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As of Wednesday,
Tomorrow -- I will have been fucked up for a week.

Tick, tick, tick.

I went to confront Jay, on Monday. He'd caught the family flu, so he wasn't in. Linds and Adam were there, Adam being the shopkeep for the day. I kept trying to get out of there. I felt really deflated about Jay not being there; I'd prepped beforehand: taking a piss, calming my hair. I'd calmed down over the weekend.

Do I really feel sorry for him, as I keep claiming now?

I'm still running various scenarios through my head about getting down to 'the talk' about why he's been hitting on me. Mostly, I kind of think he's going to get pissed at me. I think I might freak out somehow. Most opinions I get are that guys hit on women to make them feel better.

I don't feel better.

I'm horrified about the prospect of losing Jay out of my life. I can't handle the idea of him actually making a move, either -- but, would he, really?

A big part of me, the abused-girl one, keeps saying, "But, man: I'm so ugly, and pathetic; there's nothing to hit on."

The gay side says, "Eww.. Jay-kissy-face." For me, it's more the intent, the talk, and the initial stuff that gross me out. I puke for the first few blowjobs. I stop getting nauseous during sex eventually. The resentment, the pain, and the depression never go away. Mostly, sex with men is just boring and sad. (Think back to Big-D, when I fantasized that we were really just hugging, so that I could keep my mind off how little I enjoyed getting humped.)

The rational side screams, "MAN, HE DOESN'T WANNA FUCK YOU. HE PROLLY THINKS YOU'RE KIND OF A CUTE DIPSHIT."

Some random side says, "Man. That's kind of flattering, a guy that spiffy, in to me? I'm gay, he's married -- complicated."

It seems there is no easy consensus.

I still feel really edgy about seeing him again. If there's people in the store, will he ask them to leave? Will he wait? Can I?

A little part of me hopes that when I stroll in, things will be a-okay. Business as usual. Chums, first and foremost. Is this a pathetic, girly wish?

I put my shitty snapshot of him up. I keep passing it, my head stalling.

My belly's coming back. I'm depressed as fuck. My days are getting progressively unbearable all over. I'm debating double-dosing my antidepressant. I don't quite dare.

On the bright side, my councellor and her art therapist assistant are going to try to hunt me down a therapist.

I fucking need a therapist.

I'm hanging on by bare threads.

I'm down to a, "Why the fuck am I alive?" mentality. My life is meaningless, my progress shot down at every level. Shit's always falling down. I'm living in a perpetual state of stress. If it's not one thing, it's another. I'm a miserable fuck. My happiness is nil; I have no one to count on.

I couldn't even call my mom today, to ask for a hug.

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Circa 2010