I didn’t sleep with Teddy last night. I couldn’t figure out how to explain to my mother who spent the night just why I had a teddy bear, so I put him some place safe, kissed him good bye, and waited for my family to leave. When we were reunited, I hugged Teddy very tight. This bear comforts me in ways I can’t explain – and I guess I’m not even going to try.
I fell down deep into my head this weekend, and I’m still at the bottom. I’m not even trying to pull myself up and out. I’m not depressed. I’m not feeling tragic. I’m just thinking. About who I am, what I am.
I wonder if being as obviously sexual as I am is a good idea. Were our mothers and grandmothers right when they told us boys wouldn’t marry girls like “that?” No, I’m not worried about getting married. I just wonder if I send out a vibe by being so open with my sexuality. Am I the one you fuck but you don’t take home to Mom? There have been times when it feels that way. Is it my fault that I tend to be the dirty little secret?
I argued with someone I care a lot about yesterday and something was said that bothers the hell out of me. “Did you ever think that maybe people don’t just walk away from you? Did it ever occur to you that maybe you push them away?” Is it my fault that I’m alone? Maybe so. I’m still afraid of being left behind, so I keep my walls up. I’m not apologizing for it. When the walls are supposed to come down, they will. But, did I do this to myself? Is it my fault?
I’ve become a person who compartmentalizes. There are people I care about, but no one who holds my heart entirely. This one wants to fuck me and as a side, be my friend. This one wants to know me. That one wants to flirt. And one wants to love me. And I fail them all because I can’t be what they think they need from me all the time. Yet, I care for them. I hurt when they hurt. I laugh when they laugh. I try to remember the things that are important to them. And yet, none consume me. Is that my fault, too?
I miss the one I can’t have. Yet, I have moments, entire days when I don’t think about him – until I do. I don’t cry anymore. I don’t wallow in sadness anymore. I don’t shut down anymore. My heart aches; I worry about him. Is it my fault I gave him my whole heart? Is it my fault that I want what I had before?
We are all a product of the choices we make in life. I guess whatever, whoever I am really is all my fault.