The Perfect Fit to His Mold

(Originally written on September 21, 2009)

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I’ve realized that I really was just a fit into the mold of the type of girl that Gaston goes after.  Short (would have to be shorter than him, god forbid, and he’s only 5’6” – I’m 5’1”), brown eyes, short brown hair parted on the side, wide smile – all of the girls Gaston’s “dated” match that description…and I perfectly fit the mold.

Why are these things never made clearly evident until after the fact?

Suspicious Tweets

(Originally written on September 14, 2009)

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Yuengling and Gaston have been twittering back and forth this evening and it appears as though Gaston is back living in my hometown.  And I think he might actually be dating or living with Tomboy.  Is he STILL working on his undergraduate degree?  If he actually graduates this semester, that makes it five-and-a-half years for him to complete it.  And, I mean, he has only ever had one, unchanged major and no minors…

Struggling

(Originally written on August 31, 2009)

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Since making the move, I’ve pretty much just been in my hotel room content alone every day (besides work).  I mean, I’ve been all alone for a week now and have been perfectly okay with it.  And I’m just watching TV to pass the time, watching, like, even on reality shows how those people even have normal interactions with other people.  And, I mean, I’m just not sure that I can ever experience those interactions of a healthy relationship again.  In fact, these tears that I’m crying right now aren’t even for missing anyone in particular – they’re all about the pain from the events that initiated almost a year ago and ended this past May.  The whole thing with Gaston happening right after being raped – that that ended so ugly.  It’s just an even deeper scar than the one left by the rape itself.  And I’m just really not sure at this point if I can come back from that.  I really don’t know.  Because just as much as I enjoy the sexual aspects of romantic relationships, I’m now starting to worry that either

1. that’s all my (potential) future relationship(s) will turn out to be, or
2. that I won’t be able to allow myself take part in any of that at all.

It’s just a really hard realization to come to.  And I’m not sure what lies ahead for me.  I don’t want to be this broken individual for the rest of my life – I don’t.  But I have to do something about it now and I can’t.  I’m in a new place; I’m supposed to be starting fresh and I don’t want to be reliving all of these nightmares that I have already been through time and time again.  I don’t want to bring that up here with me, but I’m afraid that I already have.  And I don’t know what to do about it.

This is my first “breakdown”/”episode” since moving.  I think it’s all because I spoke with my detective today and learned that everything with my case is just not okay.  The police who came to the scene misquoted me in their report, my rapist has said all of the “right things” he could say to clear himself (he admitted to having sex with me, but said it was consensual, which sets it up to be his word versus mine – which, for whatever reason, the government tends to side with his apparently),…  It just isn’t fair.  It just isn’t fair.

When will I stop suffering? I don’t know if I can even hold onto the hope of ever being fixed anymore.  Am I a lost cause?  Is the potential of my future love life all a lost cause? I can’t help but think that all I’m going to amount to at the end of my life is someone with a successful career and a lot of money yet no one to share it with.

Communication Breakdown

(Originally written on July 25, 2009)

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Bluto is here…that’s odd.  I can’t believe that he made the five-hour drive down here just to help Gaston move.

They were all here yesterday/last night:  Bluto, Gaston, Rowdy, Napoleon, Leto.  I was trapped inside of my apartment all day and night in order to avoid running into them, but that didn’t stop me from periodically peering out at them through my blinds (childish, I know).  Then, they had a little “party” at Leto’s apartment last night; her living room is right below mine.  It went on for hours and they were being SOOO loud, I couldn’t help but hear them yukking it up down there.  Especially because I had the volume on my TV turned down low and I made a conscious effort to make as minimal noise as possible – I just prefer that they not know I was there and I wanted to be invisible to them, not even an afterthought in the backs of their minds.  Oh well, I’m glad to see to see them leave.

•     •     •     •     •

Gaston sent me a text that simply read, “Hey”, at 12:30 this afternoon as he was in the process of moving out.  That’s the first time there has been any communication between us at all since June 3^rd.  I hope he’s not expecting for me to respond.  And even if he is, he could have at least tried a little harder than just, “Hey”…

Something to Celebrate!

(Originally written on July 24, 2009)

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Gaston’s mattresses are sitting outside!  YES!  He’s finally gonna be gone!

“Artistic” Refreshment

(Originally written on July 23, 2009)

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This evening, I had dinner plans with Michelangelo, one of my friends from high school.  Michelangelo and I go pretty far back; he was a football player and I was a football (and competitive) cheerleader.  On some game Fridays, he would let me wear his jersey.  Ahh…  And did I mention that I’ve always had a mini-crush on him?

