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When even good emotions hurt…

August 7, 2014

I guess I should preface this by making a confession: I watched TEN GODDAMN HOURS of reality tv yesterday.

I watched crime shows, dance shows, shows about rich young people who can sign a bar tab for $40k and not bat an eye.

At one point, I made myself french fries, fresh cut and fried in peanut oil.

Yup. I’m depressed.

My fitful sleep for the past week has been absolutely permeated by dreams of exes and apocalypse. Mostly, they feature MTIA, who I still haven’t seen in the waking world, although I’ve only been talking to (or seeing) Baseball.

In last night’s dream, MTIA chose me repeatedly over the CAB, though I could all too clearly feel and see the emotional strain it was taking on him. I tried to be kind to her, just as I tried in reality, but she grew increasingly psychotic, and my relationship with MTIA began to crumble. Upon waking, I wondered if the real life emotional abuse he took from her during our time together could  be the real culprit for why things went so terribly wrong between he and I. Had I just quit pushing so Damn hard for him to see he deserved more, could we have survived?

No. Well, yes,  maybe. If I hadn’t been a drama queen, if I hadn’t rushed and pushed… maybe.

And now, I feel I may have screwed things up with Baseball, although that could just be self-doubt settling  in now that I feel I really dig him. But I feel… inadequate. I feel like I’ve disclosed too much to him and scared him away.

I will not call, email, or text to say as much, because if I’m just being insecure, such a move very well could scare him off. If we go out again, I just need to be honest about it and how I feel. It’s only been four dates, after all. He is an incredibly private individual, and I am the type with the god given talent for babbling.

I desperately need for someone to create a speech filter for me.

Or, you know, I could perhaps take some responsibility for myself and my foolish actions. Things will either be okay with Baseball or they will not be.

Still feeling so much love and desire for MTIA hurts every hour of the day. But now my stomach is starting to make the same sort of butterfly flip flops when I think of Baseball as it did when I first met MTIA, or of when I first stumbled across the inspiration for TGB in SIATSIA and Bloodflowers. It should be fun, like being on a roller coaster, but it just hurts. I end up trying to drown the feelings in sleep and hours of tv. But I couldn’t make it through a full hour of watching a group of Eskimo young adults  run away from their towns. I couldn’t make it through an hour of scientists  trying explain unexplained phenomena.

I try to sleep, but physical pain and dreams of MTIA and the end of the world (the latter always  ridiculously bizarre and nonsensical) make that futile, as well.

I will do housework today, I will finish a painting I was commissioned to create, and I will write back to TAC. If I can grow accustomed to not being enough for TAC (physically, emotionally, intellectually, creatively), I can become inured to every other painful emotion, as well.

Somehow, this bullshit, too, shall pass. Eventually, I will learn how not to act like a 12-year-old girl. I’ll act like a normal adult should. Or I’ll become a robot. That episode of star trek: the next generation where a young kid emulates Data comes to mind, as usual. It always does. And it never works for me.

Grow the hell up, Twig.

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