Hellish waters

Its jealousy. I've never been so jealous. I've never been the type. So what makes it different? Why am I this way? A million reasons: it feels like being friends first helps, usually, but mostly, in this case, being friends first actually just helps you to visualize who was sleeping with whom before The Relationship began. And tonight over burritos with a friend, with our mutual friend, I finally connected the dots to someone else on his list, someone before me, well before me, and I can't shake it. I was the one who resisted The Relationship, who dated all his friends, who introduced The Boyfriend to the men I was dating, The Doctor, December Boy, The Man From Boston, everyone. And now I'm the one who is jealous over an affair that happened years before we knew each other? It doesn't make sense! It doesn't make sense.

The only way I can rationalize it is by thinking this is it, I'm all in, I've never been all in, but really, really, I'm all in. I'm all in. I don't know how to be all in. I always have a Back Up Plan. But now I don't.

And I'm scared as hell.

Forgetful

He's out of town this week. And I'm...alive. And...busy. I've become so used to him next to me, to coming home to him, to sharing a bathroom and pressing myself against him for just one more minute before getting out of bed, that I forgot: I exist outside of him.

I'd forgotten.

Love song

Call me melodramatic, go ahead, I dare you. But with all this working from home, with all this nothing but The Boyfriend and this work, I can't help but start thinking about how it might be easier, it would be easier, if I could just love him less. If I were with someone different, my life would be easier. If things could have just worked with The Doctor, I would be simpler. I wouldn't love him this way. I couldn't love him this way.

But. Its amazing, loving someone this way. I can't imagine my life without him. He's become part of me. I couldn't love anyone else. Not this way.

Friendly

I don't have any guy friends. I've seen all of them in some state of undress, in some compromising situation, one in which our lips were pressed against the each others, our limbs tangled in some way. Our hands touching.

It never meant anything. I started this as entertainment, Oh, what mess has Heartless gotten herself into now? And only now am I realizing that maybe it was significant to my character, the way I was. The trouble I would get myself into. And now that I don't have the constant flow of meaningless kissing, I'm finally focusing on the problem that was always there: me.

How do I stop counting my worth in regards to the number of men I can kiss in a month in a week in a day? What is my new outlet, how do I stop this panic that has taken hold?

Enough

I've got to stop making myself miserable. Thinking of a reason, listening to Ryan Adams, using this as some sort of cathartic outlet when in fact, in fact, things aren't so bad. I need to stop looking for trouble, looking for signs that aren't there. Enough.

Cliff hanger

Its beautiful, its perfect. Until I get a moment alone inside my own head and can't find my way out. Can't talk myself down from the cliff, the cliff of what if and before I know it, before I can stop it, I've jumped.

This is no way to live, giving in to this. I just can't stop thinking he will leave you. He will see you, and he will leave.

I was much more entertaining before.

The One

After too much vodka, after 3am, I whispered, You're The One.

Look at me

“Maybe the first time you saw her you were ten. She was standing in the sun scratching her legs. Or tracing letters in the dirt with a stick. Her hair was being pulled. Or she was pulling someone’s hair. And a part of you was drawn to her, and a part of you resisted—wanting to ride off on your bicycle, kick a stone, remain uncomplicated. In the same breath you felt the strength of a man, and a self-pity that made you feel small and hurt. Part of you thought: Please don’t look at me. If you don’t, I can still turn away. And part of you thought: Look at me.”
— Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

All cards on the table

It would be easier to not be with him. It would be simpler. I would be simpler. I wouldn't be feeling how I've felt for the last week. I would feel more normal. Well. My version of normal.

I get it, it wouldn't be the same. I wouldn't be the same. To be extremely happy also means I have to be extremely vulnerable. I don't really think I have a choice.

Grass is always greener

The grass certainly is always greener.

Before the relationship, the snuggling, the confidante, he was only my best friend. And I wasn't a crazy jealous nutcase.

I was just a bitter nutcase.

I think it has to do with knowing each other first. Knowing myself first. Knowing something first. I'm unhinged, I've been unhinged, I need to come to terms with it. I just don't know what it is I need to come to terms with.

Eye to eye

We're having a really hard time.

I'm jealous.

He's defensive.

I'm spiteful.

He won't look at me.

Status update

The Bartender "is in a relationship." I'm not phased particularly, more, just, curious.

Lovely

I mean, its sort of flattering.

But it must stop.

The New/Old Guy, whomever I was dating last year, before I chose The Boyfriend (for obvious reasons), he's recently been coming on strong. Or strong. There is the aforementioned message about him thinking about me when he shouldn't, and now: another message that he wishes I were there. With him.

I'm not entirely sure when signals became crossed. I've been quite clear.

And while I used to feed off of this, while this used to be my daily entertainment, now it causes me concern because I would never ever do anything to jeopardize my relationship. I'm in.

I'm in. I'm in love.