Tonight, I can speak these words.

 It's been a very, very long time since I've written anything. 

I'm still not sure my voice is unique or worth remembering. I am like so many others, and make so little difference in the world. 

Why did I say that? I don't know when I started feeling like this. 

Maybe this is why I drink. I have a drinking problem. I've said it before in my head more and more over the last year, and even said it not-jokingly a couple of times out loud. I've fixed it by surrounding myself with other drinkers. But why do I feel the need to numb myself every night? What shame am I hiding? I don't like myself, but why? I drink because I'm ashamed of something, and I'm ashamed because I drink. Is it all just the alcohol? Is it a sick cycle? 

My life is great. I wish I was prouder of the things I have - of my job(s), of my boyfriend, of my friends and network. Of how I look and the health I'm in, of what my body can do. Of my possessions, of my apartment and car and life. But I'm just... not. I'm just not proud of any of it. 

I love my apartment like I love all old things, but I'm ashamed that I did not get this apartment on my own, that I can't afford it on my own, that my life isn't together enough to pay it on time, that I haven't designed it myself. I allow Tucker to trash it because I'm not proud of it. 

I should be proud of the work I do... but I'm just not. I'm tired but I don't feel like I do enough. Is that because I'm always tired because I'm hungover? I think I've been given so, so many opportunities, and I've actually been able to translate them into good work. Why am I not prouder of myself? I DO do good work. But I'm still ashamed that I can't do more. 

I'm... not ashamed of my boyfriend. He's wonderful and I'm lucky to have him. But he's falling down a blackhole and it's linked to alcohol. How can I help him to stop when I also have a problem? How can I be strong for him when I'm not strong for myself? 

My body. This is the largest source of shame. I am aging. There is no way around it. I always thought I'd be hot and beautiful at some point in my life, and that time has never come. My face is aging, pimpled, wrinkled, dry, and hairy. My hair is grey, greasy, wirey. My back is pimpled, stocky, and chubby. My ass is lumpy and pimpled. My pubic hair is thick, matted, embarrassing. My stomach is bulbous and fat. My breasts break my heart. My nipples are hairy, and my breasts look like two spoiling grapes that are just past being edible. My legs are well shaped but hairy and the skin is ugly. And this is my pinnacle! It only goes down hill from here. 

I waste my life drinking. Almost all the interactions I've had with my mother and with Tucker are drunk ones. What memories am I making? Why am I throwing my life away? What am I running from? What reality am I avoiding? My life is great.

 I keep people-pleasing and giving giving giving more of me than I want to. 

Maybe I just need to clean my apartment and do my laundry. 

Even now Katherine is texting about coming down to drink, and Maribeth is complaining, and I want to stop writing this to talk to her. 

I need to start putting myself first. I almost screw up my relationship so many times because I can't envision a future in which it's not screwed up anyways, and might as well screw it up now and get more bang for my buck.  I keep drinking with Katherine and Joel and Tucker, and not going to the gym. I keep bleeding money on takeaway and alcohol deliveries because "I can't sleep" and "I get bored at night". I keep embarrassing myself in front of my family and Tucker's family because I drink too much. I don't trust myself around new people because I'll know I have 3-4 drinks and then they'll know I have a problem and stop talking to me. 

I have an alcohol problem. I do. There is no more space to run from it. Am I strong enough to fight it? To fight myself and all the people in my life who drink with me? Tucker will be on my side, but does he even want to be? 

I know I'm putting my head in the sand about Tucker. I KNOW he's depressed, unmotivated, not taking his mental health seriously. I know living on the Upper West Side is killing him a little more every single day, and that he's so depressed that he's drinking himself to sleep just to get through it. I know he loves me and values having some semblance of stability so much that he's putting up with living here... but even if we move to Brooklyn, will he even be happy? What makes him happy, anyways? Food and alcohol seem to, so they've been easy fixes. And he's gained 50 pounds in the last year as a result. What's the long-term thing? Moving to Vermont? Having children of his own? Career fulfillment? Always chasing the newest thing? He keeps comparing himself to Anthony Bourdain. I do see the resemblance, but if Tucker was like Anthony Bourdain, it would mean he's never really able to be satisfied. So what the fuck do I do with that?

And is Tucker's dissatisfaction the reason why my alcoholism went from being fun to tragic? I think it might be. I'm not blaming him, but are we just dragging each other down? Does he hate living here, which makes him drink, which makes me drink, which makes him drink, which I interpret as him not wanting to be with me, which makes me ashamed, which makes me drink, which makes me be mean to him, which makes him drink, which makes me drink? 

This needs to end. I love myself too much to throw my life away. I love Tucker too much to allow him to throw his life away. But where do we start? How do I start? By just not drinking tonight. I just have to get through tonight. I have a whole bunch of things I can do... I don't know how long it's been since I went through one night without drinking. Even in the depth of COVID, I was still drinking. But I'm going to try it tonight and see if I can do it. 

WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME???

Lover, I give up.

What's more - I give up on you.

You dream of me like I dream of you. And yet you're done.

Lover, I give up on you.

Lover, I never meant to get stuck on you.

But Lover - you are the one I will always miss.

Questions for Gabe:
1) Do you ever miss me so much it gives you a stomach ache?
2) Does your sister like the new girl you're dating?
3) Why don't you just call me when you're feeling lonely?
4) Are you embarrassed to introduce your new girlfriend to your grandparents because they liked me so much?
5) Or have you already?
6) And do they like her more than they liked me?
7) Do your friends like her more than they liked me?
8) What would you feel like if I started dating someone else?
9) Do you know I want you to be happy?
10) Do you I want you to be fucking miserable?
11) Do you -
11) Would you ever have--
11) are you just SO over feeling this way?
12) And you realize that we never would have worked, right?
13) Do I bug you?
14) Do you still think about asking me to marry you?
15) Do you still think I'd say yes?

