drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary


bid my blood to run

He warned me not to. Did I listen? No.

Me in an email to JR: "I am weak."

JR's reply: "Gross." But he doesn't understand. He doesn't feel the emptiness day after day, the raw angry sting of isolation and neglectedness. Thomas is my Achille's heel right now, and there's nothing I can do about it. I realized this as I was sitting on the ground next to him yesterday, letting him touch me and kiss me and put his arms around me. I am powerless.

Why am I so addicted to the feeling of his body on top of mine? The feeling of his lips on mine? Even though he disgusts me and I'd pay money to stop thinking about him all the time, I can't seem to control myself. I know succumbing to him is detrimental to my sanity and happiness but I can't seem to stop. I need to be wrapped up in a warm, broad-shouldered hug. I need to feel wanted, adored, beautiful. Why is it that only he can do that for me? Why am I stuck on him like this?

I know that someday I'll get over him and never think of him again except to laugh and say, "God, I'm glad that's over." But that day is too distant to be pertinent right now. And I'm left here to numb my broken heart with music purchases and lemonade popsicles. I'm left here to fall into his arms whenever he decides to re-seduce me. I'm left to wrap my arms around myself after he's pulled himself off me and dress myself and put my headphones on and sling my backpack over my shoulder and trudge home, my lips still stinging and my thighs sore.

I am being dramatic of course. In reality, he does finish me off and help me get dressed and offer me a ride. But after I refuse and am walking home in the rain to an empty house and a phone that will never ring for me I feel sickeningly raped.

And yet. And yet.

I go back for more.

1:16 p.m. - 2003-07-09


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