mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - I am in a weird fucking place right now. Oh, it's a place I've been before, and those of you who still read after all this time (I think Harold might be the only one) have been here, too, but it still feels weird. And that place? Confusion. The place where I have no idea what I want and I am more than a little pissed off at how fast time keeps moving even though I am stuck back in that pissy, bewildered teenager stage of life at the age of twenty-five. I over-analyze. I work myself up into a frantic, irrational, palms-sweating kind of panic about what I am doing and who I am with and where I am going and what I will be and what if I already am what I'm going to be? What if this is everything? Would that be bad? I'm not sure. Here is what I am confused about: work, school, my family, my relationship, how the hell normal people remember to pay the bills on time, et cetera. I worry about worrying too much and THAT IS NOT A JOKE. Matt and I had an argument earlier-- one about ME WORRYING ABOUT NOTHING. I hate fighting with him, but I've found myself picking little tiffs here and there, always over one of two things: my unrelenting jealousy over his friendship with his ex, or my need for constant affection and attention. Every time we argue, I have this feeling that I've ruined things permanently-- I blame the OTHER Matt, because he has a perfect relationship, and they never fight, and he loves her like crazy, and I wonder if maybe I am building an unrealistic set of expectations based on what may very well be only the exterior of a deep and complicated relationship. I always think of this time he was hanging out with all of us, the old group, and when we fell into our familiar (and tired) routine of making sarcastic little barbs, he said, "Damn, I wish I was with my wife instead." I don't know why that stuck with me the way it has, but I want to be that for MY Matt. I want to be the thing that chases his stress away, not its source. And I've been failing at that for the past several weeks, maybe even months. I want to be perfect, which is lame and stupid, and I want a perfect, uncomplicated relationship, which doesn't exist, but I get so freaked out that I push and push and push until an explosion is inevitable. When I am hand-writing something, even something like a grocery list or a phone number, I will crumple the page and throw it away if I misspell something or if my writing looks sloppy. Can we metaphor that? And good god, it is hard to not want to scrap everything as soon as I make a mistake, but I am trying to learn the grown-up art of nuturing a relationship, of being truly committed even through rough patches, of building something strong and tested and reliable, and you just can't do that if you keep on throwing things away based on even the tiniest imperfection. I'm gonna do something now, because I am afraid that one day I will be so impulsive that I will push Matt away just to avoid being pushed first, because I know he won't leave but I am terrified that he will, anyhow, because sometimes I make decisions out of this illogical and misguided sense of self-preservation that actually hurts me more than it helps me, so I am going to write a list of all of the reasons it is worth it to not be scared. I am going to put down all of the reasons that I want to spend the rest of my life with Matthew, my Matthew, the one that I want for forever. 1:43 a.m. - 2008-03-19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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