27.4.2000 (pretentious & self-inflicted)

A. sent me a message yesterday. I thought she had meant e-mail when she said she'd contact me. At some point I realized she might have meant cell phones. Which she had.
She insists on writing in English which I find annoying because she's one of those people who think English should be universally spoken and all the other languages should be wiped out. Nowadays I get easily frustrated with her when we disagree on something.
At first I thought I'd ignore her and pretend I hadn't gotten the message but... Maybe I should meet her. I can't think of anything to say and I'd rather avoid her but... For old times' sake?
Yuck. I'm not angry at her anymore, I vented properly once and it helped. But I don't really want to see her either. I know she'd make me feel queasy.

You know, lately, I've dreamt of spiders and they haven't bothered me at all in those dreams. I'm not that arachnophobic in real life but I don't get along with spiders that well. Especially not with harvestmen. There are always lots of those lurking around the house during the summertime which is partly why I don't like warmth. I'd rather not have all those little insects etc. around.

I'm annoyed with the way I write e-mails. I'm annoyed at my inability to compose one in a decent time. I promised myself I'd stop sitting in front of e-mails for hours thinking what I'd say. For a while it worked, but not anymore. It's annoying. I know I can write them in decent time but sometimes I just get stuck with them. It's like I didn't want to let go of it. It might be because I'm concerned about what the recipient might say but that doesn't really explain my slowness when writing. I have no idea of common courtesy so sometimes (more often than not) I just worry about what I'm saying for ages even if it doesn't help at all 'cos I'm still not sure if I'm saying something wrong. And of course, the slowness of actually writing them might be 'cos I already worry about what I'm saying.

A always said I was volatile (but not with that word). She was scared of it. She annoyed me because she was always so insecure. I could deal with it to a certain point but then I just couldn't stand it anymore. There's only so many times I can listen to "but I'm afraid of you!" without bursting. I'm not the most self-confident person when it comes to many things but she was always so helpless. It was like she never even tried to be anything but self-conscious. And in the end things like that don't work.
I mean, I may be volatile and I may be self-conscious but at least I'm not cherishing it. She'd go like "build my self-esteem for me" and I didn't want to do that (not to mention that it's impossible). And if you think someone's pathetic, you can't really date them, can you?

It's just... my point of view is subjective so everything I say is... not the truth. Not how it went but how I thought it went. I don't know what she thought or did, but it always felt like I was doing all her work for her and she was doing zilch even if it was her life. And I'm quite bitter about it really. Because when I started the whole thing (which was perhaps something more complicated than what I explain here) I thought she'd eventually get on her own feet and my work would be done. Because I was willing to help her, in the beginning.
It's just... she kept clinging on me. And it was so hard to push her away because she made me feel needed (at first that was in a good way) and (later) because she could be suportive at times. It was just that those times were so few and so far in between. And even if what she did was important and useful then, it ended up amounting to so little in the end. I ended up feeling I put thousands of times more time and energy into her life than I put into, say, myself.

I was naive, trying to do what I did, but I knew I was naive and I still wanted to do it. Because there was no reason not to and so many reasons why to do it. It makes me feel quite sad now. In the beginning I did mean so many things, and I wanted so many things. And then it all just crashed down, my beautiful construction. I couldn't lie to myself anymore. I couldn't lie that the few happy moments weighted more than the bad times. At first it was good, worth it, yes it was. Then it wasn't anymore. It didn't take that long to become too difficult. It went on surprisingly long, now that I think of it. And I wasn't happy about it, for the better part of it.

I think now, and I thought then, that I was leading her on, that I was doing the wrong thing. I thought I might be doing the wrong thing most of the time.
And I still feel like I had betrayed her. And I feel like she had betrayed me. Double deceit.
I always thought I was being untrue to her, because I never loved her (and quite often I didn't even like her), but in the end, I think, I was just deceiving myself. (Mind you, she didn't love me either, if you ask me, but that's an entirely different subject.)

I was so angry at her because I was ashamed. I wrote about this earlier but I was too ashamed to publish it, even admit it. I mean, humans make mistakes. I don't. If I make mistakes, that must mean I'm human. And I don't really want to be human because for the most part of my life I've despised most of the humans I've known. It's an issue of pride and of arrogancy. I don't want to be human because humans are bad and stupid and evil and I don't want to be those things. I don't want to make mistakes. Mistakes are laughable, despisable. Mistakes result in pain and unhappiness. I want to be better than them.

If I explained the reasons for this mis(although not on all parts)-conception, you might understand. But I don't want to. It's too personal. You're allowed to call me arrogant. At least you have a proper reason for it this time (finally).

The ice inside me is melting again. I got to learn to a human being now. I got to allow myself. To feel, even.
Because it'll be okay.
I've made my peace with death, now I need to make my peace with life too. I just hope it doesn't take as long as the previous did.

I'll go to bed now. And I won't kill that mosquito.

Index.