I feel like this blog is sort of a reflection of myself. I've had it for more than ten years, and it's always been a completely private place where I can feel free to say whatever the fuck I want without fear of repercussion. No one reads it except me, and no one cares, and it's nice to know that I can be free to say things and not have to explain myself.
Because I'm always explaining myself. One of the lessons I need to learn is that I don't have to do that. It's okay to just let things be, and not defend the choices I make. I do what I do, and that should be enough. Unfortunately, in this world, it's not. People want to know more. They feel entitled to access me, to discover all they can-- and then mold me into a more palatable version of me. It's gone on so long, and I don't really know who my real self is anymore, because I've been so shaped, carved out like the girl from the Greek myth, made to be the perfect, consumable object, and I don't even know how to access the core of myself anymore. I think I was more myself at eighteen than I am now.
Part of me wants to go back to that, wants to be that naive, wide-eyed, carefree young ingenue with a book of poetry under one arm, and a copy of The Brothers Karamazov under the other. I was adorable, innocent, untouched by addiction and failure, ready to take on the world. And what did the world do to me? Or rather, what did I do to myself? I ruined myself. I had so much potential, and I threw it all away, drowned it in the bottom of a bottle.
And yet, I don't think I would go back, even if I could. I feel that the pain and suffering I've gone through have shaped me, tempered me like fire in a forge. Before, I was pleasant, but I didn't have the deep-rooted kindness that I do now. Yes, I was a good person, but it was because it didn't occur to me that there was injustice in the world. Now, I'm good because I choose to be, and I think that's a subtle, but important distinction. I've been through hell, and I still choose to be ask kind as possible, and I think that's one of my greatest strengths.
I feel like I'm slowly learning about who I am. I'm kind, and I know that's important to me, but what else? I want to be this awesome, amazing person whom everyone loves, and who's ready and able to change the world at a moment's notice, but I think I'm going to have to settle for less. I have to play to my strengths, after all. I feel like I'm the sort of person whom others tolerate, and maybe find pleasant, but who's never anyone's favorite, and who's never even particularly liked. But that could be a cognitive distortion. After all, some people do like me. I know they do. Otherwise, why would they want to spend time with me?
Lately, I've really been wanting to get married. I'm not sure why, or what the shift is, because it used to be, that level of commitment freaked me out. But nowadays, I'm looking forward to it. I feel like it's time for me to be thinking about this sort of thing, especially since I want a longer engagement. Of course, I'm not going to propose just yet; I'll probably wait for another year or so before I do. So it'll be at least two years before I actually get married, and probably more, because I need to save up some money. But here are some things that I've already decided:
Music:
-Love theme from Romeo and Juliet
-Married Life from Up
-Flower Duet from Lakmé
-Entrance of the Queen of Sheba from Solomon
Dress:
Something like this
Or maybe this if I'm feeling daring
Favors:
For the musicians-- chocolates, decorated clothes pins, lip balms/lotions, mini rosins with cute stickers on them, mini bottles of alcohol, cute notepad and pen, and flowers to pin on their clothes
For the guests-- mini lip balms or hand lotions, or something small
For the families-- I'm not sure
For the wedding party-- sweets, lipstick, personalized alcohol or weed in whatever form they like, and anything else that will be helpful
I'm also going to find the cheapest possible hotel to rent out so that we can all just crash afterwards, because otherwise, it might be too tiring. I would let the musicians stay with us if they wanted, because I aim to treat them like fucking rockstars. Musicians deserve the world. And then for the reception, I would want to have dinner with an open bar and a pretty cake for dessert. And then I don't know if we could go on a honeymoon after that, because all of that would be really expensive. But that's okay! I think just settling in to married life would be enough!
Anyway, I really want to get married. I don't know, man, I think I've just been feeling it more and more lately, and then when we played at that renewal of vowels ceremony, it really drove it home for me. I want that! I want bliss and domesticity, and I want to raise a child! It's so strange. I never thought I would want this in my life at all, but here I am, craving that sort of settled adulthood that used to be anathema to me. Things really do change, don't they.
What if after all this, E breaks up with me? That would be a good one, wouldn't it.  Oh well. I just have to keep on doing my best, and putting as much work as possible into the relationship, and hopefully things will be okay. I mean, things seem to be okay, at least from what I can tell. We seem to be going strong, although we aren't talking quite as much as I would like, because of the time difference, and because we're both so busy (or rather, she's more busy than I am, but we both do occupy ourselves all day). I realized that I literally don't see any flaws in her. Like, of course I recognize that she has them-- she's sometimes thoughtless, and she can minimize things, and sometimes she has the tendency to isolate. But I don't see those as bad things, or at least, they don't make her a bad person. They're things that she's working on, just as I'm working on my flaws, and they don't define her. What defines her, I think, is her passion, her kindness, her loving, open, genuine heart, her intelligence, her love of others... I could go on and on. She's such a beautiful, amazing human being, and I'm so awed that I was lucky enough to find her. Like, sometimes I have to mentally pinch myself, because I just can't believe how lucky I am. What did a dumb guy like me ever do to deserve this happiness? I'm just a poor old farmer, and she's the princess who somehow noticed me out in the rutabaga field and took a notice of me. Like, obviously, I think I'm a princess, too, but that's what it feels like, you know? I'm so incredibly in love, and it's almost scary. I've always been afraid of commitment, and romantic relationships have always scared me. There was a time, back when I was dating Prince Uncharming while I lived in Ohio, that I thought I could see a future with him, but even then, part of me kept wanting to hold back. And then when I got all-in, everything went horribly. But I think that was his fault, mostly, and partly mine, but mostly his. Also, I've realized that I was romanticizing the idea of being in a relationship. I wanted to be loved, and I wanted affection, and attention, and excitement, and belonging, and everything that I thought a relationship would bring me, and since I was still in denial, I thought a boyfriend was the only way to do it. Now, the idea of dating a man seems so weird to me, like the thought of dating a balloon animal or something. It's just not right, and that's okay, because I've found what's right, and it's E. Or, well, dating women in general, I suppose, but specifically her, because I don't want to date anyone else. I think I'm polyamorous, but when I tried dating someone else (with E's full knowledge and consent, of course), it just didn't feel right, because it wasn't her. I kept wanting to make a joke or a comment, or point something out, or say something weird, but then I realized that she would be the one who would understand that, not my date. So I had to tell her that I couldn't date her, and I told E that she was the only one for me, and I've never looked back. I really do believe that she's my soulmate. I believe in soulmates in general-- platonic, romantic, queerplatonic-- and I believe that we have a lot of them. For me, a soulmate is just someone with whom you're so compatible that you wouldn't mind spending the rest of your life by their side. But I think she's my romantic and platonic soulmate. I love her as a friend, and I know I want to be her friend forever, even if she breaks up with me, but I also love her as a partner. For better or for worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, I want to be with her. And I think that's a lovely thing. I'm very lucky.
I think a lot of my issues with romance stem from how I was raised. I watched my poor mother try to bear the burden of an abusive marriage, and I thought that's just how love was supposed to be-- brief, fleeting, and ultimately toxic and harmful. But I'm starting to see that it doesn't have to be that way. Love isn't only for the young. There's hope for the future, too. For the first time, I'm not biting my nails, waiting to be broken up with every day. I'm secure, I'm safe, I'm hopeful, and it feels so amazingly good. Of course, this probably means that E will break up with me tomorrow or something. But even if she does, I'll be okay. I'm learning to love myself for who I am, and that's more important than being loved by anyone else, even my soulmate. Of course, it'll hurt like a motherfucker, and I probably won't be okay for quite awhile. But in the long run, I will be. I hope that doesn't happen, though. I want to be with her for the rest of my life. I imagine it sometimes, us, living together, hopefully legally married, raising a child and a cat and her dog, me teaching, her writing, just twined together, so radiantly happy. Okay, it's not just sometimes. I think about it all the time. I want this so, so badly, and yes, it'll be a pain with the two different continents, but we can make it work somehow, I'm sure. I'm willing to move there, as long as I can spend part of the year here, maybe summer and winter break, when I'm not teaching. But she also said she's willing to move here, so that could work, too. Whatever we do, I'm sure I'll be so happy. I just need to work on myself and make sure that I'm strong and secure in my mental health.
