8-1-01 - 11:52 p.m.

It'll be Kellie's 18th birthday in eight minutes. It'll be my 18th birthday in eight minutes plus two months. I hope that we both will have grown up considerably by then.

I can't remember if I mentioned it or not, but I went and saw Janet on Monday. Janet was my therapist (counselor, shrink, psychologist, psycho monitor, head doctor, pick a phrase) before I decided, for whatever stupid reason I had, that I didn't need to see anybody. Which was foolish. Of course I need to see a therapist. Just about everyone I know could surely benefit from doing so. So anyway, I went and saw her, and it made me realize, once again, just how fragile I really am. It was a long appointment, something close to two hours, and I spent a great deal of it pacing and fidgeting and crying. I hate crying. And I do it far too often.

Joleen emailed me and asked how I could be depressed and yet seemingly so pleasant and content in my diary. And I'm sure she isn't the only one curious about that.

It took me a really long time to write my response to her, and I've yet to reply to her second email, which is very rude (me, not her email). In that letter I wrote her, I described the four main reasons I don't really address my "issues" as often as one might think I'd be inclined to, and why I only really graze the surface of whatever's wrong, instead focusing on all the daily crappy stupid goings-on. I actually like my reply. It was one of those rare times when I was able to correctly word what I was feeling. I don't think I'd be able to repeat that point without screwing it up by trying to sound more intelligent than I am. So, Joleen, I really hope you don't mind, but I've edited (for grammar and syntax purposes) the exact reply I sent to you, so I could say to the world what I said to you, without sounding like a doofus. Here ya go:

There are a few reasons why I hide most of my deepest thoughts and emotions, and I'll list them and go into them one-by-one, to clarify each. The main reasons are as follows:

1. I don't want to burden people.
2. I don't want to bore people.
3. "Maybe if I ignore it, it'll all just go away."
4. I'm avoidant.

1: This actually ties in as part of my borderline personality. I rarely go much in detail as to what my emotions are because I don't want people to feel they have to make me feel better. I don't want people to feel responsible or guilty for how I feel--all of these make *me* feel guilty, and I've discovered that the easiest way to avoid that kind of guilt is to just keep my mouth shut. I'm easiest to deal with when I'm in a good mood, so I just fake it, something I've been doing since before I can even remember.

2: This is a lot like #1, but somewhat based on something a friend of mine told me. She's one of the few people I actually *talk* to, about things other than the weather. So one night, following a night during which she knew I had been drinking, I was talking to (at) her about alcoholism and what a terrible person I am, etc., and she stopped me and said, and I quote, "It's getting old." I was really taken aback and hurt by that, and asked what she meant. She told me that not only was she tiring of my behavior, but of listening to me talk about it. It made me wonder how many other people were getting sick of it, too, and so that's another reason I keep things to myself.

3 and 4: Ignoring it--this is the same reason a lot of people give for lying to themselves and their friends. I've been through a lot. I know that, and I can appreciate what a miracle I must seem to some people. When I was little I was abused, as the whole world knows, but like almost all abuse survivors, I was expected to keep such information to myself. Now, I don't know just how much you personally know about child abuse, but that is a HUGE secret to keep. I went out of my way to protect my parents from ever being suspected of such a crime. I had as many different excuses for being late and being bruised as hairs on my head--more, even. I made sure to be a complete klutz in class, awkward on the playground, that kind of thing to make myself look like a very active child. I knew that if anyone ever so much as asked my mother or father about why I was constantly hurt, my "punishment" would only increase. So along with finding other things to make my injuries look like common children's scrapes and bruises, I figured out a way to lock myself in my room and read, or write, or do something else to keep my mind off whatever was happening elsewhere in the house. I developed incredible study habits this way, and honestly, it's paid off. I mean, anyone who read the "things about me" entry knows what a scholar I am. But see, that's where #4 comes in-I'm avoidant. Though I publicly denied doing so in a previous entry, I've since come to realize that yes, I *do* create "fantasy worlds." I see myself as having two sides: One of them is the scholar, the athlete, the all-American girl. The other one is the alcoholic, the druggie, and the girl your parents warned you about. I usually try to hide the latter in the former, especially online where it's easy to do so and get away with it. Sometimes it's impossible, and the "bad girl" side of me breaks on through. I've noticed that people are generally terrified of me when I'm being myself, which is a complex mixture of the two. So I basically pretend to be this happy-go-lucky girl with a slight attitude and a wild streak a mile wide to keep everybody complacent. I'm only really "myself" with maybe three people total. Nobody else wants to deal with me. And that's fine. I'm used to it by now. I'm really quiet around people I don't know so as not to throw them off, and it's really easy to be the "other me" (the good one) online, because on the internet, nobody can see you cry. I've actually sat here and had conversations with online friends in which I've said "LOL" about a thousand times while bawling my eyes out off-screen. I'm really too proud to let anyone know the real me. I hate appearing weak; I've had it in my mind for years that I'm strong. It's just part of my "fantasy world."

