drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ramblings The only good thing I can think of about turning sixteen is that nobody will be able to call me a "fifteen year old" in that horrible tone of voice. Sometimes I loathe myself so incredibly much. I don't know what to do about all the guilt I have concerning Milo. I suppose I ought to feel guilty about depriving myself of my innocence, but really I am too grief-stricken about Milo right now to care. Though I do feel bad about not having any self-respect. Although is that true, or is that something Milo put into my head? What if when he resurfaces this time he is calling me his sweet girl in that lovely tone of voice? What if he isn't? How do I take care of myself without Milo when I couldn't even take care of myself with Milo? But then again I think I do have guilt conerning the loss of my innocence. I do feel angry with myself about that, both for losing it and for allowing the guy who took it to do so. What can I do to make it up to myself? What if I don't want to? What if I feel bad about hurting myself but I still long for the touch of a guy who loves me? Unlikely that I'll find that again soon, if ever. To hear other people tell it, they fell in love about every other week when they were my age. What's wrong with them? What's wrong with me? My age. God, I hate that word. I wish people didn't hold on to ages the way they do. I mean, look at us, celebrating out birthdays year after year, the second you turn certain ages you are eligible for certain 'priveleges'. Why can't we go by maturity levels? Why can't we take each case separately and look at it and then decide? Why is everyone forever reminding me that I am 'only fifteen' and then admonishing me, "for heaven's sake, you ARE fifteen years old!" Why does my age excuse or make my immaturities worse? Why do I seem to be the only person I don't understand? Why can't I get a fucking grip on myself? Will I ever be one of those happy, contented, guilt-free women with babies on their hips and husbands in tow? Will my biggest problem ever be balancing the checkbook or pregnancy nausea instead of dealing with the fact that I stepped all over the love of my life and wondering that I'm insane? Will I ever come home to a smiling Milo, will I ever marry him and make babies with him and grow old with him? Will I ever be able to roll over in bed after dreaming of him and wrap my limbs around him and kiss him and rest my chin on his shoulder as I easily fall back asleep? Is he the great love of my life, like I keep thinking and reiterating, or am I fooling myself? Is there some other guy more perfect for me than he? Or worse- is there nobody for me at all? But then, after imagining being without him, I find that I cannot imagine it, that I don't want to, that the idea of him taking another woman for his wife and holding her hand at the hospital as she gives him a family and ever after as they walk through life dreamy-eyed makes me viciously, jealously, and violently sick. And I think to myself, well god! If it's that bad, we have to end up together, I can make it happen. And then I remember: Whatever is meant to be will be. And I feel at once both peaceful and utterly, completely helpless. And anxious, if that's even possible. If it isn't meant to be how can I not hurt for the rest of my life? How can I not remember him as my wonderful perfect Milo? How can I not be in love with him all my days? How will I deal with his life, his career, his family, separate from me completely? How can I give him up when I've only had one tiny delicious taste of him?- 9:26 a.m. - 2002-11-30 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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