||[Jan. 11th, 2007|12:57 am]
I don't know if I am going to be able to find the words I want to say, but I have to begin somewhere. I'm not sure who to talk to. I don't know whether to end things with my boyfriend or to try to make things work. I don't know if he can be what I need. That sounds selfish, but who do we live for if not for ourselves? I started thinking about this in November, while I was in Alberta. I don't know if our lifestyles will ever mesh. I don't know if I am settling for something "safe". He's already made so many changes for me, and what if this last one turns out to confirm my doubts? I'm worried about ending things too soon, in case they work out (and in case I end up alone) but I don't want to drag things out, because that will only hurt him more in the end. Things are starting to feel a lot like the way they did with Graham, kinda that I am letting him believe what he wants, because I am too insecure to make a decision. I feel even more guilty because of the amount of gifts that were piled on me by his family this past Christmas. How can I say, "Thanks for the stuff, I'm breaking up with you"? I've been responsible for most of the breakups in my life. The only two I can think of who left me were guys I was seeing on the side (and it still hurt like hell). Yes, I am a heartbreaker, but that doesn't mean that I don't die inside every time. Thoughts of my uncle keep resurfacing as well. I really do think that he didn't come pick up his inheritance because he's still pissy that his neice didn't want to fuck him. Maybe that's conceited, but I wouldn't put it past him.
Why the fuck can't I just be happy with what I have? Why is happiness so fleeting? Why do I inherently fuck up everything good in my life?
I'm also scared because my therapist has begun scheduling my sessions farther apart. I am terrified of the possibility that I might be deemed "cured" or "functional". The broken pieces are the ones I know so well. They are always with me. I had a hard enough time gaining acceptance as a "mental patient" and the one identity that I fit into might be taken away from me. I can't function on a daily basis. I think I live about 10% of each day. I don't want to relieve the days were I dreaded waking up every morning. I just want to be me.