The formatting is effed up because I wrote this in Word. Sorry.
Well, I've done it again. Not that it
particularly matters. In fact, it's probably for the best and perhaps
subconsciously intentional. Of course, I'm talking about scaring away another
dude. I didn't hear from this guy, specifically, but I have heard in the past
that I'm "too nice". And no one wants to be with someone who's "nice". And I
know I am I try not to be, I try to act normal, which is difficult for me, since
I don't know what normal acts like. I don't even truly like the people who like
me, either, so it's amazing to me that I always end up driving them away. It
really proves that looks aren't everything, because all these assholes care
about is how I look, but it's my personality that inspires them to get the fuck
away from me. This particular guy, I met at 7/11 sometimes after two in the
morning. I had passed out in my car in the parking lot, and he woke me up to ask
if I was alright. I was still very drunk so I can't remember all of the details,
but he basically started asking me to have sex with him, and even in my severely
drunk state, I said, "Dude, I don't know you."
He responded, "We can use
a condom."
"I hate condoms," I said. Now, I'm leaning against the
driver's side door, my head resting on the opened window, eyes rolling back in
my head, barely coherent. That's my excuse for saying such a thing.
It
didn't take long for him to bribe his way into the passenger seat of my car. He
told me he had cocaine, and what a coincidence, I wanted it. So I let him in my
car, snorted a line, and then I drove, in my new, more alert state, to a Chinese
restaurant parking lot, and I let him fuck me bent over the hood of my car.
I remember saying to him, "Everyone leaves me, so what's the point in giving
you my number, it's not like you'll ever call me again." So, I would say that's
one solid DON'T if there is a don't list for such unorthodox a situation.
He did call me, though, and I didn't care. I didn't care for quite a while.
I was a real hold out. I swore to myself and those with whom I divulged my
affair. that he was "gross", unattractive, and dirty. I mean, I wasn't a hold
out with sex, just feelings. I felt nothing up until recently, now that rehab
is becoming more definite and witnessing his reaction. His reaction is all "I
like you enough that I'm willing to step out of your life if it will help you do
what you need to do."
Okay, that sounds mature and everything, but
considering the way we met and the sex for drugs relationship we've engaged in
since, I’m not buying it. He's just bored with me, or overwhelmed, or maybe he
likes me too much and doesn't want to. But I know that the third one is bullshit
because what guy wouldn't pursue a girl he really liked if they already had some
type of relationship.
I am the Oxy-Clean of relationships, dissolving
relationships with such strength, down to the last trace of enzymes, until it's
like the relationship had never happened at all in the minds of the other party.
It's this subtle but profound shift of power that cause me to lose my upper
hand, which, by the way, I do not abuse, as they always do. I don't want to be
dominant, I don't want anyone to do anything they don't want to do, and I don't
have the desire to control someone. The thing that fucks me up is that I
interpret the sexual advances of men as something more than just sex. Even more
so when they're saying sweet things to me and doing favors for me without my
asking, and just a couple days ago, I heard this most recent escapee say, "I'm
this close", while holding his thumb and index fingers a half inch apart, "to
falling in love with you."
He's a drug addict who he seems to have an
endless supply of dope, enough to feed my budding addiction, as well as sustain
his and his girlfriend's long-term dependence. To meth! He lied about having
cocaine. It was always meth. It has always been meth. Almost everyone I know
either is or was addicted to the shit. I guess it's my turn. But honestly, it’s
not about the drug, either. It's about rejection and my abject fear of it. I
make the reoccurring stupid mistake of giving myself to the most disgusting,
addicted, deceitful people, and then I have the audacity to feel hurt when they
can't meet my expectations. Why would I expect anything else?
Answering
that question is embarrassing, but so was the way I acted tonight, so might as
well make it a two-fer. I think it's this idea or being the hottest and most
awesome girl that these guys have ever had. I'm out of their league, and that's
just fact, but I get involved hoping that they'll appreciate being with me so
much that they'll fall in love with me (and a decent amount of them have). But I
have also suffered a lot of rejection in my quest to capture the attention and
hearts of these idiots. I guess it's just that they convince me at the beginning
that they're crazy about me, and every time I'm dumb enough to believe them.
It's equally possible that they really do feel strongly about me in the
beginning, and my attempt to disguise my neediness and insecurity always rise to
the surface like shit in pool. Yeah, it's that bad.
I'm listening to the
WTF podcast and the guest is Bob Saget. He just said, "Fear is the enemy. It
shuts you down creatively."
I wonder how, or if, I will ever dispose of
my debilitating fear of everything. I'm actually sitting here fearing that I'll
always be afraid.
