One thing that I secretly have a colossal pet peeve for that I don’t talk about very often is being told that I’m unintelligent or having my intelligence insulted.

Like, I grew up being told by everyone around me that I was stupid and no good and couldn’t do anything or whatever, and it quickly got to the point where I believed everyone because if everyone said it then maybe there’s something to it, right?

So for a long time, I just accepted the fact that I wasn’t smart and believed it and even told myself that on a daily basis.

I understand NOW that it’s not true and that they were wrong, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t have days or moments where it all comes back. For me, doing stuff that I don’t know or understand (like math, sports, or taxes) is actually a trigger for me because it brings all that shit back and I can’t deal with it very well.

But to avoid getting off topic, I just want to throw this into the void (because that’s how I cope):

I don’t like it when people tell me I’m not smart or make fun of me for not understanding something or for being confused. It makes me really mad and hurts my feelings.

For me, it happens. A LOT. But you don’t have to be a fucking asshole about it. Especially if you’re supposedly my friend. Like, insulting my intelligence isn’t going to make you feel any better about yourself (even if you think it will), so why do it at all?

I know I’m not stupid. I’m actually quite intelligent.

I’m a film production major and came into this program knowing absolutely nothing and now I can do everything except cinematography and sound (because surprisingly, they really don’t teach that shit here).

I’m very knowledgeable about social issues.

I have four years of experience reading, writing, and speaking Japanese, which is considered one of the hardest languages to learn.
IT WAS EASY.

I can read the shit out of people if you give me an hour with them.

I can write better than most people I know. Like, I’m really fucking good at it.

I’ve won awards, for Christ’s sake.

I was Editor-in-Chief of a fucking magazine.

So yeah, I’m actually pretty damned smart, even if my GPA doesn’t show it.

I may get confused really easily, I might forget things too quickly, and I get overwhelmed by things I don’t understand.

But that doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. And even if it did, that’s not an excuse to insult me (or anyone else) for it.

So don’t come here and make fun of me for being confused at the atrocity of your grammar in a text message or having never heard of “double boiling” in reference to cooking before (I don’t cook much because I don’t have the materials needed to cook, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fucking do it).

Hurting me isn’t going to make you feel better. Especially since I know exactly how to hurt back, and I can do it in a way that’ll hurt even worse.
Think about that.

I have perfected the art of self-torture.
I’m so good at it i don’t need things like bdsm or medieval devices or household weapons.
I can do it all by myself.

I have magic powers:
I can rip my brain to shreds and scrape my insides out with an invisible shovel.
I can kill myself and nobody will know or care.
Because there won’t be any evidence.
And they’ll all ignore it or say “I told you so.”
And they probably should.

They all said I was too good, but the truth is I’m just not good enough.
I don’t know why I do it, but perhaps that’s why…

I braved the cold and ice to get here. I slipped on ice maybe twice. I’m only here because I thought I’d be a true college hipster and write something profound whilst drinking Starbucks brand coffee that I bought with the gift cards I received for Xmas. 

I don’t really even like Starbucks that much anymore.

I’ve somehow become a drip-coffee-only kinda guy.

Did you know that unless you ask for “no simple syrup” in your special Starbucks fancy Frappuccino drink, they’ll just put it in there without you asking? It’s just some kinda sugar thing added in. More sugar to go with your drink that’s 20% milk, 10% coffee, and 90% various types of sugar.

Sugar goes by so many names. Glucose, sucrose, fructose, evaporated cane juice… I’m beginning to think you can’t make a real sugar substitute without using actual sugar. Can’t have sweet without sugar.

Sugar everywhere. Unless you want salt.

Nobody wants salty coffee. Or do they? 

I can’t say.

But that’s why I prefer drip over a latte.

It’s too loud in here.

This coffee isn’t too bad, though. But that’s probably because I might’ve added too much sugar.

I guess I should’ve gone to a smaller place. But there’s food and free-wifi here. And the guy with the shaved head behind the counter is cute.

