MonthSeptember 2013

The Most Painful Thing in the World

Remembering all these things about S. Apart from the fact that he knows the one thing that can destroy me in an instant, emotionally, this is just a small reminder as to why nothing could ever work between us emotionally:

Me: And do you know what? I don’t give a fuck why you like control. That’s not something I care to analyze. I just know I really enjoy it.
Him: Don’t swear at me.
Me: I do all the time.
Me: Natural.
Him: Stop it.
Me: Want me to sugarcoat it or does it just come off as too mean?
Him: It comes off as too mean.
Me: I don’t mean it badly.
Me: I never do.
Him: Don’t care
Him: it’s a perception thing
Him: stop it.
Me: okay
Him: Okay…?
Me: I’m agreeing.
Me: To stop.
Me: You can analyze your control thing, or others that don’t approve of your controlling behavior can analyze it. But this is something I enjoy. So whatever reason you have behind it is your own. And why I enjoy it is mine.
Him: You enjoy it but you can’t commit to it.
Him: I know, I know, that’s not just your fault.
Me: Because I just have one requisite: you have to care about me. And you don’t always.
Him: But I do
Him: and your perception to the otherwise does not give you a right to break that and certainly not in the manner in which you have previously
Me: I’m really very sorry I betrayed you. It’s not even something you should forgive. But I don’t want you to keep hurting me. You reject me fairly often.
Him: True enough
Him: so we should just… part amicably as friends, since we’re mature adults.
Me: You’re not listening to me.
Him: I’m listening.
Me: I don’t want to “part amicably.”
Me: I’ve already said, I want more kindness, I want you to care.
Him: That’s an easy thing for me to promise now, but you need to keep your expectations light especially at first
Me: How can I when you expect so much from me?
Me: “Bri, commit. Be my slave. Be mine only.
Me: I say yes.
Him: You’re right, that’s not fair.
Me: And then you treat me so poorly. You get upset when I commit fully.
Him: It’s not that I get upset
Me: What am I supposed to do? Tell me.
Him: I don’t know any more
Me: And I can try. I shouldn’t even want to try. But I do.
Him: I’m a haze of lust and inconsideration.
Me: Because I enjoy you immensely.
Him: I’ve been hard as a rock for like thirty minutes btw.
Me: Why?
Him: Talking to you
Me: You give me butterflies.

S. always listened to me. The fact that he knows me extremely well … scares me half to death. I’ve never known anyone to know how my mind works as well as he does. He damaged me emotionally so many times…

I don’t think I’ll ever forget when he said the one thing that hurts me most of all. I don’t even want to repeat it. It makes me shake all over. It’s like the key to breaking me. The part of me that keeps me composed and sane just breaks down at the thought. I’m shaking now actually. Thinking about S. makes me want to hold myself and cry. I’ve never relinquished so much control over my entire being… And I’ve never been so submissive to anyone. Anything he said, I would do. I’m not sure I will ever repeat the thing that can hurt me most of all.

Him: I’m talking about my mental perception of your brain
Him: it reminds me of mayonnaise.
Me: …
Me: ok
Him: totally opaque.
Me: wut?
Him: Opaque. Your brain. Mayonnaise.
Him: you don’t let people see you
Him: Why is anybody going to like you if you don’t like yourself? We’re all, eventually, somewhere down the line, second choices.
Me: I like myself plenty. But that’s very little basis for anyone else to like me.
Him: Even if it’s to a figment.
Me: I don’t really want to talk about my mind.
Him: You said we could talk about what I wanted to talk about
Me: Okay you’re right I did
Him: Does it bother you?
Me: Does what bother me?
Him: Nevermind, I know it does.
Me: Wut?
Him: I’ll drop it if you can tell me why it bothers you.
Him: talking about your mind.
Me: It doesn’t bother me.
Him: then why don’t you want to talk about it?
Me: Because it doesn’t change anything.
Him: Yes, because I can’t make you change
Him: That comes from within
Him: You don’t have to change, but you’re unhappy a lot, and it’s because you repeat avoidable negative behavior
Him: Sorry, now I’m playing therapist

Speaking of avoidable negative behavior I feel like I’m really starting to miss S. And I feel like at the drop of a hat I’ll want to go back to him. The way I always go back to all abusive relationships. …This is venturing far too close in territory to divulging the one thing that can hurt me most of all.


photo 3photo 4


I’ve known this to be the title for my blog entry for at least a day or two. The latest ‘idea’ to take shape in my world is IMPORT.


  • to bring in (merchandise, commodities, workers, etc.) from a foreign country for use, sale, processing, re-export, or services.
  • to bring or introduce from one use, connection, or relation into another: foreign bodies imported into the blood.
  • to convey as meaning or implication; signify: Her words imported a change of attitude.
  • consequence or importance: matters of great import.

