Spoiled

I didn't get my first kiss until I was eighteen. Not kidding; not even a little kiss in the sandbox or a game of spin-the-bottle before that. I guess you could say I was pretty lame.

When I did get my first kiss, it was this chubby Mexican hipster, a year or so younger than me, who I went to a really crappy movie with (August Rush, anyone?). He stuck his equally chubby tongue all the way in my mouth. It was pretty fucking awful. And this after holding my hand until it was sweaty through about half the movie.

But let's get back to the point (there was a point?).

Before that, I was pining for a kiss. Then I went on sort of a kissing spree (games of spin-the-bottle, impromptu three-way make-out sessions with friends, etc.) and never really got the point of kissing. It seemed messy and lacking in the fun that people say it holds.

Then I kissed a boy that I was really in love with. I had had a boyfriend before, and had kissed him, but I never really loved him, and I didn't enjoy it. But this... Kyle... when he kissed me, it was like everything clicked. It's like our mouths were made to be together (although, thinking about that seems a little gross), and I finally understood what the hell people were talking about (although I still think movie kisses look awkward and terrible).

So, I had that for over a year. I had a patient, giving sexual partner for about a year... and now I'm stuck pining again. I mean, I thought I was horny before the relationship... now that I don't have anyone to bone, I'm going a bit crazy.

Not only did I have the physical things, I had the little gestures, the funny commentary on life, the warm feeling when you fall asleep next to someone and know that they won't turn into a monster in the morning.*

Life goes on, as normal. I'm trying to wake up for class (and failing, usually), and trying to get my homework done (and usually succeeding), and hanging out with people (some obnoxious, some fairly chill), but there is this space in my life that I'm saving. It's like I'm a bird, building a nest, but I can't wait for another supporting branch to grow before I put all my bits of string and pine needles and plant-matter together. So I'm teetering on a lackluster nest, waiting for the branch to grow a bit. My bed, my shower, my kitchen, and my living room feel empty. My cat is begging for my attention, my chameleon is mad because I don't have to time to pick up crickets as often as I should, my bills are asking to be paid, and I just want to sit inside and watch Casablanca, because that's OUR movie, and drink rum and coke, because that's OUR drink.

People tell you to move on, and make a life for yourself when you've moved into a long-distance relationship, but it's not easy. When you're used to relying on someone's humor to get you through the tough times, or their kiss to reassure you that everything will be okay, it's hard to get the satisfaction out of things that you used to be enthusiastic about. New experiences feel cheap, because you have no one to really share it with. And you begin to feel jealous about the stories your significant other tells you about hanging out with your old friends, doing things you all used to do. You understand, and hope, that their lives go on without you, but you're a little broken up that they do, as well, because you just can't seem to get your shit together. What the hell kind of drug are they on that they can just go on living?

Oh yeah... they actually have drugs.

Well, I guess I'll just see how I do in Spanish tomorrow, live through Sociology, get my journalism homework done, and work on studying for the Race Relations test on Friday (which I keep sleeping through, coincidentally).

... it seems easier to watch someone else let the love of their life go in black and white than to commit myself to this dreary life.

*Actually, Kyle is kind of an awful person if you try to wake him up. He always feels bad afterwards, but he says the meanest things when I shake him awake, even if he's asked me to.

Too far away

My boyfriend is depressed... and it's making me depressed.

I mean, I've dealt with depression on my own before. All through middle and most of high school, I suffered from depression--severe boredom, no motivation, etc.--and I know how it feels to think that life is not worth living, because it's too mundane...

And even though I eventually got over it, I don't know how to fix it, especially from far away. If I were with Kyle right now, then I'd be doing my best to show him that I love him and need him, and he'd snap out of it--he always has in the past. But he's not doing so hot right now, and I feel like it's my fault on some level. He has been this way since I moved, pretty much. If I were there, then he would have something to distract him. But because I am not a part of his everyday life, he's focusing on how mundane things can be. And believe me, living here has taught me that, if nothing else.

How am I supposed to help a significant other when I can't touch them, I can't wipe their tears away? He says he just needs a hug, and I feel the same way. Even writing this, I am tearing up, because I can't stand to think of my boy being in pain. It breaks my heart.

I'm trying to live my everyday life like things are fine. I smile at people--even strangers--and I do the work that needs to be done. But at the end of the day--more like at some point in the early morning--when I lay down to sleep, I can't think of anything except how I wish I could help Kyle. He's done so much for me, and I want to protect him. Call it a misplaced maternal instinct, but I do think of it as my responsibility to keep him safe, happy and healthy.

