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not sure how many of you know of livejournal or how it works. basically you can have an online journal. public, or locked to a list of other LJ users, dubbed your "friend's list." from there, you can make filters, so only certain people on said list can see certain things. whereas my journal IS pretty much locked to just the main list, i hate filtering. to me that's like talking behind backs. however, i do tend to censor myself knowing what certain friends (most i've met in person at some point or another, 2 are ex's, 2 i am unsure as to why they still have me listed) will say or think. one is a 20 year old boy, gay, who HATES, i mean LOATHES (or else he seems to with how violent-worded he can get about it), what he calls "fag hag bitches." often, he subtlely includes me in this.
well. tonight i've had it. tonight it's my livejournal. i pay for the thing, i've had it for four years, before livejournal became this big huge trend with over a million users (i believe i'm like 31,000 or something, which is pretty small in comparison). though i turned the ability for friend's on the list to comment, off, i got out My Issue on MY livejournal. i'm so scared that i did this, i'm shaking. some on there are like, friends i've had for years--as i said, some are ex's, one is an x i am still friends with, there's 2 ex-roommates, just ... many who didn't know this "issue" of mine. i am scared to see my email box tomorrow.
you needn't read on if you don't want--as all my posts are (i'm sorry), it's LONG. but it's a paste of said livejournal post. again, there's a LOT of language, so if that offends please don't read. mostly i'm posting this for my benefit, so maybe i can get the courage to like, talk about the dreams i've been having.
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1:47 am - finally, it snows. so i babble, and babble...
like, not the kind that comes and goes. like real snow, out of nowhere. from rain to sleet to ice-trucks rumbling by at midnight, and i see in their headlights that the roads are totally covered. there will probably be three to five accidents on this stretch of road before new year's, as there always is, before people understand that o yeah! it's wintertime in michigan, hyuck. apparently we shouldn't take this curvy, windy street at 60+.
i've read that the physical addiction of cigarettes leaves the body by the second to third day of being smoke-free. i don't doubt that--the jitters went away; the headaches and the strange lung-ache and tingly mouth and incessant sobbing. but the whole mental/emotional tie to the act of smoking and want for nicotine might never really go away. i asked if it gets easier and people are all 'yeah,' but half of them still smoke. so now what? i'm approaching over a month. yay! except each day that goes by, i'm more inclined, not less, to run to the 7-11 and buy a pack. i reason it away with things like, 'well i can't smoke inside or shi would shoot me in the toes,' or, 'maybe i will chain this whole pack, make myself ill, then know that i am for sure never going to smoke again.' is it excuses? they say recovery is not recovery without at least one relapse. but i'm a stupid perfectionist, and i don't want to relapse. i just want a fucking cigarette. i want to stop vomiting up food because i feel like i'm overeating because i've quit smoking. i don't need another hospital trip and thorazine to "cure" my eating disorder. don't get me started on that.
lots of things going on in my head. like i love shi to death but i've been aching and itching to get out, just once, since term's been over. there's a drag show at R's i want to go to, and of course return of the king. my ticket for the latter i already have, so naturally i should go to that. the drag shit at R's they do once a month, and it's fucking muskegon, so i'm sure i'm not missing much there--and if i am, i can go and see it next month, and then realise i didn't miss much. i want to go and get obnoxiously drunk, like falling down, falling in people's laps drunk. i want to get so drunk that maybe bad things happen, but i say that only because it's been so long since i've been touched that i forget what it feels like, and i'm tired of being told i will when i know i won't. what i'm scared of, i think, has finally happened--i truly don't care about it anymore. sex, that is. two years too long. i don't remember what it feels like, and if faced with it i probably wouldn't know what to do, and i've hit a point that i'm okay with that.
what it comes down to is that what i want, i can't have; what i want wouldn't want me, because i'm in the wrong body. i could go on more about this, but there's a few people on this list i'm sure would slam or mock me for it, or lump me with whatever trend-fuck is going on in some area of the internet i'm not even a part of, and even fewer that understand what i'm talking about. what i will say is that it keeps me up at night, it has for some time now, and is quite possibly the reason why every relationship i've had has failed. i think it's the reason behind why every ex i've had, even the lone one i am still friends with, says i become impassive and distant, or seem "bored." it's why, no matter the gender, no matter the person, something is always off enough to keep it from being what it's supposed to be. probably it's why i was always cheated on. after all, why would someone want to be faithful to a girl who gets bored with sex after a certain amount of time?
yes. i figured this all out one night. i compared every relationship i've been in, male or female, and it all came down to the same thing. and there's no "label," for shit like this, i've found. straight, blah. gay, blah. bisexual, blah. what about the person who likes both, but not as a female? what about the girl who, after a week or a month worth of relationship-sex starts to pretend/wish she was a boy when with a boy? even a boy when with a girl? no, she doesn't dress up like a guy, and she's not the stereotyped butch female. she's actually pretty feminine. she's just a girl misplaced.
(here is where i interlude to mudsling, and i don't, usually, but must here. ry., the wookie ex, used to brag about what a hardcore bisexual he was, how he had done/been done by as many guys as he had done girls. so i'm like, hey. maybe this can work. maybe maybe maybe. except when it finally came down to it, and i will spare mechanics, he cried like a little bitch and turned tail (hahaha, tail) and we never spoke of it again, and within months everything else started to go to shit. thankfully, the fact he stopped taking showers and got super fat became a better reason for me to say "that is why i stopped fucking you," rather than the fact he was very narrowminded about ways things can be done.
and you all remember the incident with b. calling me, a female, a faggot, after i introduced him to his prostate. and yeah, i still have that entry in this journal, in case you wonder.
so, when i was watching season 2, and--
pretty girl: "ever been fucked by a dyke with a strap-on?"
hot as hell guy: "...is that an offer?"
came to be, the fact that i burst into tears because finding someone like THAT is pure fiction and impossible, is totally feasible. end interlude.)
see, now i've gone on about it anyway, and now i'm going to have to turn comments off because i fully and totally admit i'm shit-scared to leave them on. probably this entry'll get deleted like many others, but it feels sort of neat to get this out. hmm. i do know one person understands to an extent, which is probably the main reason we are what we are, and why things have gone, with us, the way they've gone. but i'm certainly not complaining, even though i know there's no future, here.
*** end LJ entry ***
my void does not want.
-- 2.13.61.
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