Which is what I'm doing now. It's hard work, but I think I'm doing better. At least, I've been using my skills more, and my bad periods have been less severe, and shorter. They're still almost constant, and very distressing, but at least I'm not as suicidal anymore. So that's good! I just need to keep on keeping on.

Would anyone really notice or care if I were to die? I don’t feel like I matter much, not in the grand scheme of things. And yet, I can’t shake the feeling that it would affect someone negatively. After all, I tell everyone else how much they matter, so maybe I would matter to them, too. Or not. Maybe my sick brain is right, and I’m an anomaly. Or maybe my healthy brain is right, and I’m just like everyone else. It’s hard to say. I don’t know, and it’s hard to say definitively which side is right, or if either of them is, but all I know is that I feel horrible.
Everyone in this house is so fucking loud. And I don’t understand why they can’t go in the living room for their hourly screaming fits and loud, triggering conversations. Why do they have to stay right outside my room? I try so hard to be courteous and thoughtful, but no one really cares to do that for me. I hate this. I hate loud noises, first of all, and I hate that I have to deal with all these people. I wonder if I would feel better if I didn’t have to live here. But then I would have to live with my mom, and that wouldn’t be much better. But at least it wouldn’t be as loud.
Am I asking too much to want some peace and quiet occasionally? Maybe it’s more than I should expect. I guess I have to be realistic about this. And I should practice radical acceptance, because I really can’t change this. I just hate this so much, and I want to be anywhere else, but then when I think about it, I don’t want to be anywhere else, either. I just want to feel comfortable for once. I don’t, you see. I feel horrible all the time, almost physically sick. I don’t want to do anything, and everything gets on my nerves. I don’t want to drink, not exactly, but I want to do something, because I can hardly stand this. I want to drink bleach. It would be so easy. It’s right in the cabinet across the hall, and I could easily grab it and go for it. But I’m supposed to meet a friend later, and then FaceTime with Buttercup tonight, and they would definitely be offended if I randomly didn’t show because I was dead.
Of course, that wouldn’t be my problem anymore, because I would be dead. But still.
What would make me feel better? What can I do? I hate this so much. I just want to feel okay for once. I’m not sure when it’s been better, but I know it has been, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s going to be like this for the rest of my life, however long that may be. Is it really all I can ask for to be only temporarily not in pain for a few minutes at a time? That’s the absolute best I can manage right now. I need to talk to a psychiatrist, or something. I feel like my program is very hands-off, and they don’t seem to care about me that much. I still remember when I told my therapist that I was feeling suicidal and I had a plan and a date, and she basically told me it was my fault and sent me out of the office. I like her, but I don’t think she cares about me very much.
Maybe I’ll drink some coffee. Caffeine usually helps me feel a bit better. I think all alcoholics are addicted to caffeine, and most are addicted to nicotine, too. Which is weird; cigarettes seem just as bad as alcohol. But it’s their choice, and who am I to argue against something that makes them feel better? Lord knows I’m not above begging cigarettes off people, either. The only reason I haven’t started smoking again is that I’m afraid to light a lighter. I’m so scared of fire, and also, I don’t know how to buy the packets at the store. Then, there’s the fact that I’m too ashamed to bum cigarettes off people like I did in the hospital. I was a whole different person then, so over-medicated and desperate to die, and I didn’t really care. But now I’m insecure as all hell, and I don’t want to be beholden to these AA assholes anyway, so I don’t do it. But goodness gracious, do I ever want to.