I could probably get with him if I tried hard enough.

I don’t feel much like trying.

You’d probably get upset if I tried. I’ve known you for maybe a week and I can already tell what would upset you. 

You make it pretty easy, though. You’re just like how I used to be. 

What will you do when I tell you what I really want?

I think I already know what you want. But I wouldn’t be surprised if you pulled a fast one on me and had a completely different reaction to what I’m expecting. 

It’s happened before. 

I’m still hungry but don’t want to get up. I’m afraid I might lose my seat at this dirty table by the window. 

I wonder what we’re doing right now. 

I want to submit something to my school’s literary journal (Manastash) before their deadline, but that requires me to write something.

I haven’t written for myself in a long time (Tumblr doesn’t count), so I have no idea what to write about. 

I’m more a creative nonfiction kinda guy. 

But I really wanna try my hand at something different.

Like poetry (even though I know nothing of the subject).

Or some kinda short story.

The problem I find with writing that isn’t nonfiction is that it’s hard to write something that’s good without being offensive on some level.

Maybe I just haven’t found the right written works yet. I’ll admit my sphere of knowledge is very lacking, having come from a place where non-white European writers aren’t given any kind of consideration and having it spread into my adulthood.

But I’ve definitely noticed that after going back and reading some of my earlier favorite works (especially in gay fiction, surprisingly). It’s all racist/ableist/sexist on some level. And then the works go on to win awards and accolades from my favorite authors (who I decide are somewhat problematic themselves).

I feel like I don’t know how to write anything without it sounding like an activist’s article, though.

I don’t even know where I’m going with this anymore.

I’m probably gonna start writing more stuff here for a while. Most of it won’t make any sense, but it’ll be practice for me. I feel like it’s safer to put it all here instead of my professional tumblr account.

But now you know and stuff.

A term I use for times like this.

It’s the time I spend waiting, or doing things when I feel like I’m waiting for something to happen.

The time I spend killing time. 

Right now is another of those times. 

I’m tumbling after reading an old Peter Cameron short story collection that I bought years ago but never started. I found out this morning that they made a movie out of Someday This Pain Will Be Useful to You a couple years ago but it never came out in theaters and doesn’t appear to have been released on DVD and isn’t available on Netflix. So naturally, I’m upset because it was supposedly pretty good, even though it was made by Italian people (the last Italian-made American movie I watched was Troll 2. Enough said.) and only seems to have debuted at the Miami International Film Festival back in 2010 or something. 

Anyways, I’m killing time so that it can be time to go to the gym. I want to work out but I have to wait a bit because I ate a little while ago and will feel sick if I go straight to the gym from dinner.

I’m just waiting for it to be time for me to do something.

Or for it to be time for something to happen.

I feel like I’ve been killing time a lot lately. I don’t like it. It’s boring and makes me feel useless. Or unwanted. 

I’ve been waiting to hear back from that one guy about filming for that one thing I mentioned at some point last month in a post that I can’t find. I sent him a tweet yesterday asking about it, but so far haven’t heard anything back. I feel like I’m being ignored. I don’t like being ignored. Nobody does.

I hate waiting for people to respond to my messages, too. When they don’t, I always enter Paranoia Mode and start thinking that they’re avoiding me because I did something wrong. I’m trying to tell myself that he’s just busy, because that’s probably what it is. But it doesn’t make the waiting process any easier. Although I suppose any reply at all would be better than nothing.

I just hope he actually SENDS me a reply. I’d like to think that this isn’t gonna be a constant thing in my life, where people start talking to me and say things and everything looks promising and then all of a sudden they stop talking to me one day and everything falls apart while I’m just left here to figure out what to do next and where to go or how to move forward on my own.

So far, this has been as dependable an outcome to the situation as the sun coming up every morning after nighttime. I’m not sure if that’s the most sensible way of saying, “that’s what happens EVERY time with EVERY new development in my life,” but that’s what I’m trying to say.

