getting the fuck over it.

Life does not give a damn if I like myself or not, so I might as well get the fuck over it and learn to make peace with myself. I can’t expect to face the world if I can barely face myself.

So now I’m getting the fuck over it and
Maybe learn a little self-love, and self-respect. I’ve never wanted to before. I’ve never thought I’m worth it. I’m not, but how can I expect to understand why anyone else likes me?

Scarlett tells me I’m cool as shit. I don’t think she’s lying. But I don’t believe it so it feels like a lie to me, and it’s hard for me to trust people because I feel like everyone lies to me all the time and the world is a grand conspiracy where people are nice to my face and pretend to care when in reality they don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to me.

The world is like that.I

t don’t give a shit if you ain’t happy with what you got. Life goes on anyway. If you’re happy with what you have, you’re just saving yourself time and energy bitching about what you haven’t got, and hating yourself for all the things you are and aren’t. If you don’t like something, quit fucking bitching and change it. I bitch way too fucking much.

I bitch about myself way too fucking much.

I would tell any of my friends that self-love isn’t arrogance and it’s an important step in finding self-confidence.

Which I’m sick of not having.

Another thing I do besides beat myself up all the time is worry. I always analyze everything. Yesterday Colin and I agreed that maybe we wouldn’t make the best couple right now and agreed to maybe date later, if we do, and we’ll just be friends with slip ups for a while because neither of us is actually ready for a real, formal relationship. Besides, he’s still hung up over Kelsey. He says he still has feelings for her which I don’t understand but half the time he is bashing her for being clingy.

He calls me stupid sometimes and that’s not okay. He doesn't put enough value onto sex and that’s not okay. He makes jokes my family and that’s not okay.

I tell him one second that I just want something free and no-strings attached, then I ask him what kind of relationship we’re in and that’s not okay. I’m hot and cold with him all the time and that’s not okay. I test him and play games and that’s not okay. And I'm two-faced a lot behind his back and that's not okay.

In all this, keeping a journal has done one positive thing, well, maybe two, actually: it’s helped me keep my sanity through all this by having somewhere to sort out my thoughts, and it’s helped me recognize patterns and spot signs of trouble.

So we stopped it before we started, because neither of us is what the other wants yet? I think we both have this feeling that we’ll end up together in the end.

But it’s impossible to know.

The only thing I can control is me and being the best person I can be. I can’t control how he thinks or what he does or what he says or why or when he gets a boner or who he texts what to or how he feels or anything. I can’t control that and it’s not something I should bother analyzing patterns in because I can’t do anything to fix it if it has nothing to do with me.

So I’ve decided for a week, that instead of writing everything down and thinking about why, I’m just going to write down only events and if necessary how they make ME feel. I’m going to be selfish and not care about anyone else’s point of view. This is my diary, after all. I don’t have to solve the world. No one can do that.Life is big, life is complicated. As Dr. Bruck hollers, LIFE IS NOT MULTIPLE CHOICE.

I can’t keep doing what I’m doing.

I bought a pack of cigarettes to shake things up and step out of my comfort zone with something that I for once am in complete control of. Nobody’s making me smoke. Nobody’s pressuring me to do it.

I felt pressured to have sex. I feel pressured to lose weight and be thin. I feel pressured to go out partying. I feel pressured to look perfect and be perfect and funny and all that. I feel pressured to put myself out there and make all new friends. I guess none of those are really truly horrible things, but… it makes me uncomfortable to not conform, so I do it, even if it doesn't necessarily make me happy.

Fuck it. Nobody’s pressuring me to have a cigarette, and nobody’s pressuring me to not have a cigarette, so I’m just going to do it if I feel like it.

I’ve never been in so much control before. That sounds stupid and untrue, but for most things in my life, somebody or something was always driving me to do something. I haven't ever really done much for just no reason at all. Control makes me uncomfortable. I’ve always let life have its way with me and hated myself for letting myself get taken advantage of.

