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Two short anecdotes to warm up with, I guess.
About a year or two ago in college, I was becoming closer friends with a really fun and interpersonally sharp and mostly mature (except when it came to her own romantic entanglements) girl named Tricia, who went to Johnston and Wales University but was plugged hardcore into Brown's lesbian/greater LGBTQ scene. We had a lot in common and we always had great conversations, but at some point I just kind of snapped and was like, "No, I can't hang out, I need a break!"
And she was like, "Okay! No problem." And it worked out, and it was great, and we kept it at a pace I could handle.
So the moral of that story is I couldn't hang out with someone I really liked three days in a row even when I never had to go out of my way to do it and she never put any pressure on me. I just couldn't do it. That kind of social interaction drains me to a physically painful point and as much as I get out of it, I hate it on some level, too.
SECOND ANECDOTE: I think a few months or a year into the downward slide of my relationship with my first girlfriend--so, probably around the beginning of senior year, or late junior year of high school--she actually said to me, "You're my drug." In all affection. Like she meant for that to be incredibly romantic, a declaration of all the trust and care she had for me and what I brought to her life.
It remains one of the worst things anyone's ever told me. Like, I'm trying to convey what kind of complete shit that made me feel like. Not like I was a shit person, though a little of that was in there, but more--the responsibility for her well-being she was foisting on me and only me, the unhealthiness of it, the desire for something that was continually tearing me down.
This is a journal entry about wanting me.
( Even though we both know that you do. )
About a year or two ago in college, I was becoming closer friends with a really fun and interpersonally sharp and mostly mature (except when it came to her own romantic entanglements) girl named Tricia, who went to Johnston and Wales University but was plugged hardcore into Brown's lesbian/greater LGBTQ scene. We had a lot in common and we always had great conversations, but at some point I just kind of snapped and was like, "No, I can't hang out, I need a break!"
And she was like, "Okay! No problem." And it worked out, and it was great, and we kept it at a pace I could handle.
So the moral of that story is I couldn't hang out with someone I really liked three days in a row even when I never had to go out of my way to do it and she never put any pressure on me. I just couldn't do it. That kind of social interaction drains me to a physically painful point and as much as I get out of it, I hate it on some level, too.
SECOND ANECDOTE: I think a few months or a year into the downward slide of my relationship with my first girlfriend--so, probably around the beginning of senior year, or late junior year of high school--she actually said to me, "You're my drug." In all affection. Like she meant for that to be incredibly romantic, a declaration of all the trust and care she had for me and what I brought to her life.
It remains one of the worst things anyone's ever told me. Like, I'm trying to convey what kind of complete shit that made me feel like. Not like I was a shit person, though a little of that was in there, but more--the responsibility for her well-being she was foisting on me and only me, the unhealthiness of it, the desire for something that was continually tearing me down.
This is a journal entry about wanting me.
( Even though we both know that you do. )