15) Do you still think I'd say yes?

15) Well, do you?

16) Am I allowed to be mad at you?
17) Why am I so mad at you?
17) Why AM I so mad at you?
18) What did we do to each other to make me so mad at you?
19) Am I too mad at you to fix us?
20) Would you want to fix us if I wasn't so mad?
21) Are you mad too?
22) where you even serious about the whole marriage thing anyways?

It is inSANE that I am in love with someone who is in love with me, but that we're both too shitty to figure it out.

I still can't really wrap my mind around it. How can you be prefect for someone, or perfectly in love with someone, and life STILL doesn't fucking work out. What can you honestly expect out of life FINALLY being in love with someone, someone who is decent and kind and beautiful and age appropriate, and nothing really really bad happens, and you're in love with each other for YEARS, but you still can't make it work.

actually, I'm a little happy I can't make it work with Gabe. He's difficult and I never would have left him. But he was worth it. And we really fucking LOVE each other.

How insane is that? We LOVE each other, but we can't make it work. I thought just finding a decent person you love who loves you back was supposed to be the end of the journey.

And it's going to fucking KILL when he goes

I've been my ex-boyfriend's best friend recently. It's been great for me.

No it's not. It's been fucking TERRI-bad. But that's not the point.

The point is, it's been great because I missed him so much in my life. I value him so much. And it was really nice to be needed by someone who I value so much. But he doesn't need me so much anymore. And there are new women in his life. And I'm getting this feeling like he's going to find his THAT person soon. And it's going to fucking kill me when that happens. Because then I'll lose him like I lost him before.

I need to be stronger. I need to be better. I need to find my THAT person. I need to make myself happy.

I mean, none of those things are going to happen for me anytime soon, but a girl can dream, right?

I've already done it

Fallen in love, I mean.

Just once.


Well, clearly, not really.

I've fallen in love many times. And I still do - I fall in love with the cafe boy who's reading my favorite book, with the subway man who glances up at me like he knows me, and with the friend-of-a-friend who's already in a relationship that I had a great chat with one time.

And I've loved real people on occasion. A boy once that could tell you all the stories in the world that were all about you. And with a soldier who only told the truth about everything. And with a boy who saw sadness in everything. And with a man who only saw sadness in himself.

But I've only fallen in love once.

It was the end of summer when I was 20. I had stopped loving people for a while, and he was on the brink of beginning his real life. It was the most inopportune time, which meant of course something was bound to happen.

I can't remember the first time I saw him. He was just a gangly person at the bar - a friend of a friend - and we went for cigarettes at the same time.

No, that's not true. First I met him and insulted him. After which he ignored me for the first part of the night which suited me well - from the photographic evidence, it appears that I spent the first half of the night reading the newspaper while he flirted with everything at the bar.

But at one point, we went for cigarettes at the same time. And then we couldn't stop. We couldn't stop talking, couldn't stop looking for each other at the bar, couldn't stop seeing each other out of the corner of our eyes.

The night ended predictably. In my bed. Groggy, giggling, and enamored, at 8 in the morning. In the inbetween though, something happened.

My whole life, I've been told by people in happy relationships that there is this moment when you KNOW that this person is special. That this person is IT. And I felt that. I remember looking at him, and thinking to myself "Oh, this is it. This is the person I'm going to marry".

So of course the night ended in my bed at 8 in the morning.

And of course we never spoke again - really - afterwards.

But be it because it was real, or because I was young and naive, I have fallen in love. With a man who was everything I've ever wanted. And because of him, I can never, ever do it again.

Sociopath defined

I've been so screwed over by men, I don't think I know anything better. I practically expect it now. And now that I told Fred that I was surprised that he cared, he hasn't said anything back.

I owe him better. At least he felt badly about being a dick to me. Most don't, and I owe him better for it.

I wonder what being treated with respect would feel like. I guess Phil tried to, and I told him not to. Maybe that's what it feels like - as if you're being held at a distance.

Today was a hard day. I'm not quite sure why, but today was a hard day.

To address the title, I must admit to something I haven't admitted out loud for a long while. I don't actually care about anyone or anything else other than myself. More or less, the only two feelings I feel are self-hatred and depression, and joy and exhilaration.

I need cigarettes more than I need a bathroom.

I try so fucking hard to be a good person because I know, deep deep down, I actually don't care about anyone. On one hand, it's fucking terrifying. On the other, it's funny to think about. I mean, I've felt like this for as long as I can remember. I only feel bad when I lose friendships or people because I miss how they make me feel about myself (read: better). I am really, honestly, not that good of a person. And I hate myself for it. And I pretend as hard as I can to convince everyone else that that's not the truth.

I owe Fred better. He cared enough to apologize. And because he cared, I pressed the advantage. And look at what that got me - more of what I already fear. Abandonment and desertion.

Maybe that's why I fear it so. Because if people actually knew what I was, they would run in the opposite direction. How can I talk about this with anyone else? How would that conversation start?

"Look, I don't actually give a shit about you. So let's talk about it. Honestly, if you died today, I'd be bummed. And probably semi-suicidal. But only because I have a predilection for depression, and - honestly - give me any legitimate fucking excuse at this point, and I'll probably end it. Your death included."

Holy fucking shit. I am seriously fucked up. Going to go drink more and forget I know this about myself.