Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 162 I�m still riding the high that crept in yesterday before the explosion. But, my mind wanders back around to it eventually. I�m not one to let things just die quietly. Not when attacked. I was in my car on my way home when I finally realized the problem with how I keep my diary. Private, mostly. It may feel a lot like I�m giving this everything, and I am. I�m giving this all I feel, but I don�t spend time recounting the events that lead up to the feelings. I never say names in the posts that mean something, I never point fingers, I never explain. I just pour. Anyone could look at anything and think it was about them. Or him. Or you. And it�s unfair for people to make judgements on others without hearing the details of their story. So I�m feeling a bit like Hester, with a virtual A attached to my chest. And I�m waiting for my trial, and the angry mob outside with torches. I�m struggling with wanting to clear my name, and just tell the story. Explain the circumstances, and give away all of names, and fuck all. Because the truth is nearly impossible to believe unless you know me. And unless you know I refuse to lie, unless you trust me to give you nothing but facts, unless you know I have absolutely nothing to hide, my story is utterly worthless. Conflict arises when I know that I�ve kept it this long, so what�s another person that doesn�t know? What�s another 80 people that don�t know? Is your opinion of me that valuable? Does telling only make me look worse? More guilty? The truth is I didn�t know. The back story was set, and created with such ease and such skill, the distance gave it weight. My own story gave it probability and worth. My want and need for something allowed every check and every warning bell to lay silent. I�m guilty of pushing it, yes. I�ll take the blame for not wanting to drag it out for years. But that�s all I�m going down for. And my stupidity. I�ll take the blame for that, too. But. Under no circumstances was I looking for what I got: Months Of Heart Ache. Months of false promises, lies, and manipulation. Unfortunately, I wasn�t the only person worthy of these gifts. Everyone got the same present wrapped in lovely words. Nights and nights of not enough sleep, hours and hours listening to the same song over and over. So much time spent remembering and trying to read into every small detail, trying to find meaning. All prayers to end. And God. I put all of this behind me. I was the bigger person and kept my promises, of friendship over all else. I made one of the closest friends I could have ever asked for, all over the misery, we found some joy and comfort in each other. I walked away while she couldn�t, for reasons that very few people will ever understand. . . . I�m sitting here, in some mild pain due to cramps. Yes, that kind. And I�m not going to take Advil to get rid of them, because I�m enjoying the fact that my body is doing something. And maybe I�m the only one that takes this time of the month as house cleaning. Recently I�ve been feeling the need to celebrate the intrusion. I�ve never been a girly girl. I�ve never been the type of woman who makes friends with other women easily. I usually have one or two close female friends and a bunch of male �buddies�. And the female friends I have are usually just like me, always missing the shopping and comfort eating, doing it alone. But when things like this happen, everything that�s happening, I feel awful for us, for women. I feel awful that we are so awful to each other. I don�t understand the dirty looks I get thrown at work from female coworkers. I don�t understand why I can�t make more girl friends. I don�t understand why we do the things we do to each other, and I don�t understand how we got to be this way. It�s fucked up, and you know, I�m pretty sick of it. When I�m officially crowned Queen of the Universe, my first law will be that every woman born must start listening to Erykah Badu at age 13. God knows I started way too fucking late. 3:50 p.m. - 2003-01-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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