Sobriety

Well the morning brings far more sadness than I could have expected. I wake up at 3am, wide awake, and freezing. I read for my phone and see that I have a text message. It’s from KB, who’s name I guess I finally feel less paranoid to write, Adrian.

Goodnight ******.

He drove me home after I threatened to drive myself, it was a long drive. I kissed him on the cheek goodbye, and goodbye for good. It was a kiss of apology and remorse, but set intention. Then I gathered my things and stumbled through my parents’ door. I did not look back until I heard the screech of his tires rounding the corner.

Thankfully mom and dad were out, and my sister was at the kitchen counter. I drank more, vodka and some nasty carbonated concoction, getting progressively more intoxicated and sounding off. I spout how I was happier, that I was over his shit, that he was pathetic and selfish and how I never wanted to be with him again. I was free dammit!

But this morning is so sober and harsh. My skull is pounding. Even in my drunken state, I managed to fall asleep wrapped in the fleece jacket he loaned me last night. I pull it tighter around me and cry silently, feeling sorry for myself. I already miss Adrian fiercely, I’ve often heard the first night stings like no other, and I wonder if he was struggling too.

My mom has to drive me back to his house to pick up my abandoned jeep. I cross my fingers, and thankfully i have indeed missed him. He’s already at work. I told my coworker we broke up last night, and she said she hoped work wouldn’t be weird.

I told her she was a heartless bitch.

I won’t make it weird. I’m going to get all of my tears out of the way in private, I’m following a set schedule I found to get over  breakup:

Day 1:Throw a pity party for one

I did that last night. I devoured a pizza with my sister, went on an absinthe bender, then vodka, then my soapbox. My poor sis.

So now we’re on Day 2: Live in denial.

So that one’s been going a little rough, seeing as I show up to the dentist and as soon as they’ve got nitrous oxide on my nose and bon iver in my ears I burst into tears. Yeah, I hate the dentist, it scares me back into my 7-year-old frame of mind, but I also was just hit with such sorrow and loneliness. After I no longer felt floaty or that I might bite the dentist’s hand off out of rage, I go to the bathroom and weep. With a goddamned numb cheek. Feeling sorry for myself again, pretty pathetic.

So now we’re doing a little better. I’m in a starbucks just people watching. There is this cute lesbian working, and I know she’s seen the equality sticker on my laptop. She’s really nice and flirtatious, sweeping way too long next to my table and I am secretly so grateful, it makes me feel wanted. I’m still wearing Adrian’s fleece…

My mom calls all worried, she knows I’m covering up most of this, and she knows I freak at the dentist. It’s quite embarrassing. I try to tell her, with a dumb voice through my sleeping cheek that I can’t really talk. She offers to pick up stuff from the store, movies from the store, do I want to bake, do I want to go to a movie?

“Mom, dhank you tha’s very sfweet. I need a couple u hours, okay?”

“Okay sweetie, text me.”

I appreciate her fussing, but it’s not helpful in the sense of pushing forward. I’m kind of mad at myself for crying so fuckin much, I mean come ON. I’m reading all these articles online from these awesome women with suggestions on how to overcome this kinda thing. Travel, become a gym rat, don’t bend to nostalgia, remind yourself of all of his faults, get even, reinvent, etc.

Sounds good to me. I also resolve to stay off the absinthe unless I’m painting, which is pretty good motivation if you ask me. And NEVER EAT AGAIN. The heartache destroys my appetite, as well as this goddamned aching jaw and numb cheek.

I shove on my earphones, blast Moby, and pull myself together. Pull myself out of that fairytale turned nightmare.

I think he’ll try to get back together with me, but that’s what all unhappy couples do, they ignore the fact that they’re NOT RIGHT FOR EACH OTHER because they love each other, and enter the miserable make-up/break-up carousel. Of course I love him, but…

you know the rest.

-B

Fuck you, you Fucking Fuck

I broke up with KB precisely eleven minutes ago.