Any time a guy develops an interest in me, he always suddenly loses it and leaves. That’s why I gave up on dating.

The last couple times someone contacted me for my interest in filming in this field, they’ve done the same thing: dropped off the face of the earth and never contacted me again.

It’s like they’re both the same, and I’ve started to believe that that’s what will ALWAYS happen.

So whenever guys tell me they like me, I don’t believe them. Even if they seem convinced of what they’ve told me, I know it won’t last forever. Nothing does.

And whenever people tell me I’m cute and ask if I’m interested in working with them, my immediate response is: “this is a trick and you’re lying to me for kicks.” Because it’s never panned out before, so why would it now?

So I just sit here and kill time, waiting for the day where this pattern breaks. I try to break it on my own, but it never gets me anywhere but onto the bus headed straight to “Hurt and Humiliation-Ville.”

So far, this pattern has only been broken in each of those situations ONCE, both times by the same person. But they were both fleeting. Filming is over now, and we could never truly be together, even though I am finding that I really want to. More and more I think about him and what could be. And how it isn’t and it makes me sad. And I wonder if he thinks about me just as much and in the same way. 

I suppose this is me experiencing love for the first time. But I don’t know if it’s really love. I want to think it is, but it might just be the beginning of it. And I don’t want to let it become love, because I know it could never be and there’s too much at stake. Plus, I doubt that it’s a mutual love. I don’t believe in that concept anymore. 

I keep telling myself it’s good that I left after filming ended. I’m convinced that if I stayed or was closer to him in location, then we would probably see each other more often and then I really WOULD start to fall in love with him.

I mean, how do you NOT fall in love with the person who was able to teach you that you really were lovable? That you really were attractive, and smart, and fun to be around? That you really were worth something?

How do you not fall in love with the person who teaches you all of these things over the course of a week, and then does it again in another six months later?

I don’t know. 

And that’s why I have to make sure I don’t let it happen. Because I know what will happen if I do. 

So I sit here and kill time while I wait for it to be time for me to kill time again, only in a more efficient and entertaining way. I sit here and wait for the next stage of my life to begin, which is to say I wait for the pattern of my life to repeat itself ad infinitum.

Which is to say, I sit here and wait for my life to end.

I just realized that I now officially have more posts than there are episodes of the original FullMetal Alchemist anime.

I HAVE THREE EPISODES LEFT (AND THE MOVIE) TO WATCH BEFORE I’M DONE WITH THE SERIES YOU GUYS. OMFG.

I fucking love this anime. I think the music combined with the story definitely make it one of the greatest anime of all time. But that’s just what I think.

In other news I realized today that those sexual side effects of the Celexa I was prescribed a few weeks ago have finally started to kick in.

NO MORE CELEXA FOR THIS GUY. 

Also, I ended up leaving right after the Jay Brannan concert ended. It lasted way longer than I thought.

Here’s what happened:

At 7:30, the box office opened. The doors opened at 8pm (everyone thought the concert started at that time). Everyone attending waited around until 9:00pm for the actual show to start.

During that time, I noticed I was like the only person there by myself (T_T), that everyone had brought their friends or boyfriends, and that most people were drinking or drunk already. I was sober that entire day….

Anyways, there were a surprising number of women there. I made a couple of friends at the concert and hung out with them for half the event (I’ll explain in a minute), and they told me that apparently Jay wasn’t going to be performing until after 10 pm (T_T), and that the opening act would be a musician named Chris Pureka, which is why all the women were there. I had never heard of her. At one point while the place was filling up, Jay Brannan appeared in the audience and I made eye contact with him for like two seconds and then like a mystical creature, he vanished. 

So 9pm finally rolls around and Chris begins performing. I wish I’d heard of her sooner because she is AMAZING. I think I may have liked her performance better…. :p

Her show only lasted maybe 45 minutes to an hour and she had a couple sound issues (not her fault) that Jay later had, too. But otherwise it was still cool to listen to her perform. 

