Friday, 26 February 2010

  • More numbness.

    I run at the gym like I never have before. I drive impulsively. I only listen to jazz and classical music because there are no words about love and heartbreak. I'm wary of watching movies. I cry if I'm left alone too long with my thoughts. I feel numb.

    I bought a ring today with wings on it. I wear it on the finger I used to wear his ring on. It reminds me that I'm strong no matter what.

    I still love him. I know I initiated this break or whatever you call it. I still miss him. I hope he's just putting on a happy face like I am. I hope this is affecting him more than he lets on. I hope he hasn't recovered from everything we shared this quickly.

    I feel broken. I pretend to be happy in front of people. Sort of. If people ask if I'm okay, I answer them honestly. "Not really," I say with a weak laugh. They give me their apologies and a hug. Two guys I haven't spoken to in a year have offered to call me if I need someone to talk to. One of them actually did call. We ended up talking for a half hour on the phone. The other one didn't, because I really don't want to talk about it anymore today. We still texted for a while though. He's had serious relationship issues too, so he knows how I feel.

    He and I are still going to prom together. I'm assuming we're still going to the hockey game together. That should be interesting. It will be just the two of us. I'm kind of excited.

    I hope my heart is healing. I think it still wants to cry itself out a little longer, though. As sappy as Stephenie Meyer writes, she damn sure nailed what heartbreak feels like.

  • "Everything's going to be okay." "How?"

    I hate you.

    I love you.

    I can't live without you. But I gotta try.

Thursday, 25 February 2010

Saturday, 13 February 2010

  • Hypocrisy at its Finest

    I had an entire entry typed here about someone who complains about other people complaining (oh, the irony). But then I stopped and revised:

    She's had one awful thing happen in her otherwise perfect life, and now all she does is tell me how other people need to shut up about their issues. She says most people don't know what real strife is, and their problems are so trivial. I wish I could remind her that just over a month ago, she was one of those people with "trivial" problems who didn't have any qualms about sharing her small inconveniences with everyone.

    Just because you finally know what it means to go through something difficult for once doesn't mean you can't recognize you bitched and moaned along with everyone else for almost eighteen years, and that condemning everyone else for it now is really unfair.

    Does she honestly not realize that people we know have gone through this exact same thing before, but several years earlier? Seven years earlier, actually.

    What do you think they must have thought of you all this time? Do you think it would have been fair of them to judge you for it? You would have been appalled for them holding something like that against you. And it would be unfair: despising someone for not having to go through the same suffering you did because of the chance of fate. Hating someone's actions simply because they haven't suffered like you yet.

    Yes, I'm bitter.

Wednesday, 10 February 2010

  • http://madmarch.xanga.com/721524334/reasons-i-dont-want-to-be-a-mother/

    I just read MadMarch's blog entry about how she never has had the desire to have children. And, it doesn't look like her opinion is going to change any time soon (if ever).

    This entry saddened me. Not because someone doesn't want to become a mother (I honestly couldn't care less--there are too many people on this planet anyway), but because I happen to agree with many of her points. But, I want kids. Rather, I want to want kids. I know that doesn't exactly count, though.

    "I'm deathly afraid of being pregnant."
    -March

    This applies to me, almost. I wouldn't say I'm deathly afraid of pregnancy, but the idea does freak me out more than just a little. I'm not even sure why it does. I'm not afraid the baby will suck out my life force, or anything like that. I'm not overly fond, however, of the idea of stretching everything out. My stomach, hips, and well, nether-regions will definitely not be as attractive when the process is over and done with. I'm not sure I'll want to hand over my body to some demon creature. Not that my body is overly divine, but I'm sure it will be less attractive when it's all over. The whole ordeal seems a little gross. Especially child birth. I don't even want to go into that. The gross and pain factors are definitely repellents.

    "I want a career. And lots more book learnin'."
    -March

    This is very true for me. I want a life, damnit. I want a career, and lots of money, and youthful looks, time to travel and enjoy myself, and a clean house. All of those things usually fly out the window after a kid or two. I want to be able to sleep through the night without having to wake up in the middle of the night for some infant to suck milk out of my boobs. Which, is a very weird concept for me. It wasn't when I was little, when I never pictured myself as the mommy. Or if I did, my mental image didn't involve breastfeeding. It involved a faceless husband and a faceless child and me smiling. And how weird would that be if my husband and I were having sex, and he squeezed my boobs, and milk squirted all over his face? That's very funny to me now, but I'm sure it would be awful in the moment. Actually, no. It'd probably still be pretty funny then, too. But funny and desirable are two different things.
    "I would be a horrible mother."
    -March

    This is actually the opposite for me. I know I'd be a great (or at least a fairly decent) mother, but I'm terrified of losing everything else in my life. Which, apparently happens. Everyone I've known who became new parents always have one thing to say: "Your kids become your entire life. You never go out anymore." I do not want that for myself. I mean, I'm sure it's worth it or whatever to most people, but what if I'm not one of those most people? I've also read anonymous things on the internet about people who regret having children, or who don't love their children, or something like that. As a daughter, I think I would become severely depressed if I learned my parents didn't want me. Not in the sense that they gave me up at birth, but that they had gotten to know me, had raised me, and still didn't want me. I would never put this on a child. I would rather have them become my entire life than miss my old life more than I loved them. But, I don't want to miss my old life more. So, if I don't have kids, I don't have to worry about that.

    And, something of my own:

    I really, really want to live in New York City
    for quite a very long time.

    How am I supposed to do that with kids? How am I supposed to have the time to write books if I have children? I can't travel and leave my kids behind all of the time. I think I'd like to wait to have kids until I'm 45, but that potentially presents some complications. Also, that would mean that I would have to look after a little person until I was at least 68, and that's if I only have one and they move out and become completely financially stable the day they turn 18. Admittedly, it's unlikely. I just wish I had more time as an adult to myself. I also want to be able to enjoy my husband. I don't want to be one of those couples who stops having sex after their youngest child turns two. That's very depressing.

    I feel broken or defected for being a woman and not wanting children. But I don't care. Except, that I do.



jo_lovely

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    • Name: jo_lovely
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    • Member Since: 11/28/2009

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