I have had approximately 4 shots of absinthe, in order to get to this point of clairvoyance.

You know what he is doing? Playing goddamned grand theft auto.

He drank the last of the absinthe, even though I said I wanted it. I paid for it.

I am too drunk to tell you how mad I am, save for the fact that I hate being stuck here with him. He is a selfish, absorbed, inconsiderate, cold, arrogant asshole, and I never want to look at him again.

Friends? Haha, no. You can be friends with the angler fish at the bottom of the sea, since that’s how you live your life.

And you know your roommate who blacks out all the time? How hides pain behind a bottle? I feel more sorry for him than you, he buries deep unhappiness, you create your own out of the world not being to your standards. And I think he’s sexy, and muscular, and mysterious, and more MANLY THAN YOU CAN EVER HOPE TO BE. He’s not a three year old in a 24-year-old body.

You just asked me to order a pizza, when I KNOW you will eat the majority of it. FUCK YOU. I’m waiting until I’m sober and then texting my sister, and I will order a pizza for us. And drink to your demise.

I’ll show you what you just tossed aside, I’ll show you, you fucking fuck. I hope you end up with a beautiful mindless docile bimbo, and reflect on it in your fifties, and realize you’re like every other sellout out there. The road is calling me, and I am all too happy to follow.

Hasta LAAAAAA Vista.

Fuck I’m going to be drunk here for a while.

Bad Girl Blues

138.0

You’d think I’d be screaming but I’m not. I’m sure it will go back down by the end of my slew of double shifts, because I’m running around like crazy and not eating anything but an egg white Subway sandwich in the morning, and coffee. It was mostly because my gay friend and I caught up at fucking Red Robin and gorged ourselves. Total loss of control. IAMAFUCKINGIDIOT.

I have to lose five pounds before Wednesday to keep on track…ouch.

No, I’m not screaming, I’m sitting in the doctor’s office because I think I have a UTI. It hurts to piss so fucking bad, and the doc is sort of looking at me suspiciously. I told him my boyfriend gave me an STI at the beginning of the summer, so he hands over the pills for the urinary but is sending it out to cross check for FUCKING CHLAMYDIA too.

Which I can only say I will throw myself on the ground in a fit of childish sobs because KB and I had the full round of treatment, which means in order to give it to me he would have had to fuck another girl again, this time when we’re “committed” and all I can fixate on is how he just spent time in Denver…

Goddammit.

On that front we were actually doing better. I started to let all of his deprecating behavior go, actually I started to enjoy it, because I began to fantasize in the BDSM realm again, like I’m his little slut and I love when he punishes me and neglects me.

After two shots of absinthe last night I give him a full massage, asking him to tell me what to do, instruct me. He’s too polite at first, but starts to get it, gently telling rather than asking. I refuse to let myself stop until he orders it of me. I ask if I’ve been a good girl.

“What babe?”

“Have I been a good girl? You don’t need to thank me, just tell me I’ve been I good girl. I like that more,” and this is definitely the absinthe talking.

“Yeah baby, you’ve been a good girl.”

And my body feels a warm rush.

Granted, I told him about my kinks when we first were having sex and he would have none of it. He said they’re wrong and mentally ill and not wholesome (what is exactly his definition of wholesome?). But…since then he’s warmed up to the idea of spanking me and biting me hard and flipping me around the bed, which is great, but it only makes me want more, harder, sharper.

I still have teeth mark bruises all over my thighs and my left butt cheek is freckled with broken blood vessels. I love them. They are proof I’ve been marked. Taken.

I walk around the local sex shop for hours yesterday, challenging my Catholic learned insecurity, I’m just so fucking horny. I used to be so ashamed of even thinking about sex, but now I just see it as a full extension of myself. I imagine having casual intercourse with a bunch of random people, men and women.

But my plan is to slowly find out if KB can dominate me, if I can convince him to like bondage and restraint and pain play and all of the things I love.

