7:19 a.m. - July 02, 2003
When will he go away? I hate that part of me that wishes, that even now says Things could be different, why not try again as if somehow that fear I had of him is discounted and weighs less than the half cup of good times we shared. Last night I ate in a restaurant next to the one Spec and I discovered during the last night in Maryland last year, where we ordered huge sundaes and laughed and talked and I was undeniably in love and I think he was too. I think I was lucky to have this kind of love not because it's rare or challenging to find or sustain, but because for me these things, these opportunities where I open up wholly and let down my guard seem to manifest once per decade. That's where half of me thinks I made the fatal error - he was my best friend and my boyfriend and knew all my fears and dreams; he capitalized on my vulnerabilities to boost his own ego or salve his own wounds at my expense and these things happened not because he is naturally violent but because it is inherent in human nature that once the chinks are located, there is a winner and a loser.
It's this fear of being the loser again that currently influences the decisions I make, and I realize, I own, that I've pulled away to nurse my wounds but rather than healing them I peel off the scabs so they inflame again and again. It's a tired old cycle and one I can use to justify why while I may want to be with a guy, I won't let myself. Not again. Getting my dick sucked is one thing - it's anonymous and doesn't make me vulnerable - and pursuing a relationship entirely else. I don't want the entirely else; I'll settle for that brief glimpse I had before I shut the door.
I'm a bad liar.
What makes some people get up and go and others curl up and die?