I've Unofficially Left OWF I Guess
It's been 50 or so days since I last posted, and I've rarely felt the need to check back. When I do, I usually just kinda look at the front page and close the tab again. I always wondered which of us would go first, OWF, and I guess it's me; though judging by the state of you it's a purely Pyrrhic victory. I'll lurk around the blog list until Alcar finally pulls the plug, I guess. Never did get to #1 in rep. C'est la vie.
Me and Ginny gave things another shot a few weeks later and have now been in a stable-ish relationship for three months. I decided to keep my private affairs more private. The good days are great. The bad days suck balls. I'm better with her, she's better with me, we look after each other and I care about her very much. Our lofty ideals are now propped up with an actual rapport, hurrah.
But I know that some day I'll need to crash around and get laid and make all the mistakes young people make just because that's the only way I'll learn about me, other people, what I need and what I want, and perversely I can't really do that when I'm scared of bruising the light of my life in the process.
I want to stay with her forever, but... forever later. Maybe that's greedy. I'm not rushing into any decisions on that front; the day-to-day dynamic is still lovely. We've still got a lot of happy times ahead before any serious discussions need to happen. It still nags at me, though.
I've moved to Bristol and started the next three years of my life in earnest (Fine Art degree). I have friends, lectures, a studio, and rent to pay. How validating. Good fun so far, but only a week in so fuck knows how it'll turn out.
I'm 21 in April. I have a couple of permanent wrinkles. A large proportion of the girls I know want to fuck me. The guy in the mirror finally looks like an adult. Scary.
My bowels are getting better. Now that I cook my own meals I can actually control what I eat. It's going well.
I still hate my brain, but I signed up for therapy at uni and I'm officially conceding on my "no mind-altering pills" policy. I'm broken, but not irreparably. My depression keeps making things seem wrong and hollow when they're fine. My anxiety makes me think I'm being a terrible selfish unreasonable cunt when I'm actually behaving quite sensibly. I have a paranoid distrust of my own thoughts, that's been persistent for many years, and it needs adressing really before I come to any major conclusions on anything (including the Ginny stuff). You have to clean the windows before you landscape your garden, so to speak. So off to the shrink I go, and hopefully I can trust myself by this time next year.
I'm having a spell of depression right now, if you haven't noticed. I'm fuzzy and numb and oh-so pithy and jaded. Do I sound older? I feel older.
You know what? Ask Me Anything, for old time's sake. If there's one thing I've learned over the past few years, it's that real life doesn't have neat endings. It drags, stutters and eventually cuts out mid-swing. May as well embrace it.
Shoot.