But anyways, it really all started our sophomore year.  Both of us are artistically talented – although, Michelangelo is far more talented than me­ – and we had Graphic Design I together with Ms. Gemini.  She was my favorite teacher in high school…actually, my favorite teacher ever.  Michelangelo and another guy sat next to each other at computers behind mine and they used to play with my hair (Michelangelo would sometimes chew on the ends, soaking them in saliva…my hair was much longer back then…and blonde, thanks to regular highlight treatments) and do other things to playfully antagonize me.  And Ms. Gemini always used to yell at me for it, “Elliott!  Stop flirting!  Or else I’ll have to separate you!”  But she never did.  Oh memories… Michelangelo wasn’t in my Graphic Design II or III classes; however, X was in Graphic Design III with me – conveniently, at the time we were dating.

Well, since we’ve graduated from high school, Chip and Dale have taken Ms. Gemini’s Graphic Design classes a la my suggestion.  X and I visited a couple of times when we were still dating – it was like a doubly great visit:  we got to see my brothers and our former teacher.  However, since X and I have been broken up, I’ve been making those visits with Michelangelo instead.  Ms. Gemini really enjoys it when we stop in, but I think she likes it better when Michelangelo accompanies me because X was never really artistically-oriented (she also taught Michelangelo and me art and does a lot of business selling her own pieces and designs).

I almost majored in graphic design in undergrad, but Beast and Martyr said that it would be a waste of a free education to major in art, that you either have that talent or you don’t and that it’s something that can’t be taught.  I suppose they were right; just as artsy as I am, I am also gifted intellectually, and my statistics degree is certainly more useful for getting a job (and it got me into the MMR program).

Michelangelo, on the other hand, just graduated this past May with his Bachelor of Art in Sculpture.  The reason that it took him five years is because he was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma right after our freshman year of college and had to take a semester off for the treatment and then took a light load the following semester while he recovered.  That really changed him a lot.  For example, Michelangelo was extremely religious in high school – I remember one discussion in Graphic Design I between Michelangelo, the guy he sat next to, and me in which we were talking about masturbation, for some reason, and Michelangelo revealed that he had never masturbated because the Bible says that it is sinful.  He also never drank in high school.  However, a couple of months ago over beers at Polly’s, Michelangelo and I had a little heart-to-heart about cancer, religion, and love, and it turns out that he and I share a lot of “beliefs” (or lack thereof) in common with each other through our similar experiences.

Anyways, as I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I had dinner with Michelangelo this evening.  However, there was something significantly different about this meeting from our last few interactions:  Michelangelo paid for everything (as opposed to us each paying our own) – both dinner and drinks afterward.  It almost felt date-like.  Anyways, it was really nice to see him again; it’s been a while.  Michelangelo took me out to the eastside for a sushi dinner.  I thought that was going to be it, but then he asked me if I wanted to go downtown for a couple of drinks, to which I was more-than-happy to oblige – more for his extended company, though, than just the allure of alcohol.  So, throughout the course of the evening, we discussed our lives over sushi, beer, and wine (Guinness for him and Selbach Riesling for me, to be precise).  Since graduating in May, he’s been doing odd jobs such as repairing flooring and cabinetry for the most part and is waiting to hear back about a job where he would be doing construction work in Aruba for six-to-eight months.  I told him that he’d be crazy not to take a job in paradise; besides, it’s only temporary – what an experience!

Ah, it really was great to see him again.

•     •     •     •     •

Gaston is back – ugh!

A Coincidental Run-In

(Originally written on July 19, 2009)

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I ran into Leto this afternoon on my way to the grocery store while she was moving shit out of her apartment, so I cordially paused for a moment to chat with her.  After swapping hellos, she initiated the conversation by asking me,

So I guess the boys are moving out?

I have no idea.  I haven’t spoken to Gaston in two months or so.

Oh I know that.  But have you spoken to Napoleon?

So she and Gaston have obviously been talking about me…  For Gaston to have brought that up to her, it really must be a big deal to him.  And that makes me feel even more fantastic about that whole situation.  He would only say that defensively, like if she asked about me and that’s how he responded because he really does still care about me, yet feels he has to put up his usual “strong”, manly, and uncaring façade.  God, losing him has really been hard on me…

Then Leto proceeded to brag to me about her new job and all of its perks, assuring me that my luck would come around.  Yea, right.

•     •     •     •     •

This evening, Los Compadres held a disastrous employee meeting.  It started 30 minutes late and ran on for an hour-and-a-half.  And absolutely nothing was accomplished by it.  Well, I did get to look at the schedule for this week and find out that they forgot to put me on it for the second week in a row.  And this week I’m not going to ask them to fix me in for a couple shifts.  I’m pretty set on quitting at this point.  I mean, I’ve been working there for one month now and still haven’t received a paycheck – and I’ve been discussing it with the manager twice every time I come in:  once at the beginning of my shift and once toward the end of it.  I can’t afford to not work, but I really can’t afford to work and not get paid for it.