It has come to my attention recently that I am perhaps of some import to someone that has little to no import to me. But this is a normal daily occurrence in the lives of everyone. Someone can feel like your best friend and yet to them, you are merely just… any other friend. I suppose there is no sense of mutual entitlement. And it would seem to me that this is as common as … well just common. But I actively work *against* this because I always put more, more, more into any given relationship. I never want anyone to feel unimportant. Everyone and everything is important to me. Or I will at least make you feel that way. I never want anyone to feel ignored, hurt, which, like I mentioned previously is a major skill required of my position. You might have four different people telling you things but not one of the four knows of the other’s existence. As in Person A does not know that I also have something pending with Persons B, C, and D. And it is my job to make sure that all four Persons feel like the sole Person A. (Lmao, if I weren’t talking about making it seem like you have my undivided attention this would come across as something akin to polygamy.)

So anyway, it is alarming to me that someone has assigned some level of Import (consequence) to me where I place absolutely nil on them.

To go laymen’s terms… I recently deactivated my Facebook. It was redundant — a mere aggregation of my online presence almost everywhere else. Or otherwise I was just bombarded by too much information that I really prefer not to know. Some things are better a mystery or saved for a proper conversational piece. I get so easily distracted.

Uhm. So anyway, yes. I “deleted” my Facebook in as best a form as is available: deactivation. And one particular person decided to reach out to a friend of MINE (not a friend of theirs, but a friend of mine) to inquire as to whether I had merely deactivated my account or actually removed them. That such a distinction even matters to them is quite telling. My friend sent me the entire conversation and how it played out. Having no other means of reaching me, this person also asked my friend how I’m doing. As though my state of being … matters.

And truthfully none of this would come as much of a shock because yes I’m important to some people (my mom, my brother, etc. etc.) and a great deal of people are important to me (family, friends, coworkers, etc. etc.) but the fact that it’s someone I stopped socializing with is… troubling. I make it a priority to prioritize everyone and everything. Because people are important to me. People are important in general. I never discount anyone. Everyone has something ‘wonderful’ to offer because no two are ever alike. I try very hard to take everyone seriously even if they’re hard to get along with, “weird,” or just strange. No matter how strange, it’s cruel to disregard someone’s importance.

I don’t know… just the fact that this person needed the reassurance that I did not delete them but instead just deactivated my Facebook is… startling. Why does it matter? Why must human fragility exist to the point where there is something different from one to the other? The end fact remains: this person no longer has access to me.

As my friend said though, “I guess it matters because it means you don’t dislike him.” (How badly I wanted to keep the gender of the person completely out of the equation. I don’t think it should matter, but it does bring another level of meaning to the entire situation that I much rather leave out.)

And the truth? I did remove this person as a friend prior to deactivating my account. I do that sometimes… Try to remove the existence of someone from my life. Because their existence in my life affects me (probably negatively) in some way. And my form of coping is to … exit as quietly as possible, in the hopes that I will then be quickly forgotten (this usually works except in the cases where I don’t want to forget them). Out of sight, out of mind. But then I was just fed up with Facebook in general and so out it went from my life along with everyone connected to it.

This access issue is becoming a bit of a problem lately. I’m not so certain I enjoy giving people free reign to construe my thoughts in whichever way they please. The only thing keeping me connected to my Twitter account is the mere fact that I started it in 2007 and it has gained me many friends over time. People I would have never met at UCSB became my friends after following them through Twitter. And then we’ve hung out and there’s a level of care and interest there that exists outside the scope of just the internet. It exists in real space and time.

But also now a lot of other people have access to me that I rather not. I’ve come to accept that a few people will know about my life but there are a few others I just wish… wouldn’t know anything at all.

Anyway. I’ve exhausted this topic.

Pending things to write about: my musical experience this weekend, my argument with doctor friend this weekend, spending time with someone that I made a great mistake with, this weekend also, and maybe even “On Letting Go.” Urgh… there are just SO MANY things I don’t want to forget. Or rather, so many things I need to dissect to gain some sort of perspective on.

And as per usual I’ve put so much emotion and energy into just ONE construction of the word IMPORT that all the other meanings will be lost. I now have very little mental energy to go about describing the rest. What a half-baked post.

Sometimes I just feel far too verbose. And I haven’t even explained this situation to the full extent I wanted to, explaining it.

I see many upcoming posts this week. Why is there so much to think about lately?


After two entries yesterday I told myself I wasn’t going to write anything today. I’m tired of listening to myself speak, “so to speak.”

Let’s talk about tense. Tension. Tense-ness.

Past tense. Future tense.

Sexual tension.

Work tense-ness.

Actually… I need not explain myself. The three definitions for tense are all-encompassing in my life right now. See how I take one idea in my title and relate it to everything? Gift? Curse?

OK, fine, I have time to kill. Let’s go at it for a MINUTE.

I’m so bored of talking in past tense and awaiting the future. Let’s talk in present tense. Let’s enjoy the present. Except I’m not very good about talking in the present tense. It’s always “this is going on, that’s going on, blah blah blah.” Whereas when I speak in past tense it comes across as clever life reflection. (Hint: it’s not.)