Otherwise, life has been dull. I mean, even this problem is dull in a sense; not because I want to belittle how Kyle feels, but because being bored is exactly what it is. Depression has never meant sadness to me. Yes, it comes with sadness, frustration, and even anger... but the root of it is boredom. Life seems uninteresting... even things that life can offer. Nowhere in the world seems exotic enough. No act seems extreme enough. I think that's why a lot of people choose death when they are depressed; it's the most extreme thing you can do.

When I was younger, I used to cut myself. I don't tell many people this, because honestly, I think it's my own damn business, and those who are candid about this are usually just looking for attention anyway. However, the proof of my angst--if you can call it that--is written all over my thighs. Wearing shorts or skirts still proves problematic. I have to cross my legs a certain way, so people think certain scars are stretch marks, and I cover what is obviously not naturally there.

I say this because, although cutting is usually not life-threatening--I never aimed to kill myself, and most cutters don't, either--it is an attempt to feel alive. Depression can make you feel numb. This is exactly why I hate pain-killers, including cocaine. It just makes me feel numb, and that's what I've been running from all my life. And this is exactly what Kyle is describing to me now. It's like all the adrenaline leaked from you, all the endorphins... It's weird how chemical our emotions are when it comes down to it. We can describe it in elaborate words, but it's still just imbalances and rushes.

Don't get me wrong; I love wordplay, especially when dealing with emotion. That's part of what makes us human; art and this idea that we should be happy. What other animal really has that?

I must go now. I'm rambling, and I'm a bit drunk.

Hopefully I will not be rambling at the empty internet soon enough.

Meek Beginnings

So... here I am.

I'm from Missouri. Well, I was born in Oklahoma, but I hardly lived there long enough to call it home. I lived in Springfield, Missouri for most of my life. All of my friends are there, and most of the family that I really care about live there (i.e. my parents, and one brother). It's where I lost virginity, and where I did most of the drugs I've done for the first time. It's where I broke my arm (I was two), where I learned to play violin, and where I went to school.

And so, now I'm wondering this: why the hell did I move?

I mean, don't get me wrong, I've needed to broaden my horizons for a very long time, and moving away for school is probably the best, most stream-line way of doing that. I put it off for long enough. I even did my first two semesters of college in Springfield (good ol' Missouri State), but even going into that, I knew I was going to transfer eventually. So, now I'm here, in Philadelphia, going to Temple University.

And Jesus Fuck Almighty, I forgot how hard it is to make friends. I mean, I should've guessed that I'd be lonely for awhile, and I should've known that it'd feel way too much like most of high school, but I didn't know how much I had come to rely on my social group for things to do on the weekend. Who do I have to dance with? Who plays poker here?

The only lengthy social interaction I've had was with these guys (and one of their girlfriends) two floors above me. They were certainly nice, and I got a free '40 out of it, but we shared little to no interests. They were into industrial; I like Creedence Clearwater Revival and the Scissor Sisters. They wanted to play beer pong; I was about to suggest rummy. I might see them again, though, because I'm tired of only talking to my cat and myself.

But seriously, how do you stay in touch with people in the city? People seem to think I'm approachable (I've gotten several compliments, and several people have made small talk with me) but when they go to leave, I have no way to get in touch with them. I can't live like this. I can very well smoke in my room, with the window open, but I'm going down to the courtyard just to get a chance to talk to someone. Not to mention, the boredom is making me smoke more, which is expensive here (seriously, what's up Pennsylvania? I thought the quakers were supposed to be non-intrusive).

I have a brother in the area, but he's recently divorced, and is busy trying to make it with his new girl, so we haven't really seen each other. Also, he works, so the weekends are his only option. I can't compete with a romantic prospect, nor do I intend to try.

I had a big group of friends back home. We all had at least one party every weekend, at which there was ample booze, and usually some interesting substances. They were good at dancing (mostly), most of them musicians, had great taste in music, and there was something to do 9/10 weekends. We went to the Waffle House and played rummy or poker, went to a house and danced and did molly, had a bonfire and road the four-wheelers, hung out at my boyfriend's and dropped acid, bowled and played pool... the things that normal freaks our age do.

I also have a boyfriend in Missouri. Kyle. He and I have been friends for over seven years now, but just started dating the summer of my freshman year of college. We're doing the long-distance thing, which is hard. Skype helps, but it's not the same as cuddling up next to him, and his computer keeps overheating. He's moving here either after the semester, or next year. I hope it's the former, but we'll see.

So, you can see how I might be a bit lonely.

I'm starting this blog as a means of therapy, I guess. I hope some of the anecdotes will be funny, and I hope anyone who accidentally stumbles across this finds it slightly entertaining before they move on.