Jay didn’t end up performing until maybe 10:11 or so and that’s when things got weird for me. 

You see, I’ve never been to a real concert before, so I had no idea what to expect. Meaning, I had no idea that everyone in the audience would be drunkenly singing along to his music to the point that I began having trouble hearing the singer I paid $16.66 to see (and then another $35+ to fill up my gas tank and drive 2 hours to Seattle so I could put that $16.66 to good use). And money is really hard to come by for me right now, so this was kinda annoying for me. But everyone I’ve talked to since then says this is normal fare so I’m in the process of getting over it. I just wasn’t ready for the Peanut Gallery to take over for him (Brannan mentioned at one point during the concert that he didn’t even need to play the entire song for the audience to be happy- they would flip out every time he started the intro to one, so he joked about just playing the intros to each song he’d planned on signing and just finishing up in 45 seconds).

Anyways, Brannan’s act was really good. He sang a lot of songs from both his original and latest album and at one point did a cover of an Alanis Morissette song that I don’t know. He got up and sang it without his guitar, too, which was pretty cool. :p He also did his standard joking interlude routine between songs and I took some pictures that turned out horribly on Instagram (only one was good). I tried taping parts of it but only got a video of him performing a cover of Super Bass by Nicki Minaj and the first half of a funny story he was telling between songs (my phone ran out of memory space T_T).

The concert went a bit longer than expected because of the occasional sound issues, and there was one guy behind me who was pretty drunk, so he kept talking at full fucking volume throughout the entire fucking concert (which really pissed me off even more than the enraptured fans’ turning the whole thing into Karaoke Night at The Crocodile), but other than that, I had a fun time. I’m not entirely sure if the whole thing is really my scene, though, so I may not go back. Unless it’s another Jay Brannan or Chris Pureka concert, that is. I left as soon as the thing ended because it was almost 11:30 pm and I was tired from having stood in one place for four hours straight (#firstworldproblems), so I decided that I would just have to go to another concert someday in the future to get an autograph from Brannan himself. Oh well. :p

Tomorrow I have an internship meeting and will start making a promotional video for my friend’s club. I have one last therapy appointment on Wednesday (my current counselor won’t be returning next school year as this is his last full year of interning, so it will be a sort of goodbye session I guess), and then hopefully by Friday at the latest I will be checked out and on my way home for the rest of the summer. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to get back to working at Regal so that I can make money again (and maybe have enough to un-freeze my membership at the local 24 Hour Fitness so I can start going back to work out— my parent’s garage gym doesn’t quite cut it all the time). I guess I’ll have to call the GM at my theater tomorrow, too. 

Here’s hoping it all works out. 

….Now that I’m thinking of it, I’m actually really pissed off that my medication is causing these side effects. It’s like some sort of fucked up equivalent exchange- in order to gain mental stability and manage your illness you have to give up all sexual activity. For me, it’s like a catch-22, which sucks. 

So I guess I’ll have to keep searching for my philosopher’s stone an SSRI that will help augment my current medication… -_-

(^^you know you’ve been watching too much FMA when this happens)

You know that feeling you get when you finish a really good workout and maybe half an hour later, you still feel kinda tired and all the blood pumps through your body quicker than normal? That’s me right now.

Although it could be because I’m a little pissed off right now. I think it’s a combination of both that’s causing my blood to boil.

One of my more troublesome friends (who I’m not really friends with) is being a ridiculous asshole again on Facebook and it’s pissing me off, so I’m going off on everything under the sun because idk. I’m gonna blame spiking testosterone levels for my Devil Trigger activating.

(I’m not super stoked about the upcoming DMC game but this was the best devil trigger GIF I could find. IDK how to make my own…)

ANYWAYS.

So that guy’s being a dumbass and it’s pissing me off, so I’mma write about my feels until I feel better. 