Or maybe I should try to masturbate away the sadness. That works sometimes. If I close my eyes, I can pretend someone else is doing it to me, and then I can pretend that I’m desirable and worthy. It doesn’t last, but at least it feels physically nice, and that’s better than not feeling anything at all.
Whatever I do, though, I should get out of bed. That can’t be helping. It’s comfortable in here, and it’s safe, and I don’t have to interact with people, but it’s like hiding, and I shouldn’t do that, not if I want to face my challenges head-on. But life itself is a challenge, and I can’t help but face that, unless I kill myself, so it feels unfair that I have to stop looking for even the smallest measure of comfort and plunge myself into what other people consider to be healthy. I feel like I’m constantly doing what other people tell me. When does it get to be my turn? Everyone tells me to trust the process, and blindly obey, and it pisses me off. Why don’t I get to question? Why don’t I get to be my own person? I think there should be a way for me to heal that doesn’t require me to strip myself of all independent thought. Maybe other people are wrong. Maybe they’re dumbasses like me. Why do they claim to have all the answers, anyway? I think a truly healthy person wouldn’t act that way. And just to be clear, I’m 100% talking about the AAssholes (as I so uncleverly call them). My therapist and treatment team don’t act that way. They’re here to help, and I appreciate them, even though they make me feel awful sometimes. But the people at AA are so sanctimonious and irritating, and they act like they’re in a cult. All hail the glorious sobriety! Okay, great, but stop trying to drag me down with you. I’d rather be a normal person, thanks. I mean, shit, they seriously don’t think about anything but their addictions. It’s so draining. I get that alcohol sort of takes away your sense of self, but shouldn’t you be trying to gain that back, instead of inverting it and keeping it as an obsession? Just because you’re now obsessed with not drinking doesn’t mean you’re not just as insufferable as when you were obsessed with drinking.
Anyway. I think I’m going to do something to try and make myself feel better. It remains to be decided what it will be, but hopefully it will help. I’ll check in later.

I have a new plan. I don't think I mentioned it earlier, but I'm going to apply to grad school in London, because I don't think Georgia is going to let me come back. If I were to get in, that would be amazing, and would prove that life is worth living, and that all things happen for a reason, but if I were to be rejected, it would just showcase the meaninglessness of life. So I'm afraid to apply, but I'm going to do it anyway, because I for sure can't get in if I don't apply, right? It's terrifying to think that my future is held on something so fragile as the whim of a single lecturer, who may or may not agree to take me under her wing as a research student, but it's probably good practice for me. Or something. I do wish she would reply, though. It's been more than a day. And I know that academics are busy, and that they often can't reply to emails on time, but it feels like she's going to reject my research inquiry, or maybe think that I'm rude, or something like that. I don't know what to think, really. I have no control over the situation anymore, and that's scary.
Someone at the AA meeting today said that experience is something we get right after we need it, and I think that's true. I wish I had experience with grad schools, and applications, and research inquiries, and all of this. I feel like I'm shooting in the dark with my eyes closed. And I can't ask my mom, because she would pitch a fit over me applying in the first place. Fortunately, E has some experience with helping other people apply, and with reapplying to school after having a mental health-induced leave of absence (and being accepted), so I'm trusting her to help me through. I do trust her, so much. Even though some of her edits on my research proposal weren't exactly what I would have put, I still changed them, because my level of trust in her is that high. Do you know how much I have to trust someone in order to trust their writing skills over mine? This is unheard of.