I buy a pair of leather chain cuffs, although I know he won’t be up for that for a long time. Still I like to collect them. I already have a couple of toys, but I grow more and more curious about all of the gadgets and such as I browse the store. Just shopping gives me an animalistic rush, I mean they have an anal plug that looks like a fox tail. How cute is that?

He loves underwear, so I decide to pick out a few naughty pairs and a tight corset. I want to play a little hard to get, so I’ll withhold sex for a few days and then when we’re watching a movie or sitting on the couch I’ll kneel in front of him, look up with my big blue eyes, and innocently ask if I can service him.

I’ll ask him to please bend me over the couch and take me hard. And I plan on slowly inserting my submissiveness from there, I’ll keep you updated…

[THAT IS OF COURSE UNLESS HE CHEATED ON ME.]

I have a profile on Fetlife, which is essentially facebook for kinksters, and there are plenty of local Dominants who are dead gorgeous. I’m so tempted…just to feel the high, just to know what it’s like to be with another man. Maybe it would be so much better. And my vixen like resentment grows, saying of course you should give yourself to another more masculine male, he most likely cheated on you kid. Why are you in denial? He’s done it before!

But my test isn’t back yet, so I don’t have the proof…I’ll wait.

So for the rest of the day I think I’ll shower enough to NOT look ill, and maybe go back to the sex shop to have more me time. I can’t call into work because I’m the only fucking bartender and the place is dependent on me…I should really get a raise.

Just Give Me Wings

137.4

The thought that I will actually make it to 136 this week hits me hard. It’s a euphoric feeling, but hopefully it’s not just from dehydration. My calories topped at just below 800 yesterday after drinking. 4 shots of absinthe, and suddenly a night of moodiness with KB transforms into an evening of unaware bliss.

“I need to get a little trashed tonight baby…” I say.

He looks at me with concern, “Why?”

“I just do, I have a lot on my mind…I’m just anxious and hopeless and stuck.”

“Okay baby, I’ll take care of you…I mean, be here for you, I know you can take care of yourself. Just tell me if it’s about us, okay?”

“Okay,” I lie.

He’s being sweet tonight, which makes it so hard to be angry with him, or to leave. We were supposed to go out with friends, and I was really looking forward to going to the city and forgetting things for a while, even on KB’s arm.

I walk into the house and he’s in the same running shorts he’s worn for three days to work. He’s not showered or anything and I spent a considerable amount of time getting ready for him, trying to look pretty. I’m wearing my tight grey skinnies that are starting to look marvelous on my ass, and a yellow v-neck I got from a lingerie shop in town. It’s soft and feminine and I feel incredibly sexy.

I’m texting our friends for details and I ask if he’s all set to go. Yep he says. My heart sinks a little.

They end up bailing on us and here we sit on this couch again, KB’s drinking beer with our coworker, which is fine and all, except we do it every weekend. We never go anywhere. Still haven’t been on an official date…and I had hopes this time. Wonderful.

He’s being playful and poking me, giggling like a kid and I’m annoyed. He goes out for a smoke, which he knows I hate, and I get up and leave. I need to drive somewhere.

Where are you?

I stare at the text with disdain.

Picking up D. Let me know if you guys want pizzas or anything.

I drive around for a bit, and end up at a Subway. I order a black coffee and a small egg white thing, because I want to eat but not fucking pizza. Then I end up at the liquor store. My mother somehow psychically knows when I walk into a liquor store because she calls.

I’m wandering around like an idiot, looking for hard cider or something to bring back to the house, talking to my mother about my frustrations with the boy. The shop owners are looking more and more annoyed by the second, but I don’t care, I need to bitch to my mum.

“Would you consider dating a boy from church honey? There is this nice boy who’s back to visit from Fort Collins, he’s an engineer. I think it might be a 180 degree turn from what you’re experiencing now.”

I hang up with her and immediately KB calls, asking for Jager for he and his buddy. I know they won’t pay me back, but I get it anyway. I finally splurge on more absinthe too, it’s the only thing I’ll drink anymore and the last 750 I bought by myself KB drained on his own. I know he won’t replace that either. Whatever.