Wallowing in misery over my inability to keep a
toothless junkie interested in me, Bob Saget speaks, and it feels as if he's
speaking directly to me when he says, "You expect people to wake up in the
morning and be appreciative? You can't expect that of a self-pitying Jew
bastard."
Speaking of self-pity, I officially agree with you. I'm too
skinny now. My cheeks are sucked in and I just can't make myself look cute like
this. It's gotta stop, all of it. All these idiotic relationships with drug
addicts, my own addictions, self-pity, and fear of rejection. Even though I feel
like it's all fucking pointless and depressing, I'm not going to kill myself
because that's just not my style. That one's not even based in fear. I don't
want to die. I want to be happy, even if I am
just another human in some alien species' SIMS:
Planet Earth video game.
Did I ever mention what I did? I
had a total meltdown, which, hopefully, came across over the phone as only
mildly psycho. I don't know if he could hear me crying, but I guess it doesn't
matter since I don't matter to him. I can tell when they realize that they can
treat me as shitty as they want and not only will I take it, but I'll be even
"nicer". Before I even know what has happened, I'm all upset over some guy who
I'm not attracted to, who I would never want to be in a serious relationship
with, who I, from day one, I feel their overwhelming pushiness and misogyny, and
who gives me an intuitive feeling of "Run from this guy an run quick". Well, the
current pushy sleaze had become less pushy (still sleazy) over the last week,
not calling or showing up when he said he would, and telling me that he's not
feeling well or whatever so he wouldn't have to come over. I should've known
that I would end up actually liking him if I spent every fucking day with him.
And now, I've been rejected again, and I don't know why. Or maybe I know why,
it's this whole "too nice" thing, but I don't know how to be just regular nice.
I'm always too much of a good thing. Too honest, too open, too trusting, too
vulnerable, too fucking nice. And the worst part about ALL of this is that I am
painfully aware that I'm still just as attracted to sick people, no matter how
many times I get hurt, and I'm still not attracted to normal people. So, I guess
that means that this was my entire past, and could be my entire future. Or I
could take a vow of celibacy and devote myself to Buddha or whatever.
I
spent almost three years sober, working a great job, in therapy, working out and
eating healthy, going to AA meetings and events, as well as volunteering as
secretary for over a year. I appeared healthy on the outside, I spoke the lingo
of recovery, I said my prayers every night and morning, I dressed in matronly
skirts and turtleneck sweaters, but I was just as attracted to chaotic
relationships and abuse. I was seeing a therapist who specialized in female
survivors of domestic violence while at the same time, in love with a man who
nearly killed his ex-girlfriend, and I knew that before I was even committed to
him. Then he almost killed me, and I still couldn't break away. That's me at my
most emotionally healthy, not a drug in my system (besides smoking here and
there, but trying to quit). It that was me then, I can only imagine how skewed
my thinking is right now. When will shit be good? When will I be happy, have
friends, meet a guy whose crazy complements my
crazy.
Everything seems inaccessible right now. School, friends, guys, a
career, getting off drugs, and out of this house. I'm not doing any of this shit
for fun; I'm doing all of it as an addict, engaging in addict behavior. This is
not recreational, it is daily and I feel like I have lost the ability to stick
to anything I promise myself. Like after I wake up from having slept for 15
hours, I think, "I feel good, this feels better than smoking that shit." But
it's sitting there and I can feel it pulling me toward it until I say, "fuck
it," and just start up again. Same thing with the guys.
Some part of me
must like being a victim, because I keep turning myself into one. Maybe I like
being a victim, maybe I like chaotic relationships, and maybe I'm just as bad an
addict as the men who attract me, but I KNOW for certain that I don't like being
hurt, the feeling in my stomach and chest, the aching loneliness that I want to
rip out of my body. What is it? Where does it come from? It can't come from guys
that I've only know a few days, weeks, or months, so it must be coming from me.
So how the fuck do I exorcise it from my life? Seriously, what do I have to do
to stop feeling so sad?
You know what's cool about my blog, though? It's
like a current times Go Ask Alice.
Do you know that book? It was written
in the 70s, and it's like all these supposed journal entries from this teenage
girl, Alice, who is turning into a drug addict and prostitute over time. That
book was proven to be a work of fiction, but hey! Look! There's a true story
right here that I think would scare the shit out of people of any age. If you
look through my blog, I started drinking in July 2011, like a half glass of wine
here and there or a couple hits of weed, through the progression of this
illness, or whatever it is, to today, right now, at 9:55 in the morning on a
Saturday. I've been up all night smoking meth, and now I'm writing this
self-pitying (as well as awesomely Meta) blog entry, drinking a 24-oz bottle of
Corona. Next on the agenda, half a Xanax bar, to help me sleep away a fraction
of my insanity.
