I don't normally go emo like this, but I think I finally need to vent.

I've been having a lot of trouble over the last couple of weeks. Inside. I've just felt so...trapped. Caught between life, death and oblivion. It's gotten so damn hard to drag myself out of bed, and it gets even harder with each passing morning. That's because, as each day pass me by, it's almost like I can see this torment dancing, whirling, around me. Every time I open my eyes, I see nothing but loss-one loss right after another.

You know, when things started, I was so fucking happy. He felt so damn right for me. Sure, I've had plenty of moments in our relationship that I felt like everything was going to crumble to dust and blow between my fingers. But they always passed us by, they were always so impermanent and fleeting. And when they finally ended, I was happy again.

But now, I'm not sure anymore. The only thing feeling I can sort out coherently, from the tumultuous mass of mortality that drowns me, is that I feel like I've been lied to. Not even by Master, but by the universe. It feels as though I've been carefully herded down this particular road, meticulously led down this one path, and given the thing that brings me the most joy above all others...just so that I may, once again, be stripped of it. All of these leaves me feeling as though I have less now, after having my heart broken so many times over the years, than I did when I was more than happy to be spiteful and live all alone. My heart can help but feel left stark naked and bleed; my soul seems so vulnerable and exposed, and I can feel the burning tear that the claws of the beast of Life have left upon it.

And, truth be told, I find myself reverting to old mannerisms I used to hold. Mannerisms I had struggled so hard to rid myself of. I find myself becoming disgusted by how greatly this one person can hurt me-by doing what I asked of him. When I look in the mirror, an all-too-familiar boiling rage blisters my veins and flesh. But I'm not angry with him. I tried to be. I tried to express the feelings of hurt and vulnerability I had been left with in poetry. I think the shreds of that sheet of paper are still in a school waste-bin. I tried to be angry with him, but I love him too much; I only end up breaking down, yet still unable to shed the tears which flood me. No, I'm angry with myself for letting someone worm his way this deep inside of me.

Perhaps things wouldn't be so bad, if I hadn't wanted to be his so badly. I was such the good little submissive. At least, I tried to be. I gave him everything I could, and did everything I could think of to bring a smile to his face. The only thing I ever wanted was to have my love returned-for him to sweep me off my feet, take me to his abode and keep me forever. Nothing made me happier than serving him and making him happy in every way I could.

Now it feels like I've been used. And no, not by him, but by life. It feels like I've always been used-in my heart, I mean. Sometimes, my purpose is simply to fix that which is broken. Other times, it is to be the conjoining force that brings two people together. But in the end, it doesn't matter why this always happens, only that it does. Without fail, time leaves me behind in the shadows of the past and I find myself alone again. People find better paths to follow, paths that I cannot tread with them. It wouldn't hurt so much if it wasn't constant, and guaranteed. It wouldn't hurt so much if I knew where my own path was headed.

Maybe it's not that they always take paths that I cannot follow. Maybe its that I always follow the roads of the abandoned martyr, where others cannot stay by my side.

All of this has me so confused. So hurt. So...dead. I feel like every bit of who I've bleed to become is slipping away, like a mask that's cracking while I still wear it. It's just been so hard to keep doing things that used to be so easy. My inspiration is gone. I've stopped going to classes altogether. I've lost all ability to care when I get in trouble at school. More and more, my punctuality suffers.

But worse than this? After exploring the depths of who I am at this point in time, I find myself utterly repulsed by the idea of ever caring about any of these things, which have suffered because of this depression, again.

The kicker? All of this is because of me. Because I can't just leave well enough the fuck alone, and have to keep prodding things until I break them. Everything that's happening to me, is because I wouldn't accept "I don't know right now" as an answer.

And...it kills me. I also find it so fucking poetically ironic. That it is my own capacity for love that has destroyed my relationships each and every time. Hell, I'm doing it even now! Even knowing that my relationship with the one man in the world who, to this point, means the most to me is already on unstable ground, I'm still chasing after others.

I told him that I could not deny myself. That I could not ignore my heart. That I was not someone who only loved one person at a time, nor was I someone who would rebuke the way I feel for others. So I suppose I've brought all of this on myself. The woes of living polyamory. The dangers of dating a monogamous soul, no matter how much you may love them.

What makes all of this the more damning? Even if he does leave me, as he's vaguely threatened to... I'm still going to be so loyal to him. I'll still be his Pet, even if only in my heart and mind.

OMFG.

I am made of anger and hate right now.

EVERYTHING. IT'S ALL GONE.

Bookmarks. Cookies.

EVEN MY FUCKING EMAIL.

All of it, just gone.

Poof.

Without a fucking trace.

No warning, nothing.

I'm back to square one again.

FOR NO REASON.

Talk to me.

Go ahead, you know you want to.

Add me to your IM's.

Talk to me.

I'm lonely.

Do it. Do it now!

