You're right, and Google Confirms it

I can’t find that orange website with your name on it, but it’s making me itch to look for it.

I googled your maiden name, there isn’t even a picture, just some article about women that have been sexually assaulted in the music industry.

You’re right, you aren’t the same person anymore, and google not only confirms it, it acts as if who you were, doesn’t even exist.

It’d be nice if my musings, my curiosity, stopped here, and I went on my way, but no, I do know who you are now, you and your “wonderful” husband. You with your child.

That sounds brooding and ominous but I don’t mean it to be.

I woke up this morning and thought, maybe even said to myself “yeah, she has a life of her own with someone else, better than you, maybe he makes a lot of money, who knows, better than you (me) anyway.”

I got dressed.

I went to work.

I’m at work.

I took my medication.

Not even certain why I’m blogging this, why this needed to be let out.

The voices haven’t been as bad these last few (two) days, but that doesn’t mean much. I had a few years when they weren’t as bad and look what still happened…

You’re the second girl I’ve dated thats blocked me on everything.

I wonder if its me, or if I just know how to pick them.

But I also thought, I don’t want anyone that’s going to try and dominate me.

I remember a while back, when we were talking, that you said you liked “bitches”

men that had a, for lack of a better term, more “submissive” personality.

I’m anything but that.

Yeah I want to make my partner happy, but I can be a scoundrel.

There must be other reasons as to why we’re no longer compatible, but its a one sided debate, argument.

Since I’m so obviously head over heels about you, and at the same time I’m not.

I’m angry too.

I don’t want to hurt you, but I am hurting, not being heard.

and even if I was, then what? What comes next? a check-in once every few months?

You won’t tell me anything I can’t do anything about.

I’m sure you have confidants that understand the puns in your dying language, the nuance, the idioms.

And should I really be this bent out of shape because you were some person from halfway across the world that I met?

When I’ve gone to London to meet a girl from Costa Rica, when I’ve met a girl from Turkey? Bulgaria? Sweden? Denmark?

Yeah, because you wanted to meet me, I was desired, it was exciting, something in me changed…

I don’t know, it feels so commonplace now that I’m an adult, now that I have money to travel, I wonder if it’s always been that way for you.

Like how Americans, unless unsupervised, don’t drink alcohol until they’re 21, and in Europe you might as well have been born supping on a bottle of wine.

Cultural differences like that, seem big, but the gap closes really quickly, so what’s keeping the gap open between us?

Why couldn’t we be friends?

I feel like we could have, I feel like that for everyone, and more of ten than not, I’m wrong, but I try.

I love.

So why?

Right right right, that old tried and true xanga saying:

“Relationships are a two way street.”

And only once of us is driving.

Word.

Palabra.

Hate it here

Too long to screenshot:

I hate how my psychosis has made me think/look for clues about how my ex is living as if something odd in my life is insight into what’s happening to her. Like some pornstars botched boob job is actually a reference to her own ordeals with plastic surgery, something I could never know unless she told me, and yet, due to the law of synchronicity or some shit, it has to relate to her, because it couldn’t just be a one off in the media I consume. Hate it.

The Audacity to Hope

Why does this small part of myself exist?

Why does it make it seem like any other love would be mundane?

Why can’t I just believe the words she wrote and write her off as some brain damaged racist?

Of course, perhaps this would be more manageable without voices in my head, constantly bringing her up, but I have that too.

Only a few seconds ago a CNN article came up about Ghosting.

I’ll share the title, and the most obvious, and yet should be followed, excerpt:

Post-Meltdown

Every now and then I go

“no, she’s living her best life, with her child and her husband and it’s just you losing your mind on the internet for everyone to see”

The voices say otherwise, but I have no proof.

I’m living in two different realities

Split between dimensions

Worlds

Timelines

Between Hope and Despair

K

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C7hqPDku0E7/?igsh=d2N6aHhydGVvZ21l

Lesbiana

Is your “not talking” a reference to “The Little Mermaid” ..? Maybe the original Danish version or the Disney version idk the Danish Version

I can’t hate you

I think it’s physically impossible to hate you

I have too much love

Is this that tarot reading?

Is this

Are you

My weakness?

How many times do I go to heaven thinking about being around you.

How often can I just lose myself in delusion.

No matter how much I harden my heart.

It melts.

Maybe this is why love is in my future…

Abstinence

Voices say a lot of things…

One new script is that “you are abstaining from talking to me because you don’t want anything to come between us.”

I honestly wish I could believe something as sweet as that.

Something that gives me hope that I’ll be with you again.

Because like it or not,

willfully or not,

in some twisted, delusional way, I am with you.

And I’m in the part of the relationship where the honeymoon phase is over, but every now and then, on date nights, or whatever, the spark gets rekindled.

At least for me.

I think of the Gorillaz Lyrics for the song “Clint Eastwood” and the lyric goes “And remember that it’s all in your head.”

And I wonder if somehow, I’ve been missing all of these subliminal messages growing up telling me about the effects of drugs and alcohol or hallucinations that feel like reality have always been some internal play, waiting for its curtain call, to start it’s first act as soon as you partake in the illicit substance.

It’s not like it’s methamphetamine psychosis, but it’s psychosis all the same.

But to echo that lyrics “it’s all in my head” I’m the slow E.T. “Kleeborp” form the Robot Chicken Skit, always have been.

Like all things, there’s greater context to one iteration of it, here’s the best hits of E.T. some, if not most, I cannot relate to:

To wrap things up, because I lost my train of thought after watching all that, I just feel stupid.

I know I’ve loved you.

I don’t know if I still Love you.

I’m willing to try again.

I feel like I shouldn’t be so willing to just jump into that fire.

Moving on sucks.

Waiting sucks.

Being out of shape sucks.

Working out sucks.

I wish I never had this burden at all, and yet, it remains.

Edit: This Song-

Preoccupied

Yesterday everyone kept asking me what was wrong.

That I looked sad.

Preoccupied.

I thought they had found my twitter, or this blog, but they never brought it up.

But preoccupied seems like an understatement.

You’re in my head everyday, even if it isn’t you, it’s “you adjacent.”

Things have been better, I have an easier time focusing than before, but I hate that I had to harden my heart to get here.

I caught myself wondering what it is I did wrong.

What did or didn’t I say?

Why couldn’t we have just been a teenage “it” couple in this city, and I’d have my career in teaching, or something else.

You were my motivation.

Taking care of us, was my motivation.

But now I’m some crazy internet stalker, buying books and comics in Norwegian just to take a shot at translating them to peer into what rhetoric would make you such a hermit.

The world at your finger tips and you don’t partake? Or maybe you do and I’m just not privy to it.

I hate all of this.

How I feel.

Myself.

You.

How I feel about you.

It’s the worst.

and sooner or later the love bug will bite me and I start the cycle all over again.

Ugh.

Australian Citizen

This guy is open and honest about his panic attacks on Live TV. Voices are saying since you sold me out to, Australia I guess, cause that’s where you want to be, this is a reflection of me and my Twitter, except for the fact that I am American.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C-qpgUzSq_U/?igsh=MWZ4dHZ3NXRrYmpqNw==

I’m not mad or anything, but if you can’t tell me yourself what you’re doing with your life, I think I’d rather not learn, if I am learning, like this.