Well, I've done it again. Not that it
particularly matters. In fact, it's probably for the best and perhaps
subconsciously intentional. Of course, I'm talking about scaring away another
dude. I didn't hear from this guy, specifically, but I have heard in the past
that I'm "too nice". And no one wants to be with someone who's "nice". And I
know I am I try not to be, I try to act normal, which is difficult for me, since
I don't know what normal acts like. I don't even truly like the people who like
me, either, so it's amazing to me that I always end up driving them away. It
really proves that looks aren't everything, because all these assholes care
about is how I look, but it's my personality that inspires them to get the fuck
away from me. This particular guy, I met at 7/11 sometimes after two in the
morning. I had passed out in my car in the parking lot, and he woke me up to ask
if I was alright. I was still very drunk so I can't remember all of the details,
but he basically started asking me to have sex with him, and even in my severely
drunk state, I said, "Dude, I don't know you."
He responded, "We can use
a condom."
"I hate condoms," I said. Now, I'm leaning against the
driver's side door, my head resting on the opened window, eyes rolling back in
my head, barely coherent. That's my excuse for saying such a thing.
It
didn't take long for him to bribe his way into the passenger seat of my car. He
told me he had cocaine, and what a coincidence, I wanted it. So I let him in my
car, snorted a line, and then I drove, in my new, more alert state, to a Chinese
restaurant parking lot, and I let him fuck me bent over the hood of my car.
I remember saying to him, "Everyone leaves me, so what's the point in giving
you my number, it's not like you'll ever call me again." So, I would say that's
one solid DON'T if there is a don't list for such unorthodox a situation.
He did call me, though, and I didn't care. I didn't care for quite a while.
I was a real hold out. I swore to myself and those with whom I divulged my
affair. that he was "gross", unattractive, and dirty. I mean, I wasn't a hold
out with sex, just feelings. I felt nothing up until recently, now that rehab
is becoming more definite and witnessing his reaction. His reaction is all "I
like you enough that I'm willing to step out of your life if it will help you do
what you need to do."
Okay, that sounds mature and everything, but
considering the way we met and the sex for drugs relationship we've engaged in
since, I’m not buying it. He's just bored with me, or overwhelmed, or maybe he
likes me too much and doesn't want to. But I know that the third one is bullshit
because what guy wouldn't pursue a girl he really liked if they already had some
type of relationship.
I am the Oxy-Clean of relationships, dissolving
relationships with such strength, down to the last trace of enzymes, until it's
like the relationship had never happened at all in the minds of the other party.
It's this subtle but profound shift of power that cause me to lose my upper
hand, which, by the way, I do not abuse, as they always do. I don't want to be
dominant, I don't want anyone to do anything they don't want to do, and I don't
have the desire to control someone. The thing that fucks me up is that I
interpret the sexual advances of men as something more than just sex. Even more
so when they're saying sweet things to me and doing favors for me without my
asking, and just a couple days ago, I heard this most recent escapee say, "I'm
this close", while holding his thumb and index fingers a half inch apart, "to
falling in love with you."
He's a drug addict who he seems to have an
endless supply of dope, enough to feed my budding addiction, as well as sustain
his and his girlfriend's long-term dependence. To meth! He lied about having
cocaine. It was always meth. It has always been meth. Almost everyone I know
either is or was addicted to the shit. I guess it's my turn. But honestly, it’s
not about the drug, either. It's about rejection and my abject fear of it. I
make the reoccurring stupid mistake of giving myself to the most disgusting,
addicted, deceitful people, and then I have the audacity to feel hurt when they
can't meet my expectations. Why would I expect anything else?
Answering
that question is embarrassing, but so was the way I acted tonight, so might as
well make it a two-fer. I think it's this idea or being the hottest and most
awesome girl that these guys have ever had. I'm out of their league, and that's
just fact, but I get involved hoping that they'll appreciate being with me so
much that they'll fall in love with me (and a decent amount of them have). But I
have also suffered a lot of rejection in my quest to capture the attention and
hearts of these idiots. I guess it's just that they convince me at the beginning
that they're crazy about me, and every time I'm dumb enough to believe them.
It's equally possible that they really do feel strongly about me in the
beginning, and my attempt to disguise my neediness and insecurity always rise to
the surface like shit in pool. Yeah, it's that bad.
I'm listening to the
WTF podcast and the guest is Bob Saget. He just said, "Fear is the enemy. It
shuts you down creatively."
I wonder how, or if, I will ever dispose of
my debilitating fear of everything. I'm actually sitting here fearing that I'll
always be afraid.
