No issue is so small that it can't be blown out of proportion

 Relationships are all I can think about these days. I think about how I miss sex. I wonder if I was more intimate with Mat or with Jacob. I wonder why Brian and I still talk. Enough already. I'm sick of it. There has to be something deeper in this world.

I'm alone. I moved to Seattle a month ago, and I'm still relatively alone. Speaking of relationships, I have avoided making friends. I don't know why. Maybe we should figure it out, ready, set, go.... I wanted to meet people in the hostel. I pictured this hip little place filled with hip little lost kids, kind of like the lost boys in Hook... but plus ten to fifteen years. Nope. I found asians, in large groups who slept at odd hours. I found Australians, who also stuck to their groups, and talked about kabobs. I didn't find anyone like me.

The first few days in Seattle were amazing. I kept finding reasons for me to be here at this point in my life. Lots of people my age. Lots of coffee. Lots of used book stores. Amazing views. Fresh fruits and veggies. Good food. Jobs on craigslist. Apartments on craigslist! But the wonder was lost.

I had no desire to start conversations with the people at the hostel who dressed like me or looked to be around my age. Why? I still don't know. They really seemed to stick to groups, no one looked happy, and their was this condescending tone to the five days I spent there. I was judging, but I felt like... it felt useless.

Coffee shops? How do you meet people here!? I don't get it.

What else? I think I'm as in-touch with myself as I can get, for now. I'm getting to that point where me and myself have gotten as close as we can get, and now the magnetic forces are pushing as apart. I'm going crazy.

It's been a long time, 15 months and a few days. I almost deleted this account, but then I read my entries instead. The recent entries page is old, private, and about a relationship that was already dead. Only it wasn't dead. We both were still dedicated to it, although I don't know if either of us was in it.

How can both sides be hurt? He thought (thinks) he was whipped. Really? I think I was. Not really. I think that's a silly term. Whipped by what? You stayed in it for a reason, and so did I. We chose our reasons to not leave, to not quit - maybe that's it, maybe we just refused to quit. I look at all of those private entries and I see pain. I was hurt. Logically it was over. It had been over. It had no use anymore but to be a masochist's playground. But I stayed. I clung to something... I'm not sure what. It certainly wasn't him.

I don't why I wanted him back. On NYE I was pissed. I was sick of him not admitting that he was done. I felt like a priest who longed to absolve an unwilling parishioner of his sins. What I imagined he'd done was no sin, but I imagined it to be real, and therefore it should be surfaced. I thought he didn't want to be with me- in a dull relationship whose only punctuations were fights. Who would want to be in it?

In arguements I forgot myself. I argued to win. I argued to absolve. I wanted the cards all out on the table- but only his cards, and maybe mine would follow, but we never got that far in the game. I was hurt. I honestly was. When I was alone I'd cry over it, sudden, hot, gushing tears. I was losing something.

Our relationship had lost its innocence. The first real fight does that, but that had come years earlier. But on Halloween I realized what we "had." After that, it was just about coming to terms with what that meant. The next ten months were about separating, in my thoughts, what was from what I had wanted from what I thought could have been. (Could have been is nothing. Want is a potential. Is is forever.)

During that break, I'd curl up on my bed and write, that's not the extradinary part. I'd write cryptic explosions of pain, sorrow, regret, etc. I'd wallow, I'd wallow so deep into the filth of what we had done wrong that any reality would look sparklingly hopeful in comparison.  When we'd fight,  these feelings were gone.  This commitment, and thought about US, even if it was an exagerrated, unrealistic version, was irrelevent. I was in it for blood. I was in it to win.

Mat could not argue. He had learned to follow and accept what he was following, like silly-putty he'd sink into it and make it his home, any home. He fell easily into arguements. I'd try my best to get him to give me an answer he felt to be true. All I really got was apathy. I couldn't shake us from the dulldrums, even in a fight. This made me madder. On NYE I gave up. I had this moment where I felt like I'd lost the fight, I knew I'd never get him to spark, I knew I'd never bring him to life, and I let go.

I slowly sunk away from him. My anger simmered down from a boil, and I let him fall away from me. Then I got to that rotten part of letting go where you become wholey selfish. I remembered the pain I'd felt, I remembered how little attention he'd payed me, someone he "loved," and I again wanted for him to lose, to hurt, to feel something.

Well I'm sure you can see how that worked out. I have come to believe that my problem, my one and only problem can be summed up as knowing that I didn't bring him to life anymore. I don't know if I ever did, but I thought I did.