Let’s try it though. You will quickly note how my imagery falters in present tense. But for the sake of writing exercise I’ll attempt anyway:

With the windows open and the music suddenly stopped, she heard the thick rustling of leaves from the tree just outside. The tree hid her secrets well. The first murmuring of an Autumn breeze was starting to roll in with the night. (lol… this paragraph is total bullshit even though I am INDEED quite moved by the first thundering of cool air hitting my face – not that air HITS or anything. Writing is a total misrepresentation of any truth and now THAT’S the truth. And every time I use the word ‘cool’ I think of the 1920s and Gatsby and shit like that.)

Actually let me not do imagery. Forced poeticism is stifling. My prose previously had a poetic quality but that’s long gone. I’ve some mind to start reading short stories by Nabokov. Even though I have … almost literally a hundred books awaiting to be read already gathering dust amidst my shelves, a reminder of how there’s always something I could be doing… As though owning a particular book is equivalent to absorbing the beauty inside it. False pretenses.

The latter paragraph above was a much better exercise in present tense than the former.

I will be spending Saturday with an aforementioned friend (sins like skeletons, anybody?) and I’m acting all cool like it’s no big deal. Maybe it won’t be [a big deal]. But I’ve been on edge for the last couple of weeks because of a personal mistake. No one is to blame because the emotional repercussions are of my own doing. So we chug on and on inside the roller coaster train.

I find myself once again listening to Crystal Castles. Saturday I’m going to go see The Dear Hunter in Pomona and Sunday I’ll be going to Dance Gavin Dance, again in Pomona. But first! Sunday morning, I’ll be celebrating Nicole’s 15th? 16th? birthday. Someteenth birthday.

The one thing Matthew said to me in recent years that will stick with me 4EVA (because inserting some form of slang is indicative of me not taking myself so srsly) was “You have everything… And yet it’s not enough. You’re still not happy.”


How does such a thing come to be?

Sometimes I write about my life and feel so proud of everything that I have, will have, or expect to have.

Before I make my grand exit and realize that I have failed to materialize any new material, I leave, a quote:

“There is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these lovable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else.”—Chuck Klosterman

Who is that person for you?

At this point I’m just fucking around with words and writing and feelings and leaving most everything unsaid. I don’t understand the recent surge of interest in my entries. I’ve been APPROACHED by ##numerous## friends (and non-friends) regarding my entries. WHO KNEW. The interest is transient, I’m sure.

Ugh… now I feel a sudden urge to REALLY write some deep shit about the deep shit I’m in. What an awful expression. But nonono… I can’t keep writing. Even though the words are projecting out of me like word vomit.

I’m finding something very comforting in Ketta’s new blog and Elizabeth’s new blog. (See what I mean… blogs are the new ‘it’ thing, except ‘again’ because blogs were a big thing the early 2000s).

Let’s go dancing. Let’s forget I have a million and one things to say. Let’s forget to feel deeply. Let’s feel lightly. Let’s? Except there is no us. Only me.

Here’s where I’m tempted to make a joke and insert a reference to the fucking “300 sandwiches” story in the news as of late.

Gahgaaahhhhh… I think too much, I feel too much, I observe too much, I know too much, I speak too much, I write too much. I’m over-encumbered by the excess threatening to weigh me down and no matter how much I spill along the way I’m still staggering. Just… TOO MUCH, yannoe? And yet nothing is ever enough?

This weekend honestly can’t come soon enough. I’m going to see the friend that has caused me to avoid ALL MY OTHER FRIENDS FOR THREE WEEKS. But without social interactions my brain starts to melt into a pile of self-confusion and doubt. The tension is mounting high. But I haven’t had any social interaction for about three weeks and my soul is starting to crumble and decay.

I feel like watching In The Mood for Love or My Blueberry Nights or Melancholia. Something poignant that will leave me feeling as broken as I already am. <3

My melodramatic writing style never eeeeends.

Anyway, I’m out. I have to return some video tapes.

Shouting At The Rain

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I tried to sell my soul a million times
But never got an offer
No, never heard a word return out of the dark
But I would throw my voice

Maybe I just haven’t got the goods
Maybe I’ve forgotten
The way to find the peace in me
Down below, down below

But I hope that we can find it
Yeah, I hope that we can find it
Yeah, I hope that I can
Get back to the way I was
Back before we knew what I’d become

I know everything’s less
But with a steady hand
I can fix myself among the men
Among the men

I tried to give you all I had to give
But you just wouldn’t take it
No, you wouldn’t hear the words I cried out in the dark
Cause you had turned away

So maybe I still haven’t got the goods
Maybe you’ve forgotten
The way to see the peace in me
That’s buried down below, down below
But I hope that you can find it

Yeah, I hope that we can find it
Yeah, I hope that we can find it
Yeah, I hope that we can find it

I hope that I can
Get back to the way I was
Back before we knew what I’d become
But I hope that we can find it
Get back to the way I was
Back before we knew what I’d become