See, even now I'm afraid of sounding whiny. I don't know why other people's opinions of me should matter, but they do. Sometimes. With stupid things like my appearance, I really don't care. But when it comes to how people react to my emotional and behavioral crap, I'm easily convinced that there's something wrong with me that I should be fixing. Thus, I play the part of the "good girl" and make people think I'm really OK.

Is it any wonder why I don't have very many friends in real life? Acquaintances are easy, but as far as real friends are concerned, I think I have maybe one. And that's Rob. And I hate that he's a guy. I want to have a friend that's a girl, because then my pathetic need for male companionship never has to come into play.

Rob and I dated for nearly four years. He moved after two years, and we had this rather idiotic "I'll Still Love You But I'm Gonna Sleep Around" pact thing where we vowed, quite frankly, to not have deep romantic feelings for anyone, yet maintained the freedom our mojos needed to survive. I upheld my end, had no feelings for any guys I slept with, and he did the same. It's easy.

God damn I'm tired of sex.

Am I rambling? Yes. But Joleen's right. This is a diary. I don't need to have it all in essay format, with the thesis and then the paragraphs all tying into that first (topic) sentence. And dammit I'm in the mood to just babble my fingers off.

Anyway, about Rob...he says he loves me. He's been saying that for about two years. I've known him almost as long as I've known Kellie. When we were dating, in school, people called us "Ross and Rachel." I can see why, too. We broke up four times in the four years we dated, had two actual fights and six "tiffs" (stupid arguments resolved in less than 24 hours). He is two years, four months, six hours, and five minutes older than I am. I never once cheated on him while he was in San Diego, while we were actually together. And I'll admit our little "sexual freedom" pact was not only pathetic, but stupid. To paraphrase the almighty Ferris Bueller, "So's high school."

The thing about Rob is that I feel comfortable with him. I said the same about Noah. But Noah isn't someone I grew up with. Rob was there. He knew what it was like. He's like a brother to me, only not, cuz incest is terrible and wrong and I like sleeping with Rob... but I'm not. Kellie thinks I am. She always thinks I am. Barbara (Lancer's mom) pointed out Kel's fixation with my sex life. She's right. Kellie is fixated with my sexual escapades, as though it's A) any of her business and B) something you'd think a girl with a steady boyfriend would waste time on. I know they have sex sometimes, so it isn't like she could be jealous. Ugh...

So yah, Rob's my only friend. He saved my life. I attempted suicide in 1998. Kellie called him and told him what was up and he flew out here two days afterwards, spending money I know he didn't have. He lived (and his family still lives) in South Carolina. So that was a big trip. He applied to all San Diego and surrounding city-based schools so he could come home-to the ocean, and, as he said one night, to me. So what did I do? I applied to Harvard. And got accepted. And went. And fled from. But even during my stupid shit with Noah and the fake pregnancy scare (which should be called a "terrify") he hopped on a plane and again flew out to be with me, crossing the country once more.

My favorite thing about Rob? I love who I am when I'm with him. I'm a completely different person. For whatever reason, I feel secure and carefree and content whenever he's around. I don't have to pretend to be anything around him, and he sees right through any veil I might try to put up. He doesn't tolerate me being anything but myself, and it's such a refreshing thing. I just wish the rest of the world would be as receptive of me as he is.

I love him. I honestly do. I've never loved anyone as much as I love him, and maybe that's why I don't want to date him. I just know I'll end up hurting him (I've done it before and am fully capable of repeating myself) and I don't think I could bear seeing him in pain, especially if the infliction was mine. I don't even think that phrasing makes any sense, but you get it. I don't feel like I deserve him, either. He's such an amazing human being and I'm not. I could be but not yet. I know there are plenty of other girls who are just as special as me out there who don't have all the pitfalls I have.

He told me he wanted to "pick up where we left off." Eeep. A big part of me wants to, but an equally large part is terrified of hurting his feelings. It's not that he's fragile-he's not. He's very strong, one of the things I admire in him, but even strong guys can be brought to tears. I don't want to lash out at him, or burden him, or bring him down, or be any sort of weight around his neck. I did tell him this. He said he was willing to take that chance.

Whew. I need time to think. I've been sober for a week as of Thursday (today). Yay me.

Kellie has been 18 for an hour and 36 minutes now. 37. I got her a fooseball table. It's a stupid inside joke thing.

I'm actually supposed to be alert and oriented (I think that's a military phrase) for her birthday. So I should end this. My fingers keep moving. I clearly have far too many things on my mind. Rob's coming over to help set up Kel's present. He'll end up doing most (all) of the work because I suck at building stuff and he's the one studying to be an architect. He was a Lego Maniac as a kid. Built amazing structures that were all over his room and his house. Occasionally we'd make Lego traps for his big brother to step on.

Ok. I'm leaving. I'm done. I'm still typing. I think I'll take a Tylenol PM to ensure sleep. Think I'm crazy yet? You're not alone in thinking so. Good night...morning.

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