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Quitting a Conglomeration of Bullshit

When I first got together with Vixen, it's safe to say that I had a drinking problem as well. I could finish 2 bottles of sake myself, I drank every day since I turned 21. It started off as curiosity and interest, maintained by this feeling...I would pour myself a shot of sake on autopilot, without even wanting it; I would finish it without even realizing. The difference is that even though I am the first to admit this wasn't right, I never did enjoy the feeling of being drunk. I *could* finish off two bottles alone, but it's rare that I actually *would*.

I met Vixen on my 22nd birthday. Funny story actually; My gay best friend "ChickenBoy" was crushing on her gay best friend 'Blackeyed TeaBag'. I never really liked Blackeyed Teabag. He was fun to dance with though, I must say. ChickenBoy's birthday is 3 days before mine, (it feels like 2 days in celebration), We decided to celebrate our birthdays for 2 weekends in a row; The first weekend being a spontaneous idea. We proceeded to invite everyone to my house, which is when ChickenBoy asked if I would invite Blackeyed Teabag. I did! He was already occupied that night- Not a surprise considering our lack of planning and timing. I replied that the real party was actually the next weekend, and he agreed to keep his schedule free! Beyond my awareness, ChickenBoy completely moved on within that week, and decided that he did not have an interest in Blackeyed Teabag, and no longer even liked him as a person (hence the unflattering nickname). Maybe he did tell me, I wouldn't put it past myself to be a bad listener sometimes. Maybe it was something as simple as him mentioning another man's name, and I was too dense to pick up on the implications. Either way, I didn't definitively learn that ChickenBoy felt this way until Blackeyed Teabag, and his friend, came into our party. ChickenBoy shot daggers at me with his eyes, as he scolded me for inviting him here. I apologized, but I couldn't drum up the courage to ask him to leave. In mingling, it came to ChickenBoy's knowledge that Blackeyed Teabag's friend Vixen was attracted to me. Being the perfect best friend that he is, he bought them each drinks, to help me out.. It was great. The gust from the door closing between ChickenBoy and Blackeyed Teabag, blew open the door between Vixen and I, who became a couple for 15 months.

June is when I made an ass of myself. I got drunk at a party thrown by Vixen's friends, but luckily, I didn't make an ass of myself until was in the privacy of my own home. I got into an intense, yet pointless argument with 'Fucker', and I threw my cell phone at his head as he exited. Because Vixen was standing so near to the door, my phone breezed past her head on its way toward Fucker. Fucker successfully shut the door prior to being hit upside the dome. Vixen was very upset by being *nearly* hit by my phone, she said I was out of control. I agreed. I resolved on my own to stop drinking. She said it wasn't necessary, but I decided it was, and I did stop drinking. Instantly actually. The whole reason I'm revisiting this memory is to say that it was not necessary for me to get rid of any remaining liquor in my possession, nor abstain from surrounding myself with people who were constantly drinking. These things did not influence me. After successfully abstaining from any and all alcoholic beverages for 5 and a half months, Vixen wanted to buy me a bottle of wine to celebrate us leaving my mom's house, moving into her place. (I didn't move completely out, or in.) I accepted this offer, and chose a cheap bottle of Cabernet. It took me a week to get through that bottle, at the rate of 1 glass per night. Pretty nice, I'd say. She continued to replace my bottle whenever she picked up a bottle of vodka for herself. Sometimes I wouldn't be through with my old bottle yet, so they would build up and I would have two sitting next to each other. It still didn't alarm me though; Didn't occur to me how unusual it was for her to run out before I did, since her bottles were always so much larger than mine, and vodka is so much stronger than wine. Ahh. I actually just started to finish my wine faster, and by christmas time, I was in line with her, we both drank one bottle per night. Still, those details didn't dawn on me. I tapered off of this pattern naturally without even acknowledging it. When I did, it became increasingly apparent to me, her issue. That's not what this entry is about though, I can pick back up on that another time if I want..
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There have been other vices in my life that I have forced myself to leave behind. Stronger, more threatening in some cases, and milder non issues in others. At any rate, it usually behooves me to keep a little bit stashed away for a rainy day- like with marijuana. I soo didn't quit forever, but the only time I had any headway in quitting at all, was when I had just a little bit hidden away. Even if I decided to stop, and let myself run completely out of it, I would lose my mind craving it, and never actually quit. I used to go out clubbing, poppin' them disco biscuits. The market helped me leave that habit behind. Fakes infiltrated my town, and the gamble no longer seemed worth my while. $10 a pop, either it's one hell of a trip, or it's nothing at all. Bah. It's not like I kept any biscuits stashed away for a rainy day...wait, Oh my GOSH! I did! I kept a green one, (a good one!), in the back of a drawer for like two months!! Haghgh. I tried to do that with the quicksand, and that was the only thing in my entire life that wasn't the same. Having that little bit stashed away actually did more harm than good for me.
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Quitting PursuAsian. One day I just decided it was unacceptable for me to return to his facebook page, and I stopped. I stopped! I didn't even need to block him. With Dblue, I have blocked and unblocked him so many times. I just don't even seem to mind that I'm a

I need to quit him though. I need to stop being interested. I need to stop digging up more about him than the CIA would. Rawr. This is not over.
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Lately I've been wanting to freestyle so bad! But I am so shy, I just can't seem to bring my volume much above a breathless whisper; The click of my fingers as they dance across a keyboard. I think I would be so good if I could just spit it out. In the back of my imagination, I spit rhymes fit for asasination, split second quick, you dont't need patience except to get a grip of my intense intent, and intonation.

