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WARNING: This journal entry is cluttered and emotional vomit. It WILL have spontaneous transitions, though I'll try to do paragraphs to make it clear when I start talking about something else. Can't promise anything though.





There are so many things that are making me feel completely inadequate. I feel like I am wasting my life worrying and wanting and waiting for him. These last four years have been nothing but stress. I haven't done anything as a teenager, because I don't feel like anything can make me happy, or because there's nothing to do, or because whenever I fucking do something, he has to complain about it. And I don't get it. He just pisses me off sometimes. Close-minded at times, but so amazing. I can't even remember why I love him when I'm pissed off at him. But then when I get that feeling, I don't feel like I have to remember. I can just feel that I love him. And I KNOW that I'm not happy in this relationship. How could I be? when we are so much more compatible together than apart. He is a thousand miles away, and I can't stand talking to him on the phone. I hate talking to ANYONE on the phone. I am the kind of person who uses gestures when I talk and can barely be understood unless you can see those gestures. And I like to look in someone's eyes when I talk to them. It's so hard to be away from him.



And my dad HATES him. He had no problem with him in the first couple of years, but since we argue over the phone, and I cry a lot afterwords, my dad thinks my boyfriend is mentally abusing me.



But it's not that. The things Patrick says are not angry, they are constructive. I know I am a shy person and that I have memory problems, and that I can't think of things to talk about, and all the other things he mentions. I CAN'T HELP IT. I don't know what to do to fix myself and he gets so pissy when I say I think I need a councilor to help me fix myself. He says I just don't want to deal with my own problems. But I don't know what to do. I'm so afraid and feel so helpless sometimes. People tell me that I'm fine. That he is just trying to manipulate me into what he wants. But I want it, too! I've always hated how insecure and shy and forgetful and socially awkward I am. I want to be someone else. And he's the only one who helps me with it. He tries to help, anyway. I really do need help... I can't help myself anymore.



I tried marijuana when I went to his house earlier this month and, even though I am against substances that will effect my judgment and thinking patterns, I really want to try it again, because it made me content for once in my life. I was so happy being with him, but even then I constantly worried about when I'd be able to see him again. But when I smoked a bowl I was content. I didn't care. I was able to see the better side, that I was with him, rather than being afraid of having to leave him. It was an amazing experience. But I'm afraid that I'll have to depend on weed to make me feel that way again. God knows it's safer than other drugs out there, but it's still a drug, and that is a problem for me. Plus, I want to be able to make myself happy like that.



I want to learn how to be positive about things and how to make myself a better person. I'm afraid of getting a councilor, though, because I'm afraid of non-anonymously opening up to someone like this... Help?

Two more months. Who is he to indirectly control my senses like this? I thrive on his words, his touch. Nothing is greater and more frightening than the euphoria that he sends melting through my taught flesh. Nothing. I can't escape it. It feels so good and makes me drunk. Drunk on his casual proclivity to stroke my skin perfectly. He is the center of my worship and the sole figure that leads the hoard in my nightmares.







All of these conflicting sensations mix together to get me high. My dizzy spells and nausea and sense of numbed pain are all at his fault. To take him away is to take away nicotine from a manic smoker or crack from a coke-head. It's been a year and a half. Withdrawal from the greatest drug I've ever known. And then the relapse: four days of soaking in his sickly glow put me into remission. My addiction has been satisfied, but I know that soon enough I will fall back into the craving state where I can't feel. It feels so great sometimes that I get sick. And in two months I will yet again fall victim to that terrible ecstasy that hides beneath his epidermis, only revealing itself when the shivering warmth of my skin activates it. And then it will engulf me, and I will be forever under his terrible spell, swimming in a mental orgasm where every caress of his cursed fingers sends me into an abyss of hypnotic contentment and spasms of unwanted, but greatly needed pleasure.







I don't deserve him.