I shout long enough thinking someone will respond. No luck. I’ve been drinking, smoking cigarettes and eating non-stop for over two weeks now. Trading one addiction for another. I’m tired and sick. I know I’m doing it, but that alone isn’t enough to make me stop.
When I’m partaking in these vices, I feel the pain go away. The teasing, the self-loathing. Then, I wake the next morning thinking, ‘What the hell did I do last night? Did I really eat all of that? Did I really drink an entire case? Why? Why do I do this to myself?’ Then the self-worth sinks again. Rock bottom. Ignorant. Failure. Stupid. Incompetent. Unjustifiable. Loser. Idiot. Forgetful. Fat. Gross. Punishable. Nothing.
As if I need any of Aaron’s beautiful reminders of how much of ‘nothing’ I really am. It’s horrible thinking about the things he said to me, let alone the despicable things I’ve continued to say to myself since then. It’s been seven years, Charlie. Let it the fuck go. It hasn’t been Aaron Paulson’s fault since you graduated high school.
I want to change. I don’t want to be fat and gross anymore. I guess I just don’t want it bad enough.
Enough of all that nonsense. I’ll figure it out, eventually. Hopefully by Friday. I have a job interview at The Crimson Cellar.
It’s been a while since I wrote in here. Looks like my last entry was another pity party. So glad I’ve captured that in print. Ugh, I’m so pathetic.
So, I got the job at The Crimson Cellar! I’m pretty excited about that. The job itself is fast-paced, but easy. Boy do my feet hurt!
But, I met someone. Well, I guess you couldn’t say I actually “met” him, more of just a “I-have-to-speak-to-you-because-we-work-together” sort of thing. It’s so embarrassing; the physical reaction I had when I saw him for the first time was indescribable. I had absolutely no control over my body. Butterflies, burning, and I think my nipples even got hard at one point, which is not only gross, but obviously something that has never happened to me before.
God, I really need to get laid.
Okay, I feel like I should write more about Jesse, because I can’t seem to get him out of my head. We’ve sort of become friends. I use that word lightly, because he doesn’t seem to be friends with many people… so I can’t say as if that’s what he considers me. We’ve hung out a few times, but he doesn’t really confide in me. Either he doesn’t trust me, or he just doesn’t really care. Either way, this guy is unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and I’m not quite sure what to make of him. He’s sensitive, insecure, beautiful, unreliable, uneasy, passionate and he’s always winking, touching, tickling and groping. Some of the things he says makes me change my panties, and he’s absolutely breath-taking, which doesn’t make it easier. He’s got blonde hair, bright blue eyes, a labret and a body from HELL. He’s a twenty-six year old SKA punk boy and I find him absolutely irresistible.
The biggest problem I’m having is his insensitivity and social awkwardness. He’s jaded, tainted and has a big problem opening up. Even as just friends, I don’t know if he’s even capable of having a relationship. And, I’m certain he would never want an actual relationship with me – he likes skinny chicks. The crush I have on him is barely worth mentioning at this point. But there’s something about him that makes me feel… special. But, I think the whole virginity thing scares him. I don’t blame him, it’s starting to scare me too.
Is anyone ever going to want to sleep with me?
I wonder how often he thinks about me, and I wonder if I’ve given him the impression that I don’t want him in that way. He says he’s really shy and insecure around women he really likes.
Okay, so I saw him tonight and he had a delivery that took him two hours to find, wrong directions or something. He was in a horrible mood, so I decided to leave him alone. Five minutes later, he was totally fine and found me in the bar. He was wearing a bright green shirt that clung to his chest. Yeah, I’ve decided that blue is not the only great color for him; everything he wears is wonderful, I just want to attack him. God, listen to me! I’m talking like a fucking Barbie doll. Yes, I realize Barbie dolls don’t speak.
He kept apologizing for not calling me last night like he said he would. I just dismissed it with a “whatever” and waved my arm walking away. He FOLLOWED me and apologized over and over. I wish it was his style to say, “Let me make it up to you.”