One thing that’s been pissing me off lately is when I try to talk to somebody and they don’t respond at all. It’s like, okay, cool. I guess you don’t wanna talk to me. That’s cool.

JUST FUCKING SAY SO; THAT WAY, I KNOW NOT TO BOTHER YOU IN THE FUTURE.

You don’t like me? Don’t want to be around me right now/ever? That’s perfectly fine! JUST FUCKING TELL ME, OKAY? I’M NOT GOING TO KNOW UNLESS YOU SAY SOMETHING.

Jesus Christ. 

It’s like, people don’t say shit because they’re terrified of hurting someone’s feelings. This was something I dealt with all the time when I entered the dating scene. People who weren’t interested in me would just break off contact with me and never say anything to me again because who knows why, they just didn’t ‘feel it.’ And since I was so new to everything and didn’t know any better, I’d often keep in contact and ended up accidentally bugging the shit out of everyone because I didn’t know to take the hint. Then they’d either get really pissed off and get angry with me and insult me or they’d finally just spit it out and be all, “Sorry, I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

You hurt my feelings by not saying anything!!

I can understand not being attracted to somebody; I think most people can! But if you don’t say anything you risk hurting them even more than you would by rejecting them. Nobody wants to be strung along.

Since then, I’ve learned to take the hint when I continue to encounter people in real life who haven’t figured this shit out. I find it greatly upsetting, but I deal with it and move on. I actually have a few friends whom I used to hang out with all the time before I left for university. Now, for whatever reason, they seem to just refuse to keep in contact with me. When it gets to the point where your friends don’t ever talk to you anymore, even when you try to talk to them first, I think it’s safe to assume that perhaps the friendship is over. I just wish they would be adults about it and say what’s on their minds if they don’t want to be my friend (as appears to be the case here).

The concept applies to more than just the dating world, too, obviously.

The moral of the story:

YOU GOT SOMETHING TO SAY? THEN FUCKING BE AN ADULT AND SAY IT. 

Yeah, you might upset someone at first, but they’ll get over it and move on with their lives, and in the end you’ll have done the right thing by being honest with both them and yourself.

A lot of people don’t like me because of how blunt I am. I’m not going to apologize for seeing the pointlessness in beating around the bush and just getting straight to the point. I try my best to call things like I see them and my hope is that people realize they can do so with me, too.

I’m more than well aware of the fact that sometimes in life, you’ll find yourself in a situation where somebody insults you. Just ask any bullying victim; people are inherently evil creatures and it’s just part of life. It happens. So I can handle someone giving me what basically amounts to a mental papercut, as opposed to a potentially fatal stab wound that takes a long time to heal and leaves a scar afterward.

Rant over.

Today’s plan:

1.Sunshine

2.Finish stupid internship crap

3.Dinner

4.Drive to Seattle

5.Jay Brannan concert!!!!

I’m very excited about this concert, even if I’m going alone. That might actually be a good thing for me. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I was supposed to leave a while ago but I’m still here getting ready to leave. I’ll be coming back in a week or so, but I have to go back, as much as I’d rather not.

Actually, right now, I kinda *want* to go back to Ellensburg.
The place grows on you after a while.
Especially when you come from a place like this, where everything is a reminder of something you’ve been running away from or trying to forget. Where painful memories are attached to every beautiful thing around you.

This weekend didn’t turn out at all how I wanted.

But you know what?
I’m strangely okay with that.

Yeah, I’m still upset and confused.
Yeah, I’m still blaming myself.
Yeah, I’m still trying to figure out what happened between us.
Yeah, I’m still asking myself, “Why?”

Was it because I don’t smoke pot?

Was it because I contracted Strep C and didn’t find out until after I saw you again, kissed you again, fooled around with you again (and went farther than last time), spent an entire day and night with you, and then went back home thinking perhaps this wasn’t just a sore throat that would be gone in a couple of days?

Was it because I was so terrified of how you might react that I didn’t tell you about it for three days after I went to the doctor? Were you just pretending to not even be upset?

