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napoleonherself) wrote2007-01-16 07:42 pm
napoleonherself) wrote2007-01-16 07:42 pm
Entry tags:
If tears were a source of energy then I would be putting Big Oil out of business.
So, actually bothering to post.
Saturday while I was cleaning Doyle's cage some Mormons came by. They were creepy, a couple college-age-ish women with identical wide white smiles that didn't reach their eyes. After I made the mistake of opening the door for them, they tried most valiantly to get me to let them in so we could all have a nice talk about how if a man "translates" "magical golden plates" from inside a hat, then you should believe it all. (I am admittedly getting my understanding of Mormon history in this case from South Park. For my purposes, humor is more the point than accuracy.) One of them asked if I was sure I didn't need any help or know anyone else who needed help. After I got them to leave, I said to myself and the empty apartment, "Oh, I certainly need help. But not the type you could give me." Christian-type religion ain't what I need. Not with Chris having been a fellow heathen nonbeliever type. You can keep your "loving" creator that doles out neverending torture to those who dare to not agree with one of a huge number of mutually contradictory really honestly true truths. Thanks anyway.
Life in general has been pretty non-eventful I guess. I go to classes and come home to the empty apartment where I can either study, kill time with mindless pursuits, or cry. I have been doing a lot of that third option the past few days. For a while I was feeling basically numb, and I don't know what's changed that, but. I just can't get over how stupid I was and how many things I did wrong and how maybe if I hadn't been too busy to even say goodnight to him that last night or for that matter just about all the nights that last week then he would still be alive. I think it was my fault. At least partly. You always hear about people in accidents and stuff who are said to be fighting hard and not giving in to death. What happens when something goes wrong, maybe you stop breathing in the night like people do on a regular basis, and on some unconscious level you don't see the point of not giving in to death because your girlfriend is too busy playing City of Heroes to talk to you? It appears that what happens then is that you just die. And you never wake up again. Ever.
It hurts so much when I am unable to distract myself into different lines of thought. I don't know how to make it better, and I don't know how long I can wait for it to get better on its own. I keep thinking that maybe I should visit the health center and talk to someone except what would they tell me that would help? "It is not your fault Jenny"? Hell, I could have people on the Internet tell me that for free. Doesn't mean I believe it. "It doesn't matter that you hadn't actually told him that you loved him in like WEEKS, he still knew"? Sometimes I think his self-esteem was even lower than mine. How do I know he wasn't expecting me to dump him any day there? I DON'T. He was the entirety of my dreams for the future AND NOW I CAN'T EVER TELL HIM THAT. Plus I have gotten a lot of the "an online relationship is not a real relationship" stuff in the past from mechamom, and I'm afraid of getting the same thing from a counselor type. Still, I'm also afraid of having to go on living, and I think that fear is kind of winning out. I can't see myself committing suicide, but were death to come unexpectedly in say a gigantic bus crash on the way to school one day then I'm not sure I would be entirely unhappy about it. At least then I'd either be with him, or no longer possessed of existence and thus unable to hurt anymore.
Last week at one point a poster-perfect emo kid got on the bus when I was ridin' it. Black hoodie, tight black jeans, black sneakers, probably-dyed black shaggy hair styled so it was over his eye on one side. I felt like asking him to compare notes with me. You may have the look, emo kid, but I bet I've got the level of angst and lovelorn whining down cold.
Saturday while I was cleaning Doyle's cage some Mormons came by. They were creepy, a couple college-age-ish women with identical wide white smiles that didn't reach their eyes. After I made the mistake of opening the door for them, they tried most valiantly to get me to let them in so we could all have a nice talk about how if a man "translates" "magical golden plates" from inside a hat, then you should believe it all. (I am admittedly getting my understanding of Mormon history in this case from South Park. For my purposes, humor is more the point than accuracy.) One of them asked if I was sure I didn't need any help or know anyone else who needed help. After I got them to leave, I said to myself and the empty apartment, "Oh, I certainly need help. But not the type you could give me." Christian-type religion ain't what I need. Not with Chris having been a fellow heathen nonbeliever type. You can keep your "loving" creator that doles out neverending torture to those who dare to not agree with one of a huge number of mutually contradictory really honestly true truths. Thanks anyway.
Life in general has been pretty non-eventful I guess. I go to classes and come home to the empty apartment where I can either study, kill time with mindless pursuits, or cry. I have been doing a lot of that third option the past few days. For a while I was feeling basically numb, and I don't know what's changed that, but. I just can't get over how stupid I was and how many things I did wrong and how maybe if I hadn't been too busy to even say goodnight to him that last night or for that matter just about all the nights that last week then he would still be alive. I think it was my fault. At least partly. You always hear about people in accidents and stuff who are said to be fighting hard and not giving in to death. What happens when something goes wrong, maybe you stop breathing in the night like people do on a regular basis, and on some unconscious level you don't see the point of not giving in to death because your girlfriend is too busy playing City of Heroes to talk to you? It appears that what happens then is that you just die. And you never wake up again. Ever.
It hurts so much when I am unable to distract myself into different lines of thought. I don't know how to make it better, and I don't know how long I can wait for it to get better on its own. I keep thinking that maybe I should visit the health center and talk to someone except what would they tell me that would help? "It is not your fault Jenny"? Hell, I could have people on the Internet tell me that for free. Doesn't mean I believe it. "It doesn't matter that you hadn't actually told him that you loved him in like WEEKS, he still knew"? Sometimes I think his self-esteem was even lower than mine. How do I know he wasn't expecting me to dump him any day there? I DON'T. He was the entirety of my dreams for the future AND NOW I CAN'T EVER TELL HIM THAT. Plus I have gotten a lot of the "an online relationship is not a real relationship" stuff in the past from mechamom, and I'm afraid of getting the same thing from a counselor type. Still, I'm also afraid of having to go on living, and I think that fear is kind of winning out. I can't see myself committing suicide, but were death to come unexpectedly in say a gigantic bus crash on the way to school one day then I'm not sure I would be entirely unhappy about it. At least then I'd either be with him, or no longer possessed of existence and thus unable to hurt anymore.
Last week at one point a poster-perfect emo kid got on the bus when I was ridin' it. Black hoodie, tight black jeans, black sneakers, probably-dyed black shaggy hair styled so it was over his eye on one side. I felt like asking him to compare notes with me. You may have the look, emo kid, but I bet I've got the level of angst and lovelorn whining down cold.