| why, might you ask, after months of dormancy has my demon of a xanga come back to life? what else? personal problems!!! it's nothing new to post your latest angsty episodes on xanga. it's kind of expected. which is why i quit writing, because i didn't really feel like the world needed to know about how i hate my english teacher and want to die. (i don't.) but like Jesus on a dewey Easter morn, it's been resurrected! for that same purpose. but now i'll talk in cryptic code so you don't know what i'm talking about! Hah! everyone wants to be loved, but it's not good enough to be loved; everyone wants to be constantly reminded that they are loved. especially those of us with deep-seeded insecurities from our parents (god damn you Mom and Dad!). so, people have these desires to see affirmations of themselves in physical form- we keep love letters and cards and ticket stubs from dates because they remind us that at one point, at one time in our lives, someone cared enough about us to buy a Hallmark and write, "love, betty" inside. the clincher comes when you fall back on the physical tokens because it can be collected and organized and labeled as evidence, and then you overlook the emotional and mental. it should count for something that not only did betty give you a card, but she sits closer to you than anyone else, and she always remembers to invite you to lunch, and she comes to see you not for any purpose, but just because she wants to hear about your day. and i guess you could write those things in a list and put the list on your wall, but people dont notice those things as much. even when you notice them, you consider them transient. maybe tomorrow betty won't stop by, and then she'll have stopped loving you, and what will you have to show for it except dirty shoeprints on your doorstep? and if someone comes by and asks, so how are things between you and betty, it's always more satisfying to show them honest-to-god Betty's handwriting that says "love" rather than her shoeprints. Even when someone sends you all the flowers and baskets and physical nothings that make you feel better, there can still be an emptiness, a void inside you that says, come on now, Betty doesn't really love you, she's just satisfying some deep urges within herself for the stability that comes from being in a relationship And that's when you tell that voice to shut the fuck up and let Betty do what she wants. But it's hard. You can't help feeling like you failed Betty. Like, maybe if you were different, she would love you for who YOU are, and not just for the fact that you met and liked each other's taste in music. And that spirals you into more insecurity, henceforth, requiring more physical tokens of love. So, it's time to hitch up your pants and be brave; squish that paranoid voice like you're Star Wars at the box office. You'll never know for sure if Betty is in love for real, take her word for it. She loves you, even if you don't have a photo album of close up kissy faces to prove it. p.s. hormones reek havoc on one's emotions. i blame at least 46% of this entry on birth control. |