That's right. Just click the button.

It's very easy.

Go for it.

I don't bite.

So, I can't help but wonder.

Is poetry, or any form of literature for that matter, truly a "Dead Art" on DA?

I mean, don't misunderstand me. I've never been one who's on board with the whole idea of "OMGINEEDMOARVIEEEEEEEEEEEEWS!" stupidity, but I've noticed that writing really does seem to get the short end of the stick here. On average, forms of literature get drastically fewer views than works of visual art.

So, why do you think that is?

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On a totally unrelated note.

OMFG, WHY DIDN'T ANYONE EVER TELL ME PROJECT ORIGIN CAME OUT!?

DAMN. I need to get my hands on that. Fuck Persues Mandate. <3

WARNING

Some may find this journal entry offensive to their sensibilities, uncomfortable to read or just plain vindictive (though that is the last thing from my mind; the purpose is simply for me to rant). Especially those who have personal involvement. Read on at your own risk, but don't say I didn't warn you.
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So, here I find myself.

Where is that, you might ask.

Hell. Or so it would seem. Maybe this is the path of my salvation. If it is, fuck salvation. I don't want it. it isn't worth what it's costing me. Although, honesty demands that I admit; it is entirely possible that this is a Hell of my own design.

What is this Hell, you might ask.

Well, what; do you think that the game of Love is all laughter, smile, and happy-go-fucking-lucky time? No, I suspect most of you know better. And for those of you who don't; I hope you never have to learn that integral truth. At least not like I did. Ignorance, I suppose, truly can be bliss in some cases. But I'm rambling on, and beginning to lose my point.

I've come to a realization today. This realization is more like an epiphany. One of those shining, brilliant moments of glorious, divine understanding that no amount of mortal frailty can hide it. No amount of human weakness will give me a candle-cap to lower over this Ghost of Christmas Past.

What epiphany might this be, you might ask.

The epiphany that I am...stuck. Lost in an emotional rut. I realized that my love life has completely halted. For the first time since I entered the dating scene, I'm going absolutely fucking nowhere.

The man I have, isn't near me. He can't even come to me; or maybe he won't. He says he loves me, and I want to believe him, I really do, but I just don't know how much I truly believe from anyone who says that anymore. It's nothing personal against him; he hasn't given me any reason to doubt his word. Quite the opposite, in fact. It's just that, I can't tell the difference anymore; between whether he can't, or he won't.

The woman I had, I lost. In both ways, to myself; in both ways, because of who I am. Partly because a part of who I am, a part of me I could never sacrifice or ignore, could not bring her comfort; if anything, it made her uncomfortable. Partly because, in knowing that discomfort she suffered, that damned selflessness inside of me could not bear to ask her to stay.

And out of the women I want?

One won't touch me, because she can't stand the fact that she couldn't "be enough" to "fulfill me". Fuck that shit. If you're going to not be able to date me because you'd be too damned jealous, just say that. Don't say that and then go on to try and make your excuses prettier. The veils cast by that are so transparent, my eyes refuse to see them.

Another says she wants to be with me, but when the time comes for her to make the choice; she folds. She says it isn't fair to let her mother rule her decisions, since she's an adult, but she has yet to grow the courage to do anything about it. I love her; I really do. But I don't know how much more of this back-and-forth I can take.

And the last? Well, I think it's time I admitted that there's nothing there to be had. Perhaps it's cynical, jaded and bitter of me, but I've already had my fill of relationships that go nowhere. I'm done with my one-time's, my never-gonna'-be-serious' and I'm just downright done with relationships that are doomed to collapse before they even begin. Even if she should, miraculously, fall in love with me one day; so what? It's not like she's going to stay with me. And no matter how deep the feelings we share, or might share, they are meaningless if no one's willing to commit.

In the end, I suppose my problem is that I'm too fucking particular. I want to many specifics. I ask for too much. Instead of just taking what I can get, I demand that it be serious and long-term. Instead of just chewing the bone I'm given, I demand that it hold true sustenance, true substance.

My problem is that I've run all out of childhood, far beyond my time. I used up all my kiddie years ages ago, and now I can't just sit back and let myself enjoy the moment. It's always gotta' be about what's coming next, what's around the corner, what am I going to do in the future.

Should I just sit down and force myself to learn to be content with what has been handed to me? This question keeps penetrating my thoughts, preventing me from concentrating on anything else. Is it time that I just said "alright" to these bullshit, empty, hallow hook-ups that will only carve out a deeper hole inside of me?

Tch.

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In other, completely unrelated news, I signed up for PolyMatchMaker. Yay. More chances to fuck myself over, and flaunt things before myself that I can't have. Though, I guess it won't much matter, since I still haven't gotten the validation email.

XD

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At any rate.

Hey, Life. Yeah, you, you stupid cow. See that mood choice? Yeah, that's right. Fuck you. I'm so not impressed right now.