My Afflictions

(Originally written on June 21, 2009)

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Why can’t I just get over Gaston? I mean, as brilliantly intelligent as he is, he’s going to spend the rest of his life in his small hometown in south Georgia (population 4,500) with his (entire) family because that’s how he is.  He’s not even comfortable with the idea of leaving the state of Georgia to get a job – even if it’s only temporary in lieu of the current economic circumstances.  If he’s not even willing to do that for himself, then what could he possibly be willing to do for anyone else that he loves?  Nothing, obviously.  And, I mean, I am willing to move – I’d like to experience life outside the state of Georgia before I say, “No, I want to spend the rest of my life here.”  I mean, you just don’t know until you try.  And you know what?  If you try it and you don’t like it, then you can always have the comfort of knowing that it’s only temporary until you find something better.  And why can’t I just be done with him?

And why can’t I find a job? Not only do I have two illustrious degrees, but I finished in the top of my class in both undergraduate and graduate school.  It’s just discouraging.

And it’s my family too – why can’t I stand out more to Beast than either of the three of my siblings? Not that that’s what I truly want, just a little recognition really, but Beast constantly gives me the hardest time about how I don’t have a job right now, I’m just hostessing at Los Compadres (I need to do something to be getting money and today was my first day).  Yet Ursula is waiting tables (not at Los Compadres, somewhere else) and this is her first job since she started college, the first time she’s even worked in three years (she just finished her sophomore year, but she didn’t work during her senior year of high school either).  Dale just got a job at a fast-food restaurant and he starts tomorrow, but Chip still doesn’t have a job.  And the only jobs that Chip and Dale have ever had were last summer, just for the summer.  Why doesn’t Beast understand that these circumstances are not my fault and are out of my control?  He’s a businessman; he knows that the economy blows right now. I’ve worked my butt off to do well in school and, not only have I always been employed since the age of 16 (with the exception of the past month-and-a-half), but Beast has not paid a single penny for my tuition – neither undergraduate nor graduate.  That’s not the case for Ursula; he’s paying her tuition in full and her living expenses and giving her “leisure money” every month.  I mean, it was never an option for me, it was just understood that I had to have a job.

And, out of the four of us (Ursula, Chip, Dale, and me), I’m probably the only one who will get a graduate degree.  And he didn’t even have to pay for any of it!  Yet Beast makes it out like it’s nothing, that it was simply expected of me.  How can you have different expectations and different standards for your different children? I guess I understand it to some degree – but to the point where he told me that he was going to completely cut me off if I didn’t accept an offer for a particular job that I interviewed for (for which I didn’t end up receiving an offer anyways)…that’s just not right.  He wouldn’t do that to any of the rest of us.  He wouldn’t do that to Ursula or Chip or Dale.

And it hurts really bad.

(Originally written on June 20, 2009)

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Martyr tried to convince me again tonight that “God” is taking care of everything.  Kiss my ass.  If there was a god, he wouldn’t have put me through what he put me through all in one fucking year.  I mean, I’m just barely beginning to be in a state of coping with what happened a year ago between me and X – and then now, on top of that, this whole rape thing.  And then there’s Gaston – and I told him before anything between us happened that I had been raped and I couldn’t afford for someone to break my heart.  He promised me that he wouldn’t break my heart.  He promised me.  And then look what he’s done:  just that.  I know I shouldn’t be hurt, but I am.  I just am.  And it hurts really bad.

Fragility

(Originally written on June 19, 2009)

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I’m really close with Chip and Dale and am therefore close with many of their friends and bandmates as well.  They all know Gaston and have hung out with him and me before and were aware of our “relationship” or whatever you want to call it.  I mean, hell, Gaston accompanied me to their high school battle and then hosted their celebration party afterwards!  Well, anyways, before we left for the Battle of the Bands this evening, the singer started asking me where Gaston was and if I was still “dating” him.  Immediately, everyone jumped on shutting him up (he was obviously the only person who was unaware of the situation).  God, it made me feel as though I’m so noticeably fragile that everyone thinks I’m going to crack at any moment.  It was really embarrassing, especially because I’m not sure that assumption is so far off-base.

The loneliness from Gaston is really hitting me hard.  Why can’t I let go? I mean, he treated me like shit – there’s no denying that.  Yet I still check his Twitter and Facebook religiously to see if he’s left any updates or notes that may be related to me.