all those things I don't care about...

So I haven't written about it much, but I've been spending time with the Viking lately. It's not exactly habitual yet, although it's getting there. And we've moved past just the convenient post-hanging out in a group hookups to blatant booty calls. Which are always fun. And it's actually been a while since I've had a regular booty call, especially here at school. Which is weird to think about, but I guess it's true.

This weekend, it was my friend's girlfriend's birthday... Hmm, how to explain the relationship without using names? OK. My best friend in The Band (and one of my best friends in general) is the drummer of the band. I went to Ireland with he and his girlfriend last semester, and she and I get along great. The Band consists of the Drummer and his five roommates, although the actual band is four guys, only two of whom live in the house of guys that makes up The Band. Anyway, the Drummer's girlfriend invited me out for her birthday with most of The Band - she and I were the only girls. We went to a swanky sushi restaurant, and as the ice has finally receded here in the tundra, I got to get dressed up. I went with a teeny, tiny green dress (worn last on new year's eve), and fabulous green and black heels that have an adorable rounded, wing-tip toe. The Viking (who's the other roommate who is actually in the band - he plays bass) met the rest of us after dinner for bar-hopping.

I was terribly over-dressed for the pubs we were going to, but after a few drinks, I wasn't too concerned. And in any case, it was really fun to watch the Viking stealing looks at me. (I'll admit, those shoes DO make my legs look pretty fantastic.) We still haven't told our friends about us hooking up - although I have mentioned it to the Drummer's girlfriend, so there's a chance the Drummer knows. If he does, though, he hasn't said anything about it. We all (six of us by that point) eventually closed down the last bar and took the bus back to my apartment. The Drummer and his girlfriend and the Viking and I all sat in the back row. Of course, the Drummer and his girlfriend were being adorable and PDA-y, although thankfully not to a nauseating extent. Then somehow the Drummer and the Viking started jokingly punching each other. It turned into a psuedo-wrestling match. The Drummer eventually conceded that even though he's the taller of the pair, the Viking is stronger than he is. And then there was the bromance moment where the Drummer got all mushy and was telling the Viking that he was, like, his best friend, and he's such a great guy, and the Viking reiterated the sentiment. And then I got this strange feeling. Of warm fuzzies. Of course, the only reason I know the Viking is because he's such good friends with the Drummer, but I had this random flashback to when the Drummer first introduced me to his girlfriend. She had to leave Ireland a day early, giving the Drummer and I the day to hang out alone, and he confessed to me that he'd been really nervous about us liking one another, and he was so happy that we got along so well. Because we both mattered in his life. It was this really nice moment. And that's what I flashed back to, watching the Viking and the Drummer act out their friendship.

It was very strange. It made me want to just cuddle with the Viking right there, be all adorable and PDA-y like the Drummer and his girlfriend were being. And I suddenly felt very silly for thinking that I needed to keep our relationship a secret. Of course, I didn't say anything about it there, on the bus with everyone else. But it was a new sensation at the same time that it made me aware of the fact that I'd been looking forward to seeing the Viking all night, and that I'd noticed how he smiled when he saw me. And that I liked the way he said my name. And then I stopped myself. I don't get mushy like this.

I don't generally like PDA. It makes me uncomfortable, more often than not. I'm not used to having traditionally legitimate relationships, and so I guess I've gotten cautious and that urge to kiss people in public has mostly faded. (Not entirely...there are notable exceptions. Like my random and somewhat childish desire to be that obnoxiously cute couple cuddling in line at the amusement park.) But even more than that, I don't like the mush. I don't like the cutesy stuff. Saying "I love you" should be a statement of fact, not some massive production in my book. I expect to split the bill on dates. I don't want people opening doors for me unless they already would have or just walked through it themselves.

But it's something that's struck me since the first time I hooked up with the Viking. He's really sweet to me. Yes, there's the funny bluntness, the no-nonsense discussion that's always there, and the sex. But the things that really stick with me are the way he puts his arms around me. The way he gently kisses my neck, my forehead, my nose. The way he intertwines his fingers with mine and pulls me closer before we fall asleep. The way he sweeps my hair away from my face and lets his hand linger on my jawline as he kisses me.

These aren't things I should be focusing on. It's not that I've never had them before, I've just not been so aware of them. And I don't know why I am so aware of them with the Viking. Certainly, other partners cuddle with me, other partner kiss me softly or brush the hair from my face. So what's so different with the Viking? Maybe it's just a contrast with his aloof personality. I don't expect such tenderness from him.

Then again, I guess looking at me, knowing me, you wouldn't necessarily expect that I'd want those things, either. Maybe that's why it works. But it concerns me. I find myself wanting to see him more. I text him more often, not always late at night. I get excited when I know he's going to be where I am. Good lord, I'm developing a crush on him. Shit. Of course, it's not overly serious, and things will end when we both graduate shortly. But this urge that I have to spend more time with him now is rather strange to me.

And then I'm not sure how much of this has to do with the fact that at the end of that night, after he'd convinced me to come back to their house with the band, and after the Drummer had made up the couch for me and the Viking had waited til the Drummer left to come in and ask if I'd sleep in his bed with him, and I'd said yes and made a joke we'd both laughed at about his messy room, and I laid down and the Viking just wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck and pulled me close to him and let me sleep. We spent the night in bed together and there was nothing else. There was no pressure for anything else. Why does that feel so much more intimate and personal than had there been sex? It just seems like another step further from the just-a-booty-call classification.

But it was nice. I WILL miss his cuddling. And yes, those adorable little things I told myself I don't care about. Shit.

Happy Endings.

I'm obsessed with this song, and with Mika in general this week. I first heard this song last night when a friend's a capella group performed. I think it's just gorgeous. And kind of gives me goosebumps/makes me tear up/feel hopeful all at once.

Enjoy.



This is the way that we loved like it's forever, then live the rest of our lives, but not together...

flashback

I had lost all concept of time, but had a very keen sense of place and every other physical sensation coursing through me. Friend had situated himself between my legs, his fingers working in and out of my cunt and curling inside me as his tongue circled and sucked on my clit - my hips rising to meet his mouth as I sunk deeper into that alternate universe where, again, things like this actually happen.

The Pilot had pulled himself up next to me, his hands strong as they grasped at my waist, my tits. He'd alternate between kissing my lips and my neck - that spot right at the base of my collarbone that he'd figured out makes me shiver and whimper and melt all at once.

My world was fast condensing into a very specific tunnel vision consisting of only the three of us as Friend continued fucking me with his mouth and the Pilot tightened his grip on my body. As the Pilot moved one of his hands toward my collarbone, instinct took over. I brought my hand to his and placed it across my neck, and I swear I caught him smiling out of the corner of my eye as he tightened his grip.

And then I absolutely lost it. With the Pilot's fingers around my throat and Friend's inside of me, my bucking hips moved faster and I didn't even have time to feel that heat starting at the base of my spine. Pleasure just ripped through me as my back arched and my vision became just a white light and some unconscionable stream of profanities flew out of my mouth. I couldn't tell you exactly what I said, but I'm pretty sure it resembled

OHFUCKHOLYSHITJESUSFUCKINGCHRISTFUCKGODFUCKINGDAMMITFUCKFUCK

And then I was panting and only vaguely aware of both Friