Just give me back my broken heart

I don't know what to do about the cable guy; but, if I don't hear from him soon I'm going to have to walk away for good. I can't continue to play this game with him. He either gets to have no strings attached sex with me or he gets to hold my hand in public. Not both. I can't handle both. I'm a disaster right now. I want him to tell me he wants me in his life; however, I know that a happy romantic comedy ending is not what I will likely get out of this situation. I should just reject him completely and move on with my life and do so before he has the opportunity to reject me...again. He tells me that he needs to take my picture because I look so pretty and that he thinks I'm smart and loves my body and that it's a treat to eat the food I make and he holds my hand and me when we go out and yet I am still not what he's looking for? I don't understand. It can't possibly be about me and it's so hard to move past that it can't possibly be about me. Deep...breaths...

Me against the world; world -1 me -0

I don't begin to know how to describe the cycle of emotion I've been going through lately. Rejection is a tricky life experience. I have always felt like I'm pretty well adept at hedging rejection and moving on from it; however, at this moment in time my youthful optimism is waning. It's as though I'm being tested. It's a test that is quite trying and I don't know how I'm going to get through it. Men are terrible specimens of a being. The fuckers don't want anything from me but sex apparently. Every single guy I have thought would have potential has turned out to be a dud in some form or another. And maybe my expanded definition of dud has something to do with my frustration in finding someone who will fit into the qualifications of someone whose likelihood of destroying another part of my soul is relatively low.

It's frustrating that Austin's new girlfriend looks a considerable amount like me.  It's frustrating that I am a little lonely sometimes. It's frustrating when I can forgive Nick for his shortcoming last Winter but can hardly forget and am now in process of hooking him up with a friend instead. It becomes beyond frustrating when I am rejected time and time again. It makes me feel like something is inherently wrong with me. I realize, when my rational self comes back to fruition that this is not the case. I realize that I am spectacular, beautiful, and deserve nothing but the best. I realize that it's best that I am able to weed out all the not the best quickly, efficiently, and early.

Lately, I've been retreating more into my own isolation as a comfort. I don't let my self down. I know my expectations for myself and live up to them pretty well. I think I am fun and amazing and talented and beautiful. And if no one else believes this, at least I have it in my self to pull inspiration and a desire to keep moving forward from. It would be nice if I could find someone who shared this belief. For now, I guess it's me against the world.

Do It Like A Dude

It starts in my fingertips. Numb. Slowly, quickly engulfing the fingers my tips are attached to. Making it's way through my hands, up my arms, it spreads like a disease through my blood stream, tensing my shoulders squeezing my stomach into a knot; every heart beat feels like work. The pressure in my throat extends to my tear ducts and two miles of walking and concentrating on my breathing are not enough to help me pull it together. The second I step into my house and close the door behind myself I lose myself in the privacy of my own pain. I drown my tears and my screams in the very same pillow that happily lulled me into blissful sleep just hours before. The anxiety that grips me, uncontrollably, taunts me into a form of depression, deceives my body into believing a physical ailment has taken over. The only reprieve is sleep, or whiskey. Food is not an option. That squeezing that grips my stomach only causes the rejection of food. And my soul, my self, feels rejected by the world, by you, and him, and him and him. I feel betrayed by my own growth and maturity as it has brought with it and inability to find any man who will do and each I think will do, does not. There is no such thing as a good man. There are men who hurt me, rape me, hit me, rob me of an innocence and a healthy body image. When over and over again my hopes are dashed to ashes of what may have been had circumstances been different I start to question what is wrong with me. It's hard to not make it about me. I am seemingly the common denominator. Right? Is it my wide hips? My decision to get rid of my car? Do I say something incriminating? Is there something wrong with my face? Am I not quick and witty and cool enough? Why is it that I can't find a man who thinks I'm as amazing as I have worked in my life to be? The bottom line is that I am, in fact, as amazing as I have worked to be in my life. Whatever their issue is, is not about me.

I will be okay.