he tells me i am stupid, to let this go on for as long as it has. he says it is my life and i am the only one who can fix it. i can feel the love he had for me draining away, word by word. i have told him that i do not know who i am, or what i am doing, or what is going to happen. i wonder if he understands how hard it is to not get attached to the idea of him - the idea of that safety. i wonder if he understands that i won't ever find someone like him again, and that i miss him, constantly, most especially when i am freaking the fuck out.
when i tell him i love him, i mean it, i just don't know where it all fits into the picture. two continents that are too far away, and two lives that are so different. he is more whole than i am, he isn't trying to fill in the pieces of emptiness every day. and i know better, i know better, that i can not fill what is burning inside of me. that i need to know what the hell my problem really is. i just dont even have a clue as to where to start with that project. i really don't.
and i don't want to hurt him by telling him the details of my life, but he wants to know, so i tell him and i am thinking i shouldn't. he knows if i do not write to him i am not okay, not at all, and he knows me - who i am. but i do not know if he loves me, or the parts of me that i do not understand, that are bad, that burn inside of me.
so instead of even beginning to figure out what i am doing, yesterday i slept until one fourty five, and then i took a shower. zak came home, we went out for middle eastern food and then we went to the beach, where i started to think, got depressed and then i went and hung out with wynn. wynn and i saw dinner for schmucks, and then i came home.
to find zak not here. he eventually showed up around 2 in the morning, saying he though he had passed out while on his walk. he can't account for a huge chunk of time. i just assumed he was at jeannes. and maybe he was. who the hell knows. but he looked like he was going to die. so i forced him to eat, and drink some water, and get some sleep. he is going to kill himself soon just by being so stupid - by not eating and taking even the slightest care of himself. i feel like i am his mother, always taking care of him.
so here i am, wide awake-ish, anxious as all hell, and, truly wondering what i am going to do with my day.
i spent all last night catching up on heather's blog entries. i wish sometimes i could write like her. and her stories, they are so insane. i am jealous & envious of the fact that she has taken her fucked up life & turned it into books, where as i - can't seem to figure out for the life of me just what it is i want to say. what stories do i tell? how do i even begin to tell them? where do i even start?
ive been thinking about going back through the journals i had from when i lived in arizona. i havent read them in years and i am curious as to what they even say. i am curious as to if i have changed my life all that much or if i am still repeating the same patterns, minus the drugs.
have i learned anything from all of that?
i sometimes wonder. i think ive just learned how to be more afraid... of loosing someone.
which is why i can never cut the cords.