I miss you. First of all. It has been *way* too long since I've seen you. It has been way too long since I've held you or kissed you. The thought of coming home and not being with you... makes me dread coming home. At least being out here I can excuse it. I know you're going to have to say no, you can't be with me Saturday night. Or any night. Cause if you are with me, I'll want you to be with me. And I won't want to go back to not. But I'll have to. I would have told GT mornings and mids if you were mine. Just to be able to spend time with you. But it doesn't really matter right now, I guess. I won't get to spend time with you anyway.
I'm depressed right now. Teetering on it, anyway. It's clearly not good for both of us to be having a hard time at the same time. I wanted to cry for most of Sunday. I have wanted to cry every night since. I am so alone out here. This is why I would never move somewhere on my own. I can't handle it. If I had somebody, I'd be fine. But I don't. I have no one. I don't have a dog. Or friends. Family. A girlfriend. My own car. I almost wish Michael and Zach had come this last weekend instead. Maybe that would have helped me push through this last bit.
You know, my parents have really tried to be there. I haven't really been too talkative with them, and I feel bad about that. They are being really supportive. I just... they aren't the ones I want to talk to every day. My brain is so tired. I do miss them. They go out of their way to make sure I know they are missing me and thinking about me. I'm lucky for that.
I know it's only 3 days. But 3 days is so long. And I am so, so lonely. And so... sad. And no one seems to really understand the extent. Maybe it's just that everyone else has accepted that there's nothing to be done about it and I'll be home soon. But that's not what I need.
Maybe I expect too much.
I've always wanted to great at something. You know? Doesn't everybody want that? To be great at something. To have something that everyone says "oh, yeah! that was so amazing!" You know what I'm great at? Nothing. I'm good at plenty of things. I'm good at playing the piano, when I practice. I'm good at working out, when I do it. I'm good at drag, cause I actually put some effort into it. I guess I'm a good genius. I've never been really great at anything, though. Piano, guitar, drums, singing, football, softball, tae kwon do sparring, taking tests, teaching, writing... I can do those things.
If I fail this test... that's just one more thing. One more thing I'm only ok at. Everyone else passed, Abbey. Why didn't you? You're supposed to be smart. You're supposed to learn quickly. You're supposed to be good at this. You're not really good at it, are you? You're not really good at very much of anything. Screwing up. That, you're great at. Making bad choices. You're a pro. You would win the award, in fact.
And you know what else? I am... disgusted with myself right now. I can not stand to see myself naked. I am... disgusting. I wish I didn't like food. I want to get home and go to the gym every day. I am so mad that PR and I didn't really decide to start working out together until right before I left. I'm really mad he hurt himself. I'm really mad... that I look like this. That I weigh what I do. That I haven't really hardly worked out in over a year, and my arms are weak and pathetic looking. I am so, so disgusting. I know you don't think so. No one does. But I am. You can't see it. Other people can't see it. This is.... awful. AWFUL. I used to be so happy with myself. I was one of the few people that was ok with being naked and catching a glimpse of themself in the mirror. I wasn't exactly perfect, but I felt good about myself. I don't now. I feel fat and ugly and disgusting. I hate pictures of myself, cause I'm usually not paying attention and you can see my belly hanging over my pants and my fat ass hanging out around my huge hips and thighs. I *hate* myself right now. I want to get home and fix it.
So. I know you have a lot that's going on. I shouldn't really expect you to realize what all is going on with me right now. I also shouldn't expect for it to matter all that much. You aren't mine. I just... I expected it to. Because you still pretend to be mine. Or maybe you really are. You're just too scared to say so.
I wish you would say so. I'm tired of pretending. I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of hurting. I'm tired of being useless. I'm tired of being lazy. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of not being enough.
I'm tired of feeling like I'm not enough.
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