Stoic_Slaughter's journal

A lot has happened since I last posted.

I've been raped and physically abused by a real creep of a guy. Considering that it was my only sexual experience (and when I say only, I mean that I wasn't just a virgin; I was a VESTAL virgin), I'm pretty traumatized. Every time I think about sex now, I want to puke. My parents have divorced, my mother is re-married, both of my parents are moving out of the state, and I haven't lived with either for almost two years. I nearly offed myself and ended up in a mental hospital last November.

I love my father and he loves me, but he is so ill that I can't be around him for more than two days without losing my mind over how sad it is that such a wonderful man has to be so sick.

I want very desperately to love my mother, but whenever I try, she seems to take advantage of it and use me for slave labor. She's a vile woman.

I pushed the love of my life away a million times and said pretty rotten things about him and to him...

but...

somehow he knew better, and we're together now and doing better than we ever have.

I'm in consistent therapy with a licensed psychologist. I had been seeing a "counselor" who I thought was a psychologist... but he turned out to be a touchy-feely, "bring in revealing photographs" creep.

I've learned a lot in the past few years.

More than anything, I've learned not to take anyone else's crap, not to tell lies, not to be gullible, and that my true self is worth love.

What other people think of me does not necessarily reflect who I am, and it certainly doesn't dictate it.

I'm a brave person, and I am driven away by cowardice. I am creative, empathic, intelligent, beautiful, and rather hopefully in love.

And I'm okay.

God, life is weary. Life is tiresome. Life is unbearable.

My boyfriend is Mormon, and he is an absolute saint. He wears white often, his eyes are cloudy with purpose, and he's always thinking of drastic ways to help the world. I've peeked around his room on countless occasions, looking for anything that would suggest a journal layout; any... paragraph or sonnet or sentence that might reveal something, ANYTHING I don't already know about him, and everything I've ever read or seen has been about God. Part of it is girlish fancy that I might come across something that said, "Audrey looked radiant tonight," or, "I love the way she sneezes," or, "There isn't anyone I'd rather be with." These things are common truths to me anyway, and I don't distrust that he feels these things because he expresses them verbally often, but I suppose we're just different people. When I think about something frequently, I write it down. I have journals of years of pages of thoughts about my boyfriend in addition to my expressions of verbal love or my physical affection, not out of obligation, but out of compulsion. I've gotten positively dizzy over his appearance so many times that I can't even think straight. I believe in God, surely I do, but I'm not Mormon and I don't have much of a Christian background. Why the hell is he with me? We've been at this thing for years, and he's not perfect by any means, but God is his life. God above everything else. I don't want to put God above everything else, I just want to see God in everything.

I guess I just feel like I'm fighting a losing battle. If it comes down to me and God, God's got a lot more to offer, and he might be a little smarter than I am, too. Maybe stronger. Why would I lose my love over God? Isn't God.. love, after all?

Dear mister boring...
It's been a while since your last letter, this is true. I guess you're right about a few things. Maybe you wouldn't be so right if you weren't so beautiful, huh? Is that the hook, or is it your essence? That's been my question all along, I think. I look at you and I love you then, so it's got to be something more shallow than I'd like to think. How I miss you, mister boring. You've got the loveliest arms and the sweetest words I've ever experienced, and you've always been there when I've needed you. Now you're gone, and you've been gone for such a while, and I should be able to leave it all. I actually ran from you, physically, straight for someone else... or a few others, I suppose. But what of my mind? My chest has never had so many holes in it at once, and I am distraught to discover that mindless affection means nothing. There are others who I might love... who might, in turn, love me... but I know, I know, mister. I know the situation is wrong, or the timing is off, or they lived in some other lifetime with some other gal and pined for me innocently, but it's YOU, isn't it?

It's always you.
It'll always be you.

Oh, the tragic affairs of the beautiful.

I'm amazed at how I can't save myself from inner torment over things that are irrelevant to genetics or chemicals. I must admit that I always have an inner fear of losing the things that keep me alive, and it's physical and terrible and nothing can assuage it. It's a tremendous, perpetual tension in my chest... but how far have I stumbled from the blatant, bleak truth that my physical form can exist as long as its physical needs are met? My mind is resilient and when I am thrown into the worst situations imaginable, I always come out all right, but the fear comes from acknowledgement of the constants in my view. Those constants are the things that help me, aren't they? Without them, I would be lost completely because I would have no point of reference. All of this comes from the questions that have been permeating my thought process. "Can you make it without this person? Are you strong enough on your own? What would happen if this person died? It's possible... it's PROBABLE. What would you be then? What would you do?" That is why I am afraid. I don't know if I could stand alone. People see me as being strong, but they don't see the supports that keep me up.

I will never understand the mentality of the majority of teenagers I know. It falls somewhere along the lines of, "I'm bored. I need friends. I need NEW friends. I need more friends! I want to get out of the house... I want to do something... I want to hang out."

What is "hanging out" anyway? Sitting around. It just makes me feel obligated to be entertaining and amusing because no one else is. It's amazing to me how impressionable and fickle the majority of teenagers I know are. Think, people! Yes, you're sixteen years old, but... so am I! Don't "hang out" and waste your life drowning in the disgustingly thick ocean of new and old associates. You're not waving to new people like you think you are; you're drowning. Why not have good, decent conversations about politics and art and beauty? I don't care that you like going to the movies, I don't care that you don't have a boyfriend, I don't care that you think you're fat, and I don't care that you like pizza. If you really can't think enough to tell me something worth hearing, then don't tell me anything. I'd rather read a book and learn something than sit and tolerate, tactfully, your typically idiotic banter. Sitting around and discussing useless, shallow events does not entertain me. I have enough friends and I don't want any more. I don't want to "hang out" with new people and force myself to be charming and acceptable for my own benefit. I don't want to whine about how unfair my life is and how I'll be FRIENDS FOREVER with a few girls I've known for a few months.

It's stupid and I hate it.

I've heard that looking in mirrors too often is not a good sign... but I do it all the time. I am so fascinated with the human form that I can't help but look at myself, because I can control my facial muscles and I can predict precisely what will happen. I know every single thing about my the way my physical form appears. I wish that I could see everybody the way I get to see myself. Is there something so wrong with that? Every human is a breathing piece of art. I don't see that as vanity. I adore my flaws, because they are the only thing separating me from everyone else. They are interesting. I suppose that's the main reason I think plastic surgery is so disgusting. There is nothing beautiful about it. It takes something unique and interesting and kills it. I think it's very important for people to observe and embrace who they are, and I see no problem with looking at myself in every mirror I see for as long as I wish. It's not a matter of vanity; it's like reading a book that I really like over and over again, and noticing something different every time.