I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm not dead
"Nobody Else Will Be There" by The National
Why are we still out here?
Holding our coats
We look like children
Goodbyes always take us half an hour
Can't we just go home?
February 3, 2018 Saturday 9:36 AM
I couldn't stand it anymore so I had to make this diary public again. It was killing me! I kept forgetting to ask Lancelot about it, because our therapy sessions were all filled up with other problems and before I knew it the hour was up. There is something about the idea of this diary being public—I'm more inclined to write knowing it might be read, you know? When it's private, it's like thoughts manifested outside my head, which is pointless because then they are in two places, in storage where they will never be used and in my head where they are forever revolving in and out of conscious space. I need to feel that this writing has a sort of significance outside of me (even if that's not true). That if I were to suddenly die, it'd be here in the world a little longer than I would (even if no one read it afterwards). So I guess for now I am going to have to trust this is private enough.
Things have been good. I love my classes. I'm in Claims of Fiction, which is an english course, and I am in Writers on Writing, a literature course. I am also taking intro biology (which I don't really think I need to take since I am almost positive I took it last year when I was at SUNY School of Public Health/New Visions, but it's too late now. Besides, I really like the professor. He's been on Stephen Colbert twiiiice! And he's so excited about Darwin! Heck yes.
I am also taking Calc 2 with the professor I had Calc 1 for last semester. I really like him and I really like the class. Plus, my math section (different from lecture—it's where we do problems, like a lab but for math) is very chill and I met a girl from London there who was so easy to talk to. I wanted to be her. She was so skinny and beautiful with this low, sonorous voice, and she smoked cigarettes that were equally thin and pale and stunning. They looked like candy sticks.
Karina and I have been so close. Last weekend, we had such a very long talk and I told her about my mom being depressed and my dad being emotionally absent. She told me about her dad being literally absent, and her mother having some other issues, and I like that neither of us were particularly angry; just frustrated with our respective situations, but relieved we were away from them so maybe we could begin to take control of our lives again. Everyone is fucked up. Everyone's family is fucked up. This is the way things are. We survive anyway. It's good to talk about it, though. It's good to feel like we're not alone, and good to feel validated in our frustration even if our problems aren't as big as other peoples'.
I've spent a lot of time with Moby lately too. Yesterday we had a talk about "what this is." Us, I mean. And I respect how straightforward he was. I like that we laughed through the whole thing. He kept saying, This went better than it usually does. Usually it's just awkward, but we're laughing.
He is into me, but is okay if I just want to be friends.
I said I wasn't sure.
He said: are you not sure or are you afraid to say no?
I said I don't know.
Then I said, no, I'm not afraid to say no—I really don't know. I thought about whether or not I just wanted to attention. I thought about how sometimes I just want to be around him. I thought about Karina. I am always up to hang out with Karina, but I never crave it. I never feel that stomach feeling, you know? It is enjoyable. It is something I want to do. It doesn't make me feel like when I want to hang around Moby, though. That does not necessarily mean I have feelings for Moby, does it? I mean, maybe I'm excited at the prospect of a boy. Again, the attention thing. Maybe I just like that he touches me and stuff. But I also wouldn't want that with anyone else, unless we could laugh and get along the way me and Moby do. I like that Moby and I are such good friends. Things are so easy with him. But does that mean romance?
I had my hand in his hair, at the nape of his neck. He said, "I don't think you should do that." He said it makes him think of couple-y stuff. I almost cried. I felt like I had violated him somehow, and inherently this meant I violated myself too? I am not sure how this works, but it's how I felt. I know this is dramatic—I know this isn't supposed to be a big deal. But please understand, I am not good at handling new things. Please don't judge me too hard. Please. I don't know who I'm asking, but it feels necessary.
I think about kissing Moby a lot. Mostly to prepare for the actual event. After I left his room I realized, in a pathetic kind of sputtering epiphany—I am scared of kissing him. I am scared of being kissed. And there is a chance I will blow it all off and tell him we can never be a thing without knowing, just because I am scared of this one thing. I am scared of being disappointed, or disappointing. My skin is thick and overgrown in some places, after years of oversensitivity, but not in this area of my life. Romance is not common, so any of it scrapes me raw really quickly, which is kind of bad because I am no longer used to the constant intensity of emotional sensitivity.
I went over to his room and stood there, my heart beating, bent over, ready to puke and shaking and also laughing, nervously. He stared. He said, Would it be better if I sat down? I said I didn't think it mattered. He sat down. He stared some more. I sat down. I felt him stare, but he didn't ask any questions, just waited patiently for me to speak. I said, that's a nice coat. He looked at his closet, where I was looking—it was a forest green raincoat thing. He said thanks and explained where it came from, but later I realized I didn't hear any of it because I was thinking about interrupting him, saying, "I think we should kiss," but I was not sure how he would react and all my reasoning from before just melted and I could no longer predict the outcome. I was blind and nervous. He finished talking. I opened my mouth and said it and winced. I followed up with, "I'm not saying now, I just mean at some point—I think it'd help me figure this out."
He said, "Ok."
I said Okay and then left the room, saying, "Jesus Christ I am so stressed." He said he was sorry and I laughed and said it was not his fault. This section of conversation occurs every time we speak. Both of us are always sorry and always telling each other that it's okay. He asked me if he should stop saying "It's fine, it's fine," and I felt pathetic when I admitted that, actually, I really liked that—I needed it. I always need the assurance, and I think I am starting to trust that he's not lying to me. He said, okay, I'll keep doing it then.
