He loves you.
I don’t want to be lonely.
So write something that you haven’t written before.
Reading any story about love, seeing any form of pillow talk, encountering any description of hope and fear and grief now resounds in me. I know what they speak of. I know the utter wonder of touching someone’s hand; I know heartbreak and longing.
Crime and Punishment
City of God
So much of it is about love.
That’s why nearly every song wallows over it: anyone can relate. I never understood that before.
“I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do because I notice it always coincides with their own desires.” — Susan B Anthony
“In a consumer society there are inevitably two kinds of slaves: the prisoners of addiction and the prisoners of envy.” — Ivan Illich
“When elephants make love or war, the grass gets trampled.”
I don’t want to lose him.
Was it just part of the summer? Will he be too busy for me now?
I’m crying because I know I need him.
I’m not really worried about school starting. I’m worried about losing the summer and what happiness I’ve known.
I hope I’m not a burden.
I’m nobody, or at least nobody I should be.
Why am I like this? (I ask that every month.)
Love is asking someone to make you someone else. And love is wanting to hurt this someone, loving him enough to hate him too.
And I can’t write about anything other than myself, which ought to make writing the goddamn essay a blast [personal statement, I think?], but I can’t bitch about being needy and unhealthy and unwise.
So help me.
I need to start over. (I say that every month.)
So after this is over I’ll go upstairs and see if he gets online and miracle of miracles wants to do something. With me, that is.
But he won’t and I couldn’t, anyway.
(“I bet you wish you were someone else”)
I wish I could see more of him, that we weren’t so busy, that I wasn’t so hideously dependent on him.
Isn’t it enough that he loves me?
Why isn’t it?
Cos you’re stupid.
[kind of hilarious background: the first time I successfully masturbated was by using the alarm clock function on my cell phone as a vibrator near the beginning of my senior year in high school.]
so that, my dear, was your first official incident of masturbation.
But it doesn’t change anything.
The cell phone has become too much of a god to me.
It’s because I associate [it] with him. Even using it as a vibrator reflects that. I want to hurl it away from me, clean and purge myself of it and my dependency, my constantly checking it, touching it, doing nothing but waiting for it to ring.
Will he answer?
Will he call me back?
I doubt that too.
But oh I hope.
Let it go. This isn’t healthy for you anymore.
You get hurt too easily
It’s not fair to him.