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9:55 p.m. - 10/19/02
=scared to breathe// tired of being lonely=
so much hurt from out of nowhere. so much hurt that stays inside and spills up when you think you're almost safe. it's like picking at a scab you think is nearly healed and finding blood. all of a sudden, from nowhere, and you still think, "why did I do that? I should have seen it coming."

I'll take a deep breath; I'm ok. by the way, thank you for helping meet the needs. The formula of reach-out-so-they-reach-back is an underrated one I forget all too easily. I'm so grateful for those of you who prove it day-in-day-out when the energy is there...

I was doing much better tonight than I had been all day. I'm a little thrown because I was perusing message boards at something-fishy (I swear it's been a good thing lately, or I would have stopped) and I went to a post I definitely did not need to see. All the Rogers-pain is welling up in me, and I can't even breathe, let alone articulate it. My day is full of thoughts and feelings, but the moment is too tense to access them. This feeling overrides...

*

A few minutes have passed; I'm calmer now.

In a way that's how my day has been, flying up into emotion without the energy to wonder if I'll even make it through another time. Sadness, especially this morning- sadness and hurt overwhelmed. I was thinking about Tracy, and about the anniversary on Monday and I just started to lose it again. That tightness in my chest that makes it impossible to breathe. I miss her so desperately, and I hate how invisible it all is. All over the world there are people I miss, and sometimes I feel like I would have to check everywhere in the world at the same moment, before she could have moved, to really be sure she's not here. Sometimes it still isn't real, so when it is, when all of a sudden, I'm sitting typing and I realize, she's really never going to wake up again, I just choke. My lungs stop working, and I choke on my own breath.

What happened with Laura didn't exactly help my recent feelings of alone-ness. It escalated them rather painfully, to the point I posted that last entry, and the point I cried- again. I know my crying is fairly common, but I still hold memory of the days I never did to emphasize the emotion held in it, and I still feel the fullness of the tears. I cry easily, I guess, at this point, but if I do it's because the pain has gotten that close to the surface. I don't cry at less painful things. I have more pain at the point where I can cry about. I don't exactly appreciate the truth in that, but I defend it; I defend that my crying says something, that it hurt deeply to think one moment that all I had to be scared of was seeing her, and to realize the next I couldn't do so. It hurt that I was going to hug someone I love (safely, by choice, without the binds of family) for the first time in awhile, and hug *her* for the first time in two years, and then could not. It hurt that she is fallible, that I knew this, but forgot again. That she hurt me with her impulsiveness, with the same emotive nature I love her for.

Every time I met someone remotely kind for years, I would dream that they'd be the ones to pick me up and take me home. I had that dream no small amount of times regarding Laura, and to see her act, in a way, so similarly to my real parents, ripped the wounds a bit. I have people who love me; I seem to find that somewhat easily. I rarely find people who know how to treat me with that love.

I don't blame her, completely. I feel like I should blame myself because that's my nature, but I haven't really turned it inward. I understand that she did what she did out of love, I understand that her schedule became more frantic, I even understand that she was worried and didn't want to risk any harm coming to me. I understand that we can't meet at the beginning of the week. Except. She did this, it seems to me, so as not to feel responsible for anything that might happen to me because of the lack of safety regarding Neverland. She reiterated several times that my safety comes first, and that dears is the key that led me from crying to anger. She did this to look after my safety, but gauging my safety is *my* job. I'm glad to have friends who will care for me, look out for me, check a street for cars as I walk into it- but I'm also glad to have friends who *trust* me. I doubt she meant to seem untrusting, but that's how it comes across to me. I know I'm not well, and I'm a little desperate for love, but I'm no longer dying, all the same. I'm no longer in constant danger, such that people need to put my life on hold and make decisions for me. I didn't appreciate that when I was dangerously ill with my ed, and I don't appreciate it now. My safety is at risk because I'm alone all the time, because I have no one to hold, because people's eyes don't light up when I walk into a room. *That* puts my safety at risk, and that's what she took away by cancelling the visit. I was looking after my safety when I explored the fear, when I called Dr. R to go over it, when I went to her with the explanation of what I was feeling. And I know it was completely within her rights to be afraid and say she wasn't comfortable putting me in a risky situation, but doesn't she know *I wouldn't* be comfortable with that either? If this were going to be dangerous, I wouldn't go. It was going to be difficult. It was going to be nervewracking. And it was going to be something that could sustain me for some time.

