"Answer to Yourself" by the Soft Pack
April 23, 2018 Monday 12:38 AM
Did the fucked thing of checking Moby's snapchat story only to see a picture of her in pirate garb with a caption like, "I think I found a keeper," and it didn't really hurt to look at, exactly, but it did have a negative effect on my mood almost immediately, which is kind of annoying because I was a few minutes into my birthday. Thus I have made the decision to block him on snapchat and instagram. To me, this is kind of needlessly extreme and I would liked to have not done this, but maybe it will help to facilitate healing and allow for me to, like. Actually be friends with him at some point. Probably not any time this semester, but next semester? Or the semester after? I don't know. Again, I hate that I have to be so extreme and I am sure he is also uncomfortable with this kind of split but like. It feels like I need it.
Oh, I've been so mean to myself this weekend, so mean! Mean to my poor, sick, infirm body. Got drunk on Friday night, and then on Saturday I was just gonna be normal. During work, my Unit Manager came by to get tea and tell me I should apply for a supervising position, so I'm going to do that. I was really giddy for the rest of my shift (despite being sick), all excited about that, but then by the time I got home I felt empty. I treated myself to a nice long shower, and was going to masturbate, was going to function alongside the emptiness. Nadiya told me to come to a party with her and Marie, though, so I threw on tights and one of those bodycon dresses and practically ran there. They'd already been drinking for a bit, and by the time I arrived DPS flushed the party out, but we eventually found another one in which I drank a bit of rum and then danced and complained that boys don't like me. Nadiya was like, "What is your type? Is it just boy?" and I said, "Not necessarily, but I'm lonely. Like, physically lonely."
I ended up dancing a bit with this one guy, and it felt low-risk enough so we started making out. Heavily. And against a pillar. My body was reacting and stuff, and I tried to act as if I were into it, but really—I was very bored. Very, very bored. He had his tongue in my mouth at some point, and I was like, "Okay." I remembered that I had hands and that I should move them, but his hair was too curly to run my fingers through and I was honestly not interested enough in him to touch more than the back of his neck. And also his crotch, you know—since we were grinding—but that felt way more impersonal somehow.
I was kind of excited when he kissed my neck, but it didn't last long and it felt like nothing. Again, I tried to be into it. He seemed satisfied enough, but he was drunk. I am not really sure that I was. Tipsy maybe, but not drunk. He tasted like the boy I went out with a couple weeks ago. I tried to remember the taste of other people's spit, to see if maybe that's what that flavor is, but I couldn't. I extracted myself eventually to find Marie and Nadiya and we left.
I don't know how I feel about having done any of this. Vaguely ashamed and kind of emptier than ever, I guess. I keep thinking of "Lucy" by Jamaica Kincaid, and I don't want to be that girl, that Lucy. It's not a bad thing to be, but it's not what I want either. I am not her, obviously, but in parts of my life it's like her mentality tied itself into my frame. Not because of the book or anything. It was already there.
I am looking forward to being empty for the rest of the summer.
I've been sick all day, and very unproductive.
Hard to believe all that happened last night. Also I'm nineteen now. As usual, it's a casual slide into another year of life, I guess, lol. I've been nineteen for months, been eighteen for years, been seventeen for decades, that kind of thing. I'm probably twenty already, although I am at the core of it all: an infant.
My footsteps sounded loud and heavy in my own head even though I was wearing just cotton socks. And my vision was stable, but it was also too bright and I feel very warm. Not feverish, just overly warm. I tried to be happy when Marie and Nadiya wished me happy birthday. I love them very much and I feel like they understand me to an extent. But, you know how it is, you know how it always is, when you want to be happy you are not. And birthdays make me sad anyway, runs in the family, Momma used to cry on her birthday when she was little.
This is not to say my life is not good. It's actually really great, and I can feel myself moving forward even if I kind of suspect a sinking. A diagonal movement forward, forward, forward, and down down down, hypotenuse slide. I don't want Moby. I don't want a boy. I don't want to feel less empty or less sad. I don't want anything, really. This is a sensation I recognize, instinctively, as something to dislike, as something not as nice as the good times. But isn't the problem always knowing there is something better? I think I like this nothingness in me.
I think I've always respected it to an extent, and I only get upset when it "gets in the way" of "real" expected feelings or something. At the same time, I live in a sliver of time and so I am not really considering all of the facts. Plus I'm speaking in vagueries. So this is possibly all bullshit.
But my point is, there is that emptiness. Maybe I am trying to understand Moby. Maybe he's just brought up a question about myself that I've always had. I don't know. When I think about this emptiness, it is me and then the question: is this what he meant? But then while driven/inspired by him, I want to think of it as my own. I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't my own. Well, I'd probably confront that emotion, feel deeply upset and shaken, and then I'd get over it and bury the shame. So I do know what I'd do. I don't like what I'd do.
I hope this is about me.
God, I love my life even as I know I don't really care about it.
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