They're given out of order, and with no dates or times on them in general (though you might be able to figure out a couple of days/times). There are sometimes notes, if there's added info that seems pertinent.
Yes, they're intensely personal. No, I no longer feel like this. I purposefully worked through this on my own and took my time with that. Some of the working was done on this LiveJournal on purpose.
Most importantly, though: I don't regret a damn thing. It was a huge learning experience that I wouldn't trade away for all the gold in the sea.
I hit the bottom, or so I thought. Tonight, I just wanted to hide. I just wanted to be away from everything else. I wanted to go to bed, to drink myself to oblivion, or to spend the night hunched over the toilet vomiting.
I felt like I had screwed up. Irrevocably.
But I didn't.
I mean, what kind of person gives up like that?
Not this kind.
It's quiet here, all alone.
I close my eyes for a moment.
It's freeing. Simple.
[note: I don't remember writing this. It appears to be a meditative journal entry, though.]
Kisses aren't candy.
Affections need to be earned.
I'm simply not built to give out kisses that mean nothing. Affection involves trust and a measure of love. Or at least some adventure.
It's hard to admit, but really it boils down to this: not everyone is that special to me. Once again, I find that deep down, I crave things like love, trust, and commitment. Sexuality simply isn't about fun to me. It's about connection and closeness.
I can't share that closeness with very many people, really.
I should have realized that years ago. The last girl I kissed when single (i.e. before college) left me feeling like crap. I know she enjoyed the experinece, but I left feeling like a jackass.
Now that I think about it, I often feel that way with women I've kissed.
[note: sexuality can be fun, but the primary function of sexuality, for me, is closeness. And I don't want to be close to a lot of people. Never have. In most cases, closeness simply makes me uncomfortable. In this case, it was downright wrong.]
I'm stuck here on Zero.
[note: The next line, obviously, should be, "I'd just like to make it to One."]
I admit to being pretty damn angry with myself. I feel worse right now than I did last night, when I was in the mud, vomiting for a few minutes.
This morning, reflection is stark and in my face. The feeling of helplessness and fear is heavier, more apparent.
It's pretty black in this head of mine.
Despite that, and despite feeling lost, alone, and usafe, I remember that where there is now blackness, there was once light. Where I feel lost, there once were signposts. Where I am alone, there are people I can go to, even if they aren't where I can see them. But the best part is the safety, because while it's now unsafe, I remember when it was safe, when arms held me as I hid from shadows on a tent wall.
This morning I've been told I drank more than usual. Some were concerned that maybe I was drowning something. I know, though, that problems float in alcohol. They get closer to the surface. I kept a careful tab on what went down.
It wasn't the alcohol that caused me to vomit last night. It was everything else.
A lot of people don't see certain things. It's not so much that I hide them, but that I generally consider them unimportant. The feelings leading up to me on my knees in that muddy spot, alone in the darkness, were not anyone else's responsibility but my own.
I should have paid attention to where I was going. I could see it, but I ignored it.
[note: as I was writing this entry, I recall singing, "Some people claim that there's a woman to blame / But I know, it's my own damn fault."]
Hmm. . . Lemme rephrase:
I'm going to be very picky about who I kiss from now on, in my regular life, when I'm at festivals, and when I'm alone with friends.
There are boundaries that I crossed that shouldn't have been crossed. While no one seems to be complaining that I crossed their boundaries. . . I crossed my own. Those boundaries were there for a reason.
[note: I feel really, really bad about this entry for some reason.]
Love. What a strange word. What an inconvenient, yet wonderful feeling.
[note: No, I won't explain.]
I'm not applying for Clergy.
I thought I was ready.
I've found out, yet again, that I'm not.
[note: This is common. Every time I think I'm ready, I prove that I'm not. It happens.]
I remember Athanasios' exact wording when he was talking about why he applied for clergy status within ADF. He turned to me and said, "Well, the By Laws had a loophole, so I said, "Why not?" They couldn't stop me."
I owe my Grove better than a dorky "Why not?"
Until Friday night, I was riding high on pushing limits and testing myself and trying to get my mojo going. And I was really getting it moving. There were so many great things happening: I was happy with myself, happy with where I was, and happy with what I'd made into my reality.
On Friday night, though, I slipped into something that, instead of pushing my limits, broke them wide open. Basically, I spoiled my own reality. When I opened my eyes the next morning, I was suddenly desperate. . . I needed to hold onto something, to grasp something simple. I saw a clear path ahead of me, and I didn't stop to wonder where it might lead. I simply latched onto it, and I found myself heading down it quickly and headlong, scraping my knees, jamming my fingers, and losing my balance.
At one point, I remember thinking, "Can I get off this ride?" But I didn't think I could. There were no adjoining trails to take.
Of course, as I look back while sitting here resting as I claw my way back up, I see that I had many options. Many places I could have gotten off. But I didn't. I stayed on. I fell when I didn't have to.
[note: Written mid-week, before I pulled out.]
Polyamoury is not, and will never be, for me. The concept makes me feel alone, used, and sick. I'll never, ever understand it.
[note: Not that it matters whether it's for me or that I understand it, of course.]
There was this girl.
She had long dark hair, constantly wavy and wet-looking. She had eyes that matched her hair and contrasted against her light, fair skin. She sat with her legs out, wearing skirts that showed off their curves beautifully. Those legs were long and shapely, inviting your eyes to glance ever higher and higher.
Every night I passed her as I left work. She always sat on the same bench, a bench I pass every day.
And every night, she had a smile for me.
Now, summer is over, and she no longer sits there.
I never spoke to her. I never learned her name.
And I was right not to, I think. When it comes to relationships, I'm confused. I know that well.
But I still wish I'd learned her name.
And there's a look at what I was thinking and writing that week. The things I missed, the things I got right, the things I got wrong. Over the two years I've had this journal, I've always wanted to make it honest. That's been the primary goal. It's been said that I hide things on this journal. That I don't show a complete picture. That's not really true.
Such thoughts, such writings as these are very rare. The last time I wrote like this, I think, was Freshman year in college. This time, it lasted about 7 days, from Friday to Friday, really, that I was writing like this.
Will this happen again? Almost certainly. Not really because I want it, but I've proven to myself that sometimes, an angst-ridden teenager takes over. It may happen for one week every seven years, but this guy is small, misunderstood, and frightened, and he doesn't reflect well on me. Doesn't mean I can stop him from reflecting.
There are a lot of things that have happened recently that I'm not proud of, but they're all part of who I am. This is how I write, and what I write about. Each mistake is a further facet of myself that I just haven't found yet. Mistakes excite me and solving them and learning from them make me feel alive.
People have indicated that they read my journal because they like to read about what I'm thinking, or about what I'm doing. They read it because I'm not afraid to put forth controversial ideas that scare me. Don't worry: I'm going to keep messing up, that's for sure, and I'm going to keep thinking about the stupid things I do. I don't mind being told something was stupid (triadruid is really great at telling me when I've done something stupid), and in fact encourage it.
So tell me when I'm being a jerk, when I've done something stupid, or when I've pushed your comfort zone. I won't mind a bit of politeness and/or tact in letting me know, but honesty is always welcome.
And please: don't worry about me. I honestly don't handle most shows of concern well. . . They actually tend to make things worse for me. While this jackass of a kid is going to re-surface at some point in the (hopefully distant) future, he's just looking for attention and an outlet. When he comes out, he knows when it's time to go away again. Sometimes it takes him time to realized that he's not my primary paradigm anymore.
I think my primary paradigm just needs a girlfriend.