I really have no idea what's going to happen. I don't know if I'm being overly pessimistic when I say that I think I'm going to be rejected, or if that's actually true, but hey, Georgia wanted me, and I was only one of six candidates to get in, so maybe UCL will want me, too. It could be. I can't imagine it, but that doesn't mean it won't happen. I didn't imagine visiting E in England, or going to Georgia, or even living in this horrible sober living house, and somehow, I muddled through all of that okay. Or, well, I suppose one might argue that I didn't muddle through my stint in Georgia with any degree of okay-ness, but at least I didn't die. The point is, things can happen with no prior precedent. They have to. Experience is an arch wherethrough gleams that untraveled world whose margins fade forever and forever when I move, and all that. Just because I can't imagine going to another country-- another continent-- for three years (and I definitely can't imagine it) doesn't mean that it can't conceivably happen. It could happen. I'm trying not to get my hopes up too much, but that doesn't mean I have to purposefully crush them at every opportunity, either. I'm just going to try to practice mindfulness, stay in the moment, not expect anything, keep it neutral. But I just wish I could know so I could prepare.

I'm in rehab!
Okay, it's not really rehab. It's a sober living house, and I go to a therapy program during the day. But same difference.
I really hate living here. Everyone is so loud. They scream and yell and make such a big deal out of everything. I'm so hungry, but everyone's hanging out in the kitchen, so I can't go in there and get my food, because I don't want to bother anyone. But man, I'm really hungry.
I also have to go to AA. I really hate it. I have a lot of problems with it, but I'm too tired to enumerate them right now. Suffice to say it sucks, and we'll leave it at that.
(I have 11 days sober, though. So there's that.)
I feel like my life is changing so much, and I don't know if I'm ready for it.
Okay, this is more salient: I want to die, but let's not indulge that. It's symptomatic. Let's instead think about what it means. I want to die because I feel anxious, insecure, sad, hopeless, and despairing. It's valid that I feel that way, and I can sit in those emotions, but I don't have to take it to the extreme of dying. Instead, I can try to reason it out, allow myself to feel it without judgement, and see what's going on behind the pain.
1. I'm worried that people won't like me.
2. I'm worried that this situation will last forever
3. I feel that I'm not as good as other people
4. I feel that I don't have a future
5. I fear that people will end up abandoning me
6. I fear that I'm going to mess up somehow and this will make me a failure
Now that I've identified these thoughts, I'm going to try and talk back to them a little bit, starting with number one:
1. It's okay if people don't like me. Not everyone has to like me. I just need to worry about liking myself, and maybe being liked by the people who are important to me. I shouldn't be codependent, though, and I think I do have that tendency.
2. Factually, I know that this situation can't last forever. It can't. I'm not allowed to stay in the program forever, and I'm not allowed to stay in this house forever. Besides, my money would run out if I tried. I can't do it. Like it or not, something is going to change.
3. This is hard to talk back to. I feel like it's true, and that makes me feel insecure. But I think what I need to remember is that all I can do is my best, and other people aren't as hard on me as I am on myself. If I do my best, that's good enough.
4. I don't know that. This is a cognitive distortion called fortune-telling. I will have some type of future for sure, and what it is depends on what I do to make it happen.
5. I have no control over what other people do. However, I don't know for sure that they will abandon me. All I can do is love people and do my best to treat them well, and try to radically accept the rest.
6. I probably will mess up. This doesn't make me a failure, though.

I’m going to journal again, so it’s going to be fairly stream-of-consciousness.
I’m trying to be gentle and compassionate with myself, but it’s hard, because I feel like I’ve done so much wrong that I can’t even begin to come back from it. I’m definitely not what society would call a success, and it’s hard to reconcile myself to that. It makes me want to be even more of a wreck, because then at least maybe something would kill me. But I don’t want to be that person anymore. It’s just hard not to. I’ve been my enemy my entire life, and now I’m trying to be my friend, but it’s really hard. Everything is a stuggle. But I guess that’s okay. I have to stoically accept my tragic lot in life like some puritan pioneer. Like Ethan Frome with anxiety and an alcohol problem. Ew. But it’s true, rhere’s no use complaining. I just have to decide who I am and tick to it.
So, who am I?
That’s a hard question to answer. I really don’t know. I’m getting to know myself slowly, but it will take time. And rhat’s okay