Well, I’ll still do that, because stopping it all of a sudden will just flatten me.So for now, I’ll make peace with myself and life and stop trying to figure it out all the time. It’s okay to not know. It’s okay for some things to be a mystery. It’s okay for there to be uncharted water. I don’t have to have Colin on my agenda in the future. I don’t have to date him. Maybe I’ll have his babies; maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll meet other guys; maybe I won’t.

But it’s like I always said to Colin himself: when you plan things, they have this weird habit of fucking up. I can’t bank on things happening the way I want or expect in life. Sometimes it throws curve balls and I have to deal with it. When I’m my own biggest obstacle, I can’t catch the things life throws at me.

So here's my week off from analyzing and self-scrutiny.

talking about things people don't talk about.

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. I've been going running a lot too, trying to drag and yank my body into the shape i want it to be. (It ain't workin' :P) And then I get all angry when I run and get all self-righteous and confident like shit I don’t need no man! and all sorts of other things. Then once my heart rate slows down and my headache goes away (I'm probably running wrong somehow but then again... asthma sigh), I sit at my computer and type all the things I mulled over in my sweaty anger.

I hate running, but I keep going anyway. It’s like a life lesson. Even when things hurt and you hate everything, you should still keep going and keep pushing through, because you’ll be stronger in the end. If you stop and cut corners, you’re only not helping yourself.

Now to the meat and potatoes of this post (or whatever vegetarian substitute you prefer; perhaps quinoa): How many people have sex? I don't mean statistics. I mean, around me, how many people do it? Who? Why?

We’re trying to do adult things when we’re not adults. He can’t grow up and think about things and the consequences of his actions. Me on the other hand, I think too much, I worry too much. Does that fit the bill of being an adult?Isn't worrying too much something adults do? Am I trying to grow up too fast? Because, let’s think… I was so firm in my self-discipline of not having sex, but just like the running, I hated resisting because resisting was hard, so I stopped and caved in. I don’t have as much willpower and determination as I pretend I do.

In reality, I give up pretty easily.

I give up trying to get any other guys than him. (Oh, that word, HIM, who can mean anyone but you probably know who I mean.) I don’t try because I’m afraid. Being afraid of nothing, that’s more of a child thing than an adult thing,isn't it.

And I also thought, what's the difference between sex and making love? What is love? I said I was going to think about that. I’m pretty sure he and I love each other, but what kind of love is it? And… why are we trying so hard to be adults? We’re not having sex to fit in. We’re having sex because we want to. Because it brings us closer, as friends, and as whatever else we are. We're having sex because we're bored, and sex is something that people hide and don't talk about; and having a secret, that makes you interesting, that makes your life exciting, somehow.

But in reality, we’re just two shaking kids getting it on.

I finished a book of short stories by Charles Bukowski, as recommended to me by a friend named Scarlett (whose social group I've always admired for their free-spirited, who-gives-a-fuck, beatnik generation kind of attitude). I told Scarlett I liked it. I did. Bukowski’s fascinating. I don’t get why people don’t talk about sex and stuff or why they find it all so offensive. Our sex lives are things we all keep secret. Who the fuck cares? If we all have the same secrets and the same hidden sexual desires, why try so hard to keep them holed up?

I don’t know why people can’t talk about sex or their sexual urges. Those are something everyone has. Just like everyone has the urge to pee. If you announce you have to pee, I mean, some people will be like, ok, tmi, but it’s not completely taboo. Why don’t people talk about sex? What’s so bad about it that it’s got to be hushed up? You don’t talk to children about sex, sure, but you also don’t talk to them about politics. That doesn't mean politics don’t exist. Doesn't mean they’re horrible things that should be kept private. Sure, you can offend somebody with it and sure it’s complicated and serious, but the more people know about it, possibly the wiser choices they’ll make.

I don’t know,

Look at me getting all philosophical and shit. I'm all by myself on campus. I have no idea where everyone is. I feel like the world just left me behind. That's how i feel a lot. like even coming to college with 35,000 people and i still feel totally alone when he's not here.