I hadn’t been drinking as of late, to cut calories mostly, but tonight I decide I need to get fucked up. I’m so disappointed I just need the green fairy, like my fairy godmother, to grant me a little peace.

So that is how the night went, I got progressively more intoxicated, but the kind of jovial carefree inebriation that gives astonishing clarity. Rather than sit with KB and put up with his stupid south park jokes, I hang out with our coworker’s daughter. We watch disney channel, which I can enjoy much more because the absinthe is making me childlike.

When KB takes me home I lay on his lap and we watch the Swedish version of Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, one of my favorites. The words are too fucking blurry and I know I’m about to pass out. I caress KB’s face, kiss him softly, and fall asleep.

The night is buried in unreliable memory. I dream of new territories and romantic escapes. Of flying far far away. Even in sleep I know I’m growing lighter physically, so perhaps I will.

I wake to the worst headache of my life.

Reality is pretty damn devoid of fairy dust.

A Week of Rain and Green Fairies

141.2

By my standards, by the hour glass that sat so condemning in my mind, I have failed. I was supposed to be 115 by now, with eyes on a new terrain as the winter ghosts begin to settle back in this damned city. Summer held many things, but the fates have kept what I so long for still.

I’m sitting in the house I have been renting since May. I like the conditions now, empty, with the whole of it to myself. It’s not that I hate my roommates (with perhaps an exception of one) but the stillness is much more preferable to my nerves.

I’m not sure where to start, so I suppose I should just get on with it: I have worked nearly the entire summer, missing the chances to lounge and read outside, to explore the green landscape, to sigh in the shade and brown in the sun, to write and record. But with the hard earned wages I bought my most prized possession, a little black sportster motorcycle who I affectionately call Zelda. I feel most happy, most free, when I ride her, and fast. But winter will kill us both…

KB and I fought all summer, back and forth, and kissed, and then I gave my virginity to him, under a blanket of stars in the forest, under a full moon. It was perfect in every way. And between bitter letters and tear-felt goodbyes he finally asked if I would be his girlfriend, and I said yes.

This is a heavy matter, of which how am I to articulate? I love him dearly, how he makes me laugh and feel small, how he likes my strange and cooks me wonderful things and calls me precious. But I also hate him, the way he needs me, chains me, has opinions about me. How he wishes my hair was long and dark and my legs could keep up with him on his runs. How he scoffs at my liberal views and hairstyles, how he angers so over minor things like misplacing a screw or a pair of sunglasses.

I want to kiss him and get him a dog.

I want to write an ominous letter and disappear on the wings of a plane.

We fuck too much and drink too much and converse too little. We fell in love with absinthe: I for the creative buzz and mysterious lore, he for the alcohol percentage and possible hallucinogenic quality.

All summer we have been under the green fairy’s spell, and I fear it is nearly up. I am not ever supposed to drink on this medication, and yet nearly every night we are delirious with its power, swimming in her smile, making juvenile love beneath her emerald gaze.

But as winter nears, I cling to him. How else will I survive?

I have already given my 60 day notice to move out, and in my earlier plans it was to elope with myself to a near endless summer. But I will most likely find a place closer to work, closer to KB. I am filled with romance and dread in the same amounts, they stew in my chest.

I can not move back in with my parents though, that would be my end.

I started writing again because I have finally had an entire week off (to miss it) and there is so much to tell you. I just cannot in such short space. It has rained all week, granting me the introspection to realize I have lost sight of my own goals, that I spend too much time with my boyfriend.

I need to be crazy and small and eccentric and independent again. So I am goal setting and strategizing my survival plan again. I am dating the man I lusted after so, but now I need him to lust after me. I still wish to be ethereal.

Ana and Krishna will be back within days. I have not painted all summer, despite my winter works being featured in a gallery (which KB could care less about I imagine).

They will fly north to nurse me through the cold months.