God, I am glad that he laughs so much. I am glad that sometimes I make him laugh so hard that the space around his eyes gets red and he cries. That is my favorite part about him I think. I still don't know if this means Romance. I know it can easily sound like that, but. It's not easy for me to really discern between platonic emotions and romantic ones. Because don't I adore my girl friends too? Don't I love when they laugh? Well, yes. But this feels different. Maybe I just want it to feel different? God. I am so confused, haha.
I saw my friend Mia when I returned to my dorm. She was with her best friend, and they were throwing a mint-flavored condom filled with water at her ex-boyfriends door. It popped and left a big huge puddle in the carpet. I thought that was funny, but I also felt kind of bad. I mean, they broke up the middle of last semester. I wasn't sure if he deserved that. It's also possible something else happened between them, though. It's not like I know everything about Mia.
Well, she saw me and asked me how I was. I said, "Stressed," and she asked why and I told her I had just had a talk.
And I relayed the whole thing to her and her best friend. Mia is so strange. She is such a romantic. She's seen Moby before, because he ran up to me one time when I was walking to a lecture with Mia. "He ran right up to her," she said to her best friend, like this was concrete proof of adoration or something. Like he was a puppy or something. I told them I was afraid of the kissing, and the best friend went, "Oh, I hate kissing," and she went on all about it. "Sometimes it's okay," she said. And she somehow got on the topic of sex, and how when they go down on you sometimes there's the smell of spit mingled with sex, and I wasn't sure how I felt about knowing that because now I have something else to worry about. Then again, I would've figured it out eventually. It's possible the realization would disillusion me, make me feel disgusting, until I could come to terms with the imperfect of sex. It's likely I will go through this anyway, actually, no matter what I do or do not know about sex going into it. I will still have to sort through the emotional reality of it.
She and Mia kept saying, "Don't stress about it, you're only a freshman," and I didn't know what this meant. Like, I'm not gonna marry this guy? Is that what you mean? Because I know. And I was vaguely annoyed by what was supposed to be this comforting thing, this reminder to take it less seriously. I am trying, I wanted to say. I do take this seriously, though. Don't get me wrong—I can laugh about it, maybe not now but eventually. I am still trying to make the best decision I can under the circumstances, because it matters to me that I learn how to handle relationships. To me, this is a long-term lesson.
I appreciated their attempts to comfort me, though. And Mia said some very nice things. She said she thinks I am an extrovert. "You told me you were an introvert but introverts can't handle me. You know how I am, they see me and they go eeugh. I'm too much. I'm too much for them. You can handle it. I think you're more extroverted than you think." She was like, "Doesn't she seem like an extrovert? Isn't she so nice?" And her best friend was like, "Yeah, yeah. You're like one of Mia's favorites on this floor, she always points to your door when we pass and says I Like Her."
And I appreciated this so much. I had actually said a similar thing about extroversion to Moby at some point, because he claims to be an introvert but he's so friendly and he knows so many people and is always doing things on the weekends. He agreed. He's more extroverted than he realizes, even if he is an introvert.
No, but yeah, I almost cried at Mia's kindness. God. I love that girl. She is so strange and so far from my own personality, but she is so good, if a little prone to dramatics. I wish her the best all the time. And her best friend, too, who was friendly and open and confident.
Later, Karina came back from a party still drunk and I brought her water and we sat on the floor of the bathroom (which is kind of the first-floor-girls social hub, lol) talking about her one-night stand. She regretted it, saying it was bad and it hurt, but at least she knew it wasn't for her then. I always appreciate how eloquent that girl is while drunk. She is so reasonable and wise all the fucking time. Ugh, so good. We—Moby, Karina and I—were gonna get drunk together tonight, but because Karina was drunk until 7 AM today, she won't be drinking. She'll still be chillin' with us as we drink, though. :)
Later, when I was sitting with Karina, Mia and her best friend came in the bathroom (around 1 and 2 AM) and talked to Karina about the whole one night stand thing. I felt a little protective. I didn't want them to project dumb comforts at her, like they had with me, but they did anyway. "Boys are stupid," and, "At least you know to never do it again," etc. Karina seemed okay with it, though, and I still appreciated the fact that Mia and her best friend were so supportive. We talked about birth control too, and Karina talked about her hormonal IUD and how it hurt to get it but it was worth it. Which made me think, because I need to get birth control soon. But I don't feel like writing about that right now.
I went to sleep before all them. My roommate came in half past two and was noisy (although she was as quiet as she could manage, so the noisiness wasn't really her fault, more an inherent consequence of movement) and then I fell asleep. I had a migraine as I drifted off (I'd had a headache since earlier in the night. It might be because I accidentally skipped dinner, which made my caloric intake of that day rely on my single meal at ~3 PM—maybe not the healthiest regimen hahah) and I woke up with the same headache. I couldn't get back to sleep because it really hurt, so I took migraine pills and thought about Moby, which is sickening, but I couldn't help it.
I had breakfast in the back of the Ratty next to a window full of cool yellow sunlight. And when Karina woke up, we came to the Blue Room and the room above to study while she ate. That's what we've been doing. Well, I haven't been studying, I've been writing. But I know what I have to do and I will still have time to get it all done. It's fine. Okay.
I am actually so excited. We've been reading Wuthering Heights, and it is so good. I find it so funny. Is it supposed to be funny? I just feel like the descriptions of the characters and what they do/say are sometimes very absurd and it strikes me hilarious. I love this book. I know it's supposed to be sad. Ugh, we'll see.
Okay!!!!!!! I guess that's it for now. I am pleased with my life.
Moby and I talked about the pros of pain. The nice, almost pleasurable sensation of your whole consciousness being focused into a single point. It is why I always kind of want to hurt, physically, at least a little.
The label of "private" on my previous entries is just to indicate that they were written while my diary was set on private mode.