and yet.

written dec 29th

I was miserable last night and its true that you can be surrounded by people and still feel so lonely. When I’m not writing, I’m not dealing with my problems and so, I’ve picked up four bad habits since I last did a real post. Yesterday I ate up all my boyfriend’s roommate’s frosted donuts and I hate frosted donuts but I needed something sweet and that’s bad habit number one. I am also currently smoking cloves until my stomach hurts, which is bad habit number two. I feel tired right now, which is beyond ironic because I’ve been sleeping so much lately that my boyfriend asked if I’m pregnant. That’s bad habit number three. And the fourth habit is bitching. Everybody is sick of me. My exlover who isn’t my ex and wasn’t my lover told me that he loved me for the first time in ever and it only felt like a dim light cut on inside of me. It almost meant nothing. Maybe because I have a new love, or maybe because I don’t believe him. Men who love you fight to the death before they let you go. This negro practically bought my plane ticket out of his life. Then, he stood at the gate, smiling and waving….”she’s off!”. Someone asked me how many times I’ve been in love and I said “twice” but the truth is that I don’t know. It seems I don’t consider myself truly in love unless a man is causing me hell and pain. I thought I was in love with my daughter’s father, but maybe I was really just in pain.  I had another ex who I was sure I was in love with, and he caused me so much pain, but I know he loved me as best he could. People can only do the best they can. So maybe I was truly in love once. Not counting now. Now is something so different from what I experienced before that I must come up with new phrasing for it. In love is old.

And still, I feel myself sabotaging. Thinking him too good for me, finding reasons to push away. The worst is that I’m needy and in need of space all at once. I know he feels like he’s won the new game show: who wants to date a psycho?

I work at barleys now as a waitress and whenever they critique you, they say “don’t take it personal”. Its oxymoronic to me; how the hell am I to take it, if not personal? Everything is personal. Everything is personal. Everything is personal. God made me so sensitive and its my gift, but its also my curse. I wish I could let things “roll off my back” but I can’t. And whenever I try to, I pick up a new bad habit. And I’m running out now. Crack cocaine is next.