Hello Diary,

I'm still here, just not very much to say. I guess one of the biggest things is that I am ashamed. I feel like I have no right to be down in the dumps about all this, when so many other people are going through much more horrible things.

Minimizing and invalidating my own feelings.

I feel ashamed at being "rejected". So I guess there is a part of me that gets the message there is something wrong with me for not being able to 'keep someone interested'. Rational logic says it's something going on with him, but I keep forgetting that.

So I am ashamed about being rejected and then I am also ashamed at feeling bad for being rejected. Somehow I have come to believe that I should just "get over it" and stop moping around and bothering everyone else with my misery.

That could be the script for my entire life, I suppose. I was always given the message that my emotions and feelings were "too much" and too self-indulgent. The question was always, "Aren't you over this yet?" So this is the critical voice I am hearing in my head.

Plus, as I said before, I don't want a lot of unsupportive or inane feedback. I don't want to hear anyone tell me, "You're going to be okay," not because it isn't true-- I know it's true. But the truth is I don't feel okay NOW. And it feels insulting to my intelligence, and kind of minimizing, for someone to project what it's going to be like for me in the future. I know that probably doesn't make sense. But I'm figuring it out. My whole childhood, which I neglect to mention the bulk of here, consisted of my body and my mind being used and manipulated completely by others. Without going into detail, let's just say I was never given a choice. So nothing ever felt like mine. That is why I am so sensitive to people's strong opinions and such. I have such a hard time holding onto myself, and I feel like sometimes other people can take things away from me. My hopes. My dreams. My feelings. My experiences. That is why I feel like I have to be really careful about who I talk to.

Other pressures I put on myself: that I should be doing something more valuable with all this time alone. Instead of feeling sad, isolating and watching movies and reading books. What am I supposed to be doing? I don't know. Going out. Talking to people. Dancing? Who knows.

I am reluctant to give myself the space and time to heal the way I need to. To cut myself a break. After all, this is a big part of my life. And just in the way of this separation, my life has changed in a huge huge way. That's something that we all wish we could forget about, but it's not that easy. Especially when one doesn't drink.

I also seem to lack the ability to trust what is going on. I don't want to let go, that is true. I also don't want Frank to be miserable. I think of all these things about him that I don't want to lose. Not just emotional things, like his heart, sense of humor, and aspects of his personality that I like-- but also his physical being, his handsomeness, his physique, his (dare I say it?) cock. Damn. I miss physical intimacy a great deal...

I seem to be running on some kind of scarcity model. That is part of the script I play out in every aspect of my life. For instance, even though this job sucks, I have been reluctant to leave because on some level, I fear that it is the last job I will ever have... or even though it sucks it will be the BEST job I have ever had. Same with men.

The last guy I went out with, who was a total prick (which I worked really hard not to see, since everyone who came into contact with him, men AND woman, all thought he was a total prick), didn't even want any kind of emotional connection with me. He was tortured the entire time because he kept trying to justify, aloud (and in his head, I'm sure) why he was with me. The whole time I was afraid he would leave... I kept thinking if I just had more time, I could work some magic and make him love me... but I was always afraid. Afraid that he was the best I was going to get, so I shouldn't let him go.

I love sex so much that I even fell in love with his penis too, and mourned its passing... part of me convinced I would never find another that I liked so much.

Well of course I met Frank and everything about him was better better better.

My point is, if this doesn't work out, I should have faith that it's for a reason. And that he/this is not necessarily the peak of my existence. That there can be other lovers, other men whom I will think are gorgeous, with beautiful bodies and cocks that will please me.

But I don't think that way.

I'm running on the scarcity model. Which is really scary. And makes me crazy. It especially kicks in when I feel rejected.

I'll tell you all about that next entry.

Love,

Duck

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