Was it because I ended up falling harder for you than you did for me, even though you were the one who fell first?

I don’t think you’re going to tell me. And I can’t figure these answers out on my own.

But it’s all going into the big bin of life experiences.
I’m going to remember all the things that happened and the ways I felt and everything from here to there and in-between. And that’ll get me through this alive, somehow.

And I’ll be able to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

I just got out of my latest therapy session. I explained a lot of aspects regarding queer/gay culture to my therapist. It was kinda funny. I’m thinking next week I’ll try giving him one of those terminology packets that the university GSA hands out during tabling events. 

I don’t really know what to say, but it was a good session. 

We talked about C again. I mentioned last week that I can’t stop thinking about him, and it kinda worried me. I don’t know what to do about it other than see where things go and then figure out where to go or how to move on from there. With me, I guess I cross bridges as I come to them, but I’m always nervously anticipating them before I get to them. I dunno.

Anyways, we talked about him again, and about gay stuff (since my therapist didn’t really know a whole lot about it, which is understandable), and about relationships. With me, it’s kinda a constant topic that comes up, be they platonic or intimate ones. I sometimes have trouble with opening up and being as candid in real life as I am in the therapist’s office. With me, because of past life experiences, I automatically view every person I see as a potential bully who is judging me as I walk past them (I’m trying to work through it). But because I’m openly gay, too, I now have to worry about being completely open about my sexuality in public. In addition to viewing people as potential bullies, I also now view them as potential homophobes, gay-bashers, and even potential murderers. I have to constantly ask myself if it’s safe to be open in a public space because of the stigma that still comes with being gay. 

And don’t even get me started on being mentally ill, too. I’m a gay boy with serious mental health issues, which causes a lot of problems (or at least potential for problems) in life. Granted, I know that I have it much easier than a majority of other people (I identify as cismale, I’m white, and I’ve been told I’m generally “straight-acting”), but for me, that still doesn’t make things very easy. The mental health issues are, in my opinion, the main thing that bog me down.

I mentioned to my therapist that I’m often afraid of people finding out that I’m mentally ill. I don’t want people to treat me differently or think I’m crazy or something. And I’m afraid that if I ever do (by some act of whatever higher power there may be in this world) find myself in a relationship, that things could be negatively compromised when it’s revealed that I’m… like this. I’m afraid maybe people wouldn’t want to be with me anymore if they find out I have serious depression issues, even if for me, it’s clinical and genetic. I know that if that ended up being the case (someone wanting to end the relationship because of my being mentally ill), it would be better for me not to be with them, but it doesn’t make the fear go away. It doesn’t make me any more hopeful that people will be understanding and patient with me. Ultimately, I feel that anyone who was in a relationship with me would need some kind of infinite amount of patience just to put up with me. And I don’t know if that’s really a good thought pattern on my part, but that’s just how it is right now. It’s a fear that’s always eating away at the back of my brain.

I still haven’t even started discussing my sexual anxiety issues….

I mentioned that this weekend is what I’m calling “The Moment of Truth.” I’m going back home on Friday to take care of my dog and house-sit for my parents while they take my brother to college orientation and I won’t be back till the 31st. During that time, I’m hoping I’ll be able to successfully ask C out to dinner and then find out where he and I stand. I feel like there’s potential here and I want to know if he feels the same way, but I don’t want to ask the important questions unless I’m right there in front of him; I feel like that’s the only way to do it, and I have to do this. Whether it’s to continue on or to get closure, I have to do it. 

I feel stupid saying something so cliche— “I have to.” “I gotta do this/it.” That’s like something the main cowboy says in a western movie. That’s what what’s-his-face said in High Noon to his wife when he left to face off with Frank Miller. I thought it was so stupid, because every part of me was screaming, “No, you don’t have to do anything. Just keep going on that carriage with your wife and get out of town.” But now, I feel like I know how it feels to need to say something like that. 

