even going to mean anything, in the long run? does it feel like it won't survive the long haul purely because i have no faith in anything (except music) or am i right to think that? how am i supposed to know if this is even worth investing so much time and terror in? and what am i supposed to do about the terror? jesus, i don't want to be a fucking paranoid clingy possessive bitch. he's not even truly the kind of person i tend to become violent over. Lyle was. Sam was. but troy is not lyle and he most definitely is not my hummingbird. the love that surges through me for him is definitely there, but it doesn't overpower me to the point of blocking anything else out (skipping classes and ignoring homework aside); i don't always feel the shaking desperate need to touch him. i do feel it very often, but i'm beginning to discover that i can control it a little. is that maturity or is it the sheen of my first wearing off?
what will be left when it's gone? and is he even going to remember any of this when he goes home to his friends and to starting school and shaping a life for himself, to focusing on getting out of Oklahoma while I continue to fight my way out of failures looming so close that when they sneeze the droplets splash my brain cells?
I can't answer any of that. All I can think is that it's long past time for me to have a job, to earn money and to raise my fucking grades before I'm kicked out of this university, and perhaps in accomplishing those things I can overcome and surpass any failures I encounter with him.
I just...I really hope I can do something besides continuing to stagnate like this. I don't like who I'm becoming right now.