Honesty dictates that Jake was never interested in the first place, in which case; It seems to let me breeze through what once was a struggle, pop out of my fantasy bubble and build myself back up through the rubble; Knowing in the interim, I'll be improved all because of (this).

I had to say the name because it rhymed better haha. Fuck it, this is my corner of the internet. I respectfully refrain from using real names but on this particular day I decided I don't care.

She's so beautiful, I like her. I can't even not. It occurs to me that she and I are on the same team. She isn't my enemy, and it makes me fear her even more. For why? Instead I should fear the miles between he and I. Or the fact that even when the miles separating us didn't amount to a cumbersome number, he was never really interested in me. I never knew how much that stinging little detail actually helps. He commented on her photo. He has never taken the time to comment on one of mine. That also makes me realize he was never really interested in me.
Even if he was, EVER, momentarily interested; For my health, sanity, and well being: I absolutely must let go. If we are going to come together in the future, ever, EVER; I still have to live into that moment! And it's still so unlikely.

Use his memory as hope in the world, of people out there that spark your heart this hard; With this immensity. Holy shit, you know? Maybe that's why you don't mind that you're such a creeper. His opinion of you, you are already well aware: Has no impact on your life at all. He is a sparkle in the sky; Sunshine on the water. He is a fantasy, a pretty face on a radiant brain. His only role in your life is to remind you that people like that actually exist, and as much as days drag on, and life is bullshit- Living is well worth it if I could encounter a person out there like him.
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And damn it, as true as all of that is: What do I do about the fact that I think of him every single day? His voice, his words. They pierce me so deeply. How can I conciliate these feelings into something less constituted by his individual memory?

I hurt.
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I fucking hate myself, you know? This is relatively new. I haven't actually felt such disdain toward the person I am since I was really fat. I'm kind of fat right now too, but this hate isn't for that. It's for giving TOO MUCH OF A FUCK about BULLSHIT. Writing letters to SO MANY people and NEVER SENDING THEM. I can't allow my life to be a conglomeration of BULLSHIT. One major difference between writing on here, and in my diary; Is that I allow myself to write things in my diary without looking back on them for at least 8 months. I don't let myself read it when I want to- and lately it seems like that would be a freedom. Like it might help me transcend some of this. I don't know though, that it wouldn't just allow me to turn away from my awareness of the disgrace I am.
Even with everything good that I can tie to my name; Overall, I am a fucking disgrace. Maybe I need to do a combo of both things. Write on here and in my diary. It's just that while I' doing my RPR and CBC certification training, I am already typing, which makes it really easy to just come here.

DAMN IT, another thing is; As much relief as learning about sensory processing disorder has brought me, I refused to admit to one of the symptoms that seems to actually dictate my existence: Trouble categorizing shit. I have so many different ideas, they all turn into bull-dragons that fly around reeking havoc on my china shop life
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you know what is so funny? Getting over him is proving to be more difficult than getting over people who actually loved me. Getting over him was way more challenging than rejecting a marriage proposal, despite really wanting to get married before my grandpa wouldn't be here. to walk me down the isle. The ring was *perfect*. Like I would dream of! But I would say yes to someone holding a ring pop if they HAD A FUCKING BRAIN. I ain't fixin' to get with no scarecrow up in this mofo. Believe that! The only specifications I would have for my engagement ring is that it won't turn my finger green (unless it's green apple flavored, of course!). Everything else *depends* on the person holding up the ring. I want to love that asshole so much that it doesn't matter what trinket he has to offer me. I want to love entirely this person. Enough to tell them my deepest most shameful secrets, and to use the potty right in front of them. My bladder and bowels are SO SHY, that it has been impossible to do this. I want to feel so beautiful, and so loved, and so filthy aroused that my cheeks are consistently rouge, and I have trouble meeting their sultry stare. I really do.

I also want to give myself to God, the way I have been saying. I only want to have this love if i'm meant to. If not, I would love to have the physical intensity of the bond I had with God before I dove into this sea of sexuality without a life preserver, or a reason.
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And as much as I really do hate myself right now; I love myself so much. I am so impressed with my writing, it's nice to be half of something I'm proud of.

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