Before we dated, before Wyoming I felt like I made him liven up, that I sparked him. I felt like that's what I had that his girlfriend didn't. He went to Wyoming, he didn't IM me as much, he didn't call me anymore, and he started posting about his new life. It wasn't the life, it was the liveliness of it. He was alive. And I was out of the picture. Loss of innocence. (I've since come to accept that frienship and relationship are completely separate entities, and that fun with one has nothing to do with the other.) I wasn't special. But it was alright when he saw me, because he'd smile, and kiss me, and I saw something in him.

Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps I never lit his fire, hah, perhaps I always did, perhaps even now he feels something over what happened... anger, sadness, anything really.

It doesn't matter. In the end, he didn't ignite me anymore either. And neither does someone else... oh the revelations. That's why I stopped "challenging" him- it's not that I didn't have questions, they just didn't matter. Really, what more can be asked in response to "I was intoxicated three nights in a row, we went to a party in Keene and almost got in a fight, got pulled over by the cops." It's so mundane an uneventful.... maybe to him it meant  the world, but to me? dull.... I got sick of digging. I got sick of not seeing his mood swings coming. I got hurt. He had passion for me... once, and every time we argued. hah. Anywho, it's done. Good riddance.

the bad:

I've been sick for a week.
I have two papers due on Monday that I haven't even started writing and Mat's coming in the morning.
I'm broke.
I still don't have a driver's license... and I need one.


the good:

Katherine just gave me cinnastix.
I get to see Mat in the morning.
I know what I'm writing my English paper on! (Finally)
It's not even midnight.
I'm feeling much less sick today.
I got to go with Mat to see Big D and the Kids Table in Burlington on Saturday and spend the night with him in a hotel.
I'm pretty sure I have housing figured out for next year. I get to live with Michelle again and I'm happy about that.
I can't remember the last time that I felt bored. I wouldn't be surprised if it was before this semester even started.
I'm going to Las Vegas with my mom in March to see my grandparents.
I just found out that Alkaline Trio and Against Me! are touring together and will be coming to Boston on April 18th.
Big D will be playing with Mustard Plug in Boston on April 2nd.

I need to remember to stay calm, to relax, to let go, accept that I am wrong at times and that that's okay, and to stop focusing so much on the negative.

Mat and I are over. I'd appreciate it if people didn't ask any questions. I know you mean well, but I can't handle it. I think I've talked to people about this too much already. For a while I didn't talk to anyone about it because it was too private. I got weak, and I wanted answers so I started talking. Only no one knows the whole story, and no one but he and I ever will. Anyway, it's over now, and I want to hold onto what I have left. I don't want to talk.

I don't want to go to bed even though I am really tired.

The past few months have not been good.

I really want this year to go well.

night,

Lindsay

I was in the shower today and I was thinking, because, you know, that's where people go to think. I was thinking about how badly I want things to work out, and how upset I get when they don't. That's when it hit me. I can never be perfect. Now, prior to this revelation I hadn't had aspirations of perfection. I'm not that crazy. I had, however, taken it all too seriously when I failed at accomplishing perfection in many of the things I had done. It hit me that, before I can ever be happy with what I have done and be able to grow, I first have to accept that I can't be perfect. Not in the theoretical way that I had looked on it before, but in the sense that when I do things I should not measure my success by how close I came to perfection. Too often I catch myself saying, "It's a failure because I could have done better." I'm not going to ignore the fact that I could possibly in the future do better, or that I could have on this occasion done better if I had acted in a different way at some point leading up to or during the act in question. In other words I could have done better in German last semester if I had studied more. What I don't think I was looking at is that I might not have been capable at that point in my life of getting a perfect grade. So why do I see a B as x points below 100%? Why did I compare every exam grade to the perfect 100%, A?

I'm hoping that accepting this concept will help me actually start to achieve things that I'm proud of. Not like those other times when I sat there and reasoned out to myself why a B was acceptable, and how I could do better next term. Trying to better myself isn't wrong. Hoping for more isn't wrong. Looking at my mistakes and figuring out ways to change them isn't wrong. But I think it takes more than all of that to truly accept yourself. Those grades, those actions, those mistakes, failures, and achievments are a reflection of who I am. I make all of my decisions for reasons based on who I am, what I know, and what I chose to believe. I think I owe it to myself to really let go of the missed opportunities and imperfections and accept the result as a result of me being myself.

They're too cute. I feel like I have a friend for practically all of my needs. Merry Christmas everyone, and merry anything else you might like to celebrate on a nice, early winter day such as today.

Someone in Phoenix, Arizona loves me. I just got a call from someone there (or so says reverse look-up at whitepages.com). It sounded like someone spanish... but it could have just been bad reception.

I fell in love with a boy who wasn't and still isn't worth my time.