I need to do this. Not for anyone but myself. 

Right now, I’m in a relatively good place and a stable frame of mind. At this point, I’m okay with either outcome, although I’d prefer only one of them. But I need to find out where we stand for the sake of my own well-being. I just have to get through the next two days and finish all the work that stands in my way. I should be able to do it. 

Just two more days. 

In my last session, my therapist talked more about Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. What he’s starting to tell me seems contradictory to what other people have been telling me. 

They say, “You need to love yourself before you can love someone else.”

But as you can see from the Hierarchy of Needs, self love (esteem needs) is on a higher tier than love from others (belonging and love needs), which means being loved comes before loving oneself. 

So I’m more than a little lost and confused on this issue. Either way, I still have needs that I feel aren’t being met, aka the middle tier. 

For me, it’s difficult, because I never feel like I truly belong anywhere. I never have. I was never “enough” of something to be completely part of a group. I never felt like I had a specific clique in high school (which they say is a good thing, but…), I never felt like I truly fit in with my family (I still don’t think I do) or my friends. I’ve been constantly asking myself why I’m in my major department because I feel like I’m not cut out to be there. I basically feel like I don’t belong with anyone or anything. It’s been the same in dating, too. Something always happens that makes me feel like I’m too different from someone and that they wouldn’t want to be with me because of it. 

My therapist said that’s faulty thinking, though. Of course, he also said this country’s focus on individualism is faulty thinking and that Asian culture’s sort of group mentality is more ideal. I don’t understand that one at all, but that could just be because I’ve been conditioned to think differently in this society. 

Anyways, after admitting I still feel like I’m out of place everywhere I go, he explained that people can identify with others who aren’t “like them” at all. I sort of knew that, but I guess perhaps I never gave it much thought or really believed in its validity. So he said he wanted me to try talking to someone who wasn’t “like me” at all and try having an extended conversation with them.

I ended up doing that on Friday, when my friend illthreat invited me to go to Lake Chelan with him and another mutual friend, D, (whom we met thru the school fashion show) to see another friend’s, A’s, concert. Said friends are people I don’t quite know that well, but after being in the car with D, I got the chance to have an extended conversation with him (and I didn’t think he and I have anything in common aside from gender identity) and I actually enjoyed the experience. I learned more about him as a person and I felt like we became better friends as a result. I also had an extended conversation with A later that night (D and illthreat were having an intense discussion about President Obama that we didn’t want to get involved with lol) and felt like I really did gain a new friend as a result, even if he and I have just about zero in common. :p

When I was in the session, though, I remember thinking that’s what I had been doing this entire time with C. I told my therapist that I can’t stop thinking about him. That I’m afraid I’m becoming obsessed, or that things will somehow turn bad or something. I’m terrified of the possibility that this is going to be a repeat of the First Time (search Memory Lane 1 in the archive; it’s a long ways back), that I’ll end up wasting my time again, and that I’ll keep making these mistakes until I become old and finally die.

I also told him I keep telling myself the same thing I say whenever I become interested in someone on some level:

“We’re too different. They wouldn’t want to be with someone like me, anyway.”

I feel like I’m completely different from C and that he couldn’t possibly find someone like me to be very interesting or worth dating/loving/whatever for very long. People tend to get tired of me after a while. But I’m still giving it a try; I’m still talking to him. I’m still hoping maybe he wants to give this a chance as much as I do.

I don’t know where it’s going. I don’t know what the outcome of this situation will be. I hate not knowing anything. I’m trying to tell myself that I don’t need to worry so much if I feel like we have “too little in common,” but right now, I’m having trouble believing it… Even with pills and therapy, picking myself up is really hard sometimes.

But I have to see it through to the end. It’s almost time for my little “moment of truth”; The path will become clearer by the end of the week.

Just one week left.

Just one week left.

I suppose I should work on my homework now. This fake tv show budget isn’t gonna make itself, after all.