Wallowing in misery over my inability to keep a
toothless junkie interested in me, Bob Saget speaks, and it feels as if he's
speaking directly to me when he says, "You expect people to wake up in the
morning and be appreciative? You can't expect that of a self-pitying Jew
bastard."
Speaking of self-pity, I officially agree with you. I'm too
skinny now. My cheeks are sucked in and I just can't make myself look cute like
this. It's gotta stop, all of it. All these idiotic relationships with drug
addicts, my own addictions, self-pity, and fear of rejection. Even though I feel
like it's all fucking pointless and depressing, I'm not going to kill myself
because that's just not my style. That one's not even based in fear. I don't
want to die. I want to be happy, even if I am
just another human in some alien species' SIMS:
Planet Earth video game.
Did I ever mention what I did? I
had a total meltdown, which, hopefully, came across over the phone as only
mildly psycho. I don't know if he could hear me crying, but I guess it doesn't
matter since I don't matter to him. I can tell when they realize that they can
treat me as shitty as they want and not only will I take it, but I'll be even
"nicer". Before I even know what has happened, I'm all upset over some guy who
I'm not attracted to, who I would never want to be in a serious relationship
with, who I, from day one, I feel their overwhelming pushiness and misogyny, and
who gives me an intuitive feeling of "Run from this guy an run quick". Well, the
current pushy sleaze had become less pushy (still sleazy) over the last week,
not calling or showing up when he said he would, and telling me that he's not
feeling well or whatever so he wouldn't have to come over. I should've known
that I would end up actually liking him if I spent every fucking day with him.
And now, I've been rejected again, and I don't know why. Or maybe I know why,
it's this whole "too nice" thing, but I don't know how to be just regular nice.
I'm always too much of a good thing. Too honest, too open, too trusting, too
vulnerable, too fucking nice. And the worst part about ALL of this is that I am
painfully aware that I'm still just as attracted to sick people, no matter how
many times I get hurt, and I'm still not attracted to normal people. So, I guess
that means that this was my entire past, and could be my entire future. Or I
could take a vow of celibacy and devote myself to Buddha or whatever.
I
spent almost three years sober, working a great job, in therapy, working out and
eating healthy, going to AA meetings and events, as well as volunteering as
secretary for over a year. I appeared healthy on the outside, I spoke the lingo
of recovery, I said my prayers every night and morning, I dressed in matronly
skirts and turtleneck sweaters, but I was just as attracted to chaotic
relationships and abuse. I was seeing a therapist who specialized in female
survivors of domestic violence while at the same time, in love with a man who
nearly killed his ex-girlfriend, and I knew that before I was even committed to
him. Then he almost killed me, and I still couldn't break away. That's me at my
most emotionally healthy, not a drug in my system (besides smoking here and
there, but trying to quit). It that was me then, I can only imagine how skewed
my thinking is right now. When will shit be good? When will I be happy, have
friends, meet a guy whose crazy complements my
crazy.
Everything seems inaccessible right now. School, friends, guys, a
career, getting off drugs, and out of this house. I'm not doing any of this shit
for fun; I'm doing all of it as an addict, engaging in addict behavior. This is
not recreational, it is daily and I feel like I have lost the ability to stick
to anything I promise myself. Like after I wake up from having slept for 15
hours, I think, "I feel good, this feels better than smoking that shit." But
it's sitting there and I can feel it pulling me toward it until I say, "fuck
it," and just start up again. Same thing with the guys.
Some part of me
must like being a victim, because I keep turning myself into one. Maybe I like
being a victim, maybe I like chaotic relationships, and maybe I'm just as bad an
addict as the men who attract me, but I KNOW for certain that I don't like being
hurt, the feeling in my stomach and chest, the aching loneliness that I want to
rip out of my body. What is it? Where does it come from? It can't come from guys
that I've only know a few days, weeks, or months, so it must be coming from me.
So how the fuck do I exorcise it from my life? Seriously, what do I have to do
to stop feeling so sad?
You know what's cool about my blog, though? It's
like a current times Go Ask Alice.
Do you know that book? It was written
in the 70s, and it's like all these supposed journal entries from this teenage
girl, Alice, who is turning into a drug addict and prostitute over time. That
book was proven to be a work of fiction, but hey! Look! There's a true story
right here that I think would scare the shit out of people of any age. If you
look through my blog, I started drinking in July 2011, like a half glass of wine
here and there or a couple hits of weed, through the progression of this
illness, or whatever it is, to today, right now, at 9:55 in the morning on a
Saturday. I've been up all night smoking meth, and now I'm writing this
self-pitying (as well as awesomely Meta) blog entry, drinking a 24-oz bottle of
Corona. Next on the agenda, half a Xanax bar, to help me sleep away a fraction
of my insanity.
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