I didn't deserve to lose that- which I will tell her, when I have the words more securely in my head.

So I walked around my anger and played with being bristly, being stone, with never needing anyone again. I wore an expression on my face I haven't felt since Jenna left, and I wore it for an extended series of hours. I know how much I need people, but I just didn't want to anymore, not after that. I mean, God, how many times? How many times will people leave and tell me it's for my good? How many times will they leave and tell me nothing at all? I started thinking about the relationships I've had, the people I wanted to adopt me, the people I loved to the point of wishing I had a sexuality, the people I may never be able to have if I stay asexual. I started thinking about all this fear that I'll wake up tomorrow with a sexuality, especially a heterosexual one, and how it keeps that switch shut off. I worry that I'm limiting what relationships I can have because seriously, if I did meet someone I wanted an exclusive or romantic relationship with, how could I justify bringing them into that, when I can't or won't be there for them physically? It may seem irrelevant, but on the scheme of relational issues, it came up. It came up that love for me is eternally screwed, if for no other reason than that I'll never be.

Ok, even I don't like the way I phrased that.

Fikking relationships. I have no idea how to broach this with the doc. Even though I know (generally) that what I say will be safe with him, that I will even be safe with him, I still feel like I'm not completely safe from what I have to say. I don't want to go into it, no holds barred, and I'm scared that in this little-by-little, week-by-week sort of way, we'll never get to it all. I've never had one person in my real-time life who knew even outlines (let alone details) of Chelsie *and* of Billy. Of Jenna on her own. I just can't imagine going into this, of having him know all the reasons relationships are terrifying and will never work. All the ways in which I have been left and all the reasons I've run off on my own. I want him to know them because I want someone to be able to look at it objectively (which I can't now) with all the information that I have, but I just don't even know how to start. The smallest piece of it- "I don't know what physical attraction is" feels too much to say. I'd like to think we've already started it, by talking about certain relations, losses, needs, by working all the time to make his office safer for me. But I just feel totally lost in this one. I'm so ashamed of my love and how poorly it works out. I'm so ashamed that I became completely enmeshed with a man older than my dad, who I met online- or that I thought I could bring out the emotion in an air-tight girl. Jenna called me her rock, and I ached at the beauty in that, even while I cried because her stony surface kept me out. I feel like I've been so stupid about this and like I'm not getting any smarter. I mean, half of me must have still expected that Laura would just come into my life and be my home (if only for a minute), and if I don't know better than that by now, if I'm still trying to be saved by tv characters and mentors, I've hardly come far enough to gloat...

I just really want- even once- love without the fuck-ups. Without the endings and the inconsistencies and the lies and the betrayals and the shame. I don't mean that I don't want conflict and growth and change; I *do*. I just want it to be things that neither of us saw coming, mess-ups we couldn't have avoided, that we deal with together. I'm tired of being the one flat-rolled by withheld information, manipulative behavior, or codependency. I'm not saying I'm innocent in this; I'm not. Still. I'd like one example that stands up against the fear. I'd like one relationship I can point to and say, "See? It can all be ok."

I'm seventeen; I'll only get older. And if I don't have a relationship now that's lasted a lifetime, how can I ever? I'd settle for one that started late and stayed good. Truthfully, tonight, I'd settle for someone who could hold me while I sleep, and pause the aching in my flu-filled head.

That said, goodnight...
chord

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