(1) I've watched you cakewalk on the immaculate conception for far too long.

My dog died on Saturday.
My mom called me on Monday as I was getting ready to go to the store with my boyfriend. She started off fine; she told me about what was going on with my younger sisters and her relationship, and asked me how I was doing. Then, out of nowhere, she began to cry hysterically, and all I could make out was "Nikki died...something something something...depression...something." Nikki has been my dog since I was five years old and she was a puppy, so she was 14 years old. My mom told me that she had to hold her while they put her down, and described how hard it was. Before I even had time to react to Nikki's death, she had switched gears to her depression that keeps coming and going, and her inability to stop crying. Unfortunately, I can completely relate, but more about that later. As I tried to reassure my mom and calm her down, I re-realized that I am an awful, selfish human being. Here I am, living in a house so much nicer than her own, playing house with my boyfriend and having little or no financial problems. I left her in that awful mobile home with my two little sisters, thousands of dollars of debt, and no one to talk to besides her own mother. My first instinct was to literally pack up everything immediately and move home to be with her. She needs me. However, I know that is most definitely not what she wants for me. I just detest looking at her life and feeling her sorrow and regrets for the things she did, the way things are, and the way things will never be for her. She is so lonely and sad and desperate for a soulmate to come sweep her off of her feet, and the men in her past have done nothing but emotionally slaughter her. (Again, more about that later.) Her boyfriend now, while incredibly nice and a generally good person, seems to have major commitment issues and an unfortunately immature sense of humor that humiliates her and undermines her intelligence. She loves him nonetheless.
I'm ashamed of myself for complaining about my petty problems and "stress." While I am depressed, I have nothing to complain about. As I previously mentioned, I have a house with a close friend, a damn near perfect boyfriend, an awesome group of friends who really understand me, a relatively decent job...the list could go on. The only real anxiety I have in my life besides all of that abstract shit that comes with depression is the anxiety that pretty much every goal-oriented person in school and work has. I'll break it down.
The Boyfriend. Matt is an awesome person. He does everything in his power to make me happy; he deals with my sometimes unbearable sarcasm; he just generally does a lot of shit for me. I would marry him in 5-10 years. But see, that's where the problem lies. 5-10 years is a long time, kind of. Is the rest of my life planned out? Is the finding and keeping of Love chapter in my life over? Am I selfish to want to feel the initial emotion of falling in love with someone? Yes. Yes I am. It is what it is, I guess. I kissed a boy at a party I had when one of my best friends was visiting me. I didn't tell Matt about this party because I felt as though he would ruin it somehow. Matt is pretty much incabable of ruining anything; that's my job. I don't even feel bad about kissing the boy. Well, not that bad. Love and sex and lust and friendship all get tangled up and confused and things happen. Especially when alcohol is involved. I kissed this boy because I was drunk, and I knew he had feelings for me, and I wanted to feel something different. Matt and I broke up for a couple of months when I went home for the summer, (we've been together for about a year and a half now...) and I did everything I could to "live in the moment" or "live it up." I got fucking wasted a lot, and I kissed a lot of boys, I fucked a couple of boys, I did drugs, I had fun. Matt took me back.

But maybe I should back up to why we initially took this little break. I started this blog to be honest about everything, and to not censor anything...and so I guess it's time to come clean to myself and everyone else.
There is one person in my life that knows hardcore how to fuck with me. I don't think it's intentional, but I suppose that's a possibility. It's going to get confusing if I don't use some fake names for people, so that's just what I'll do. Cheesy, but necessary.
The Triangle-esque Thing.
So once upon a time in High school, I became friends with these two fucking awesome girls, Jamie and Karly. We all had a lot of fun together, blahblahblah, things were awesome. All three of us had serious boyfriends for quite sometime for a little over a year, until we all decided to call it quits at about the same time. Karly's boyfriend, Nick and I had gotten to be pretty great friends at this point, and we stayed good friends even after he and Karly broke up. For the first 6 months or so, everything was completely platonic; the subject of most of our conversations was Karly and how we could get them back together. (For a long time, I missed them together as a couple and the good times we all had.) Eventually, the talk of Karly became a little more scattered and we just talked about lots of other shit. We hung out pretty damn near every day for a few months. We did lots of fun shit together, smoked lots of weed together, and just generally got really close. I thought about telling him that I was starting to have feelings for him, but I was advised against it by the two people who knew. After all, I was moving to Philadelphia in a month or so; I wanted to stay friends; I didn't want anything to be awkward, blahblahblah. Sooo, I decided against telling Nick how much I uh, well to be honest, how much I loved him. (I later found out he knew all along.) Well, lo and behold, Jamie and Nick started hanging out pretty frequently. I had originally wanted them to be friends because I really cared about both of them, and they'd had a history and didn't really get along. That didn't last. They kind of...cut me off, and after I moved to Philadelphia, I found out they were dating. Things were a little fucked up at this point, but we all decided to be friends.