There are things that I see in him that I don’t think other people take the time to. His eyes, crudeness, honesty, and his hands. He impresses me. I watch him sometimes, and I think he knows it, too, but says nothing. I can see his thoughts.
Here’s the perfect analogy: “Sometimes when he takes my breath away, but I’m not so sure he’ll ever give it back.”
AHH! JESSE IS SO FRUSTRATING! He makes me feel so insignificant one minute, and the next, I’m the only other person in the world. I’ll never understand. I have way too much meat on me and I’m way too tall. The fact that he spends time with me makes me feel so worthy and that I deserve him.
I went to the library the other day and did some research on manic-depression. Things are starting to make a little more sense, but I don’t want to assume anything about him until he tells me. According to some of the stuff I read, bipolar people have very intriguing minds. Extreme highs and lows, erratic behavior, over-blown self-esteem… all very interesting. It doesn’t make me want to back off, it only makes me want to crawl inside his head and comfort him.
I don’t pretend to like his music if I don’t. And I don’t pretend to be interested in his bike stuff if I’m not. I just enjoy watching his passion for them. He gets so excited and worked up, that I fall into a trance where I can feel what he feels. It’s almost as though I get a burst of energy with him.
But, I’m just his buddy. Once again. How many times will this happen to me in a lifetime? Sean, Mike, Michael, Adam, Josh and that’s just to name a few. Stuck again.
At this point, I swear he just keeps me around because I make him feel attractive and interesting.
Oh, I almost forgot, this is kinda cool. I’ve lost almost 30 pounds! I know, right? I still have a long way to go, but this is a really good start. The nice thing about needing to lose 100 pounds is that taking off 20 is pretty easy. It just requires not eating so much. I’ve been exercising a little, but not a ton. I’ve really only been “trying” to lose for a couple of weeks now. It feels pretty fucking amazing, actually.
Now, I’m not one to listen to rumors, but when they involve Jess, my ears perk up. Especially when it pertains to ME. Angie told me that she overheard a conversation he was having with Justine the other day. I guess they were talking about me… Angie distinctly heard the words, “Na, Charlie and I are just friends. I basically had to spell it out for her.”
I don’t know what he could have meant by that, because nothing he’s said could ever “spell it out” for me. If it’s true, and he really did say that, he’s a liar and probably still just trying to get in her pants, when she turns eighteen.
Um, holy shit. So, I just got home from Karal’s cabin today. I seriously don’t know where to start.
So, there I am, having fun with the girls, and who shows up? Yep, Jess. JESS! Yeah, “spelling it out for me”… makes total sense you want nothing from me. Right.
I should back up. Lily called me the other day and was worried about Jess. So, I found out his ass was thrown in jail. JAIL! Me, having a friend that’s incarcerated. Nice. I’ve never had a friend who was a criminal. That might sound a bit naïve, but I don’t claim to have much experience with anything. So, I asked Dad for some money to bail him out. I posted his bail and went up north with the girls.
So, during a game of “Truth or Dare”, that Angie initiated, I’m completely naked laying in the lake, drunk and soaking wet. I decide to walk back up to the cabin. Yep, there he is. In all his beautiful glory. Watching me walk back to the fire and putting my clothes back on.
I wish I could say that it ended well. I wish I could say that he actually saw me, and wanted me, for all that I am. But he didn’t. Yes, it’s true, he came to find me, but if he had any intentions of sleeping with me, those likely ended once he saw my body.
And though I’ve lost almost sixty pounds now, I still have a long way to go. I just wish I could have been skinnier and prettier before he saw me naked. Ugh! NAKED. I’m so ashamed.
It all makes me so sad. I wish he knew what it was like for me. I wish he understood how disgusting I think I am. I wish he’d tell me that I’m someone, something, and that I deserve to be touched. I wish he was someone that I don’t think he’ll ever be capable of being.