And then Nick and Jamie had a big awful breakup, and started to hate each other. I got dragged into the middle of a lot of shit, and I had to determine who was a better friend and all of this other annoying nonsense, and ultimately decided that Jamie was and that I had a duty to tell her what the fuck was going on with Nick and Karly--they had began talking again behind Jamie's back. Of course by this point, the original girls; Karly, Jamie, and I were kind of in shambles...no one knew who to trust and Nick was talking to all of us and things were just insane. (Confused, yet? It gets better.)
Cut to about a year later. I'm friends with everyone again, though no one else is really getting along, I'm going out with Matt, and things are looking up for me. I had gotten over Nick, and I was coming home to hang out for the weekend, primarily with Karly and Jamie. Well, it turned out that Nick and I had decided to make plans for one of the nights I was home; drink wine, smoke weed, reminisce; the good stuff. And so we did just that. We smoked, went on a really nice burn run, drank a couple of bottles of wine....and that's where things get really messy. Remember, I'm still with Matt. Nick and I had never even held hands at this point; it was preposterous to even think about things like that with my now best friend X 2s' ex boyfriend. But, somehow it happened. To this day, I believe that the playing of the Arcade Fire and the "romantic setting" was meant to intentionally make me feel vulnerable, but I won't place blame on anyone but myself. After all, I was still with Matt, and Nick has been with both of my best friends. (We share everything? Ew. ha.) And that brings me to
The Break.
You know, the aforementioned one where I turned into a moral-less lush and acted a fool for two months? Well, I think only one person knows the true reason I took this break, and she lives with me, hinthint, haha. I told Matt I needed to find myself. I told him I felt as though I didn't deserve him after what I did to him, which is in part true. (Yeah, I told him about the Nick thing...) I told him I couldn't look him in the face without feeling guilty, and that I doubted we'd ever be able to get past it. Yes, all of these have some level of truth to them. But the thing I couldn't tell him was that I wanted to see where things would go with Nick. Of course, they never went anywhere. We hung out a very limited amount of times while I was home, and those nights often ended up in awkward, drunken sex during which I felt extremely ashamed of myself and emotionally violated. Not to make him seem worse than he is; I just feel as though he took advantage of how strongly I felt about him and manipulated me into becoming a fuck buddy. So, instead of just realizing after a couple of weeks that nothing was ever going to happen with Nick (though I knew it all along because of the intense history and tangled love triangles) and getting back together with the one who truly and honestly loves me more than anyone, I decided to keep my single status and turn into an immature, boy crazy, 15 year old version of myself. And then, I came back home, Matt took me back because he is more than human, and here I sit, discontent in my relationship and in my life.
The Boyfriend, Part II.
I take him for granted. That's the first and foremost thing that I need to work on if I want to keep this relationship going. But that's the thing. Do I? Everyone always wants something more, and I don't believe that anyone is ever truly happy. Do we honestly know when we're with the right person? Usually there are definite signs that something is not working out; emotional or physical abuse, loss of sexual compatibility, incessant fighting, the list could go on. It's nothing like that with us, though. He's perfect, and we get along fine. We have fun together, and I know that I love him, and that I could see myself marrying him. But what is this awful fucking feeling of incompletion I feel? What if I spend the next several years of my life with him, and I suddenly realize what's been in the back of my head for the last couple of weeks--we need to break up and I need to learn how to be independent? It's so fucking hard for me though. I can't be independent. Even the couple of months I have been single out of the last 4 or 5 years of my life, I haven't really been single. There's always been at least one male there that I lead on and then drop at the first signs of "more than platonic," for lack of a better way of phrasing that. But what if Matt really is the one? I've already used my undeserved "break" and I could never do that to him again. If we broke up and after a few months I realized that I need him, I'd have to get the fuck over it and moveon. I can't make up my fucking mind, and it's driving me insane.
I Miss my Fucking Friends.
One of my best friends lives across the fucking country and the other one is at home, 6 hours away. Another one is in fucking North Carolina. Nick, that is. Yeah, we're still friends, and it has to be a secret. He's hated by everyone that I love, and I may be selfish for keeping him close, but I just feel like I have to. I have no more feelings for him other than that of a good friend, and that's how it will always be. But regardless. Can anyone relate to how fucking awful it is to move somewhere and not be able to truly connect to anyone? Fortunately, I've stayed in great contact with all of the people involved in the Love triangle fiasco, and they are the best, and I love them so much. This isn't starting to make much sense anymore, so I'll wrap things up for now.
I know what you're thinking.
And no, I honestly expect no one's sympathy or pity. I started this blog so I could get this shit off my chest, so I could let some of this fucked up shit out and get feedback. This is all just the beginning. My first blog. This is nothing compared to everything I want to say, and everything I will say. I haven't even covered the emotional bullshit that triggers my panic attacks and makes me want to...not exist. Or the religious epiphanies that I've had. Or my fucked up past. (Everyone has one, kind of.) That's for later! Don't give up on me though. I'm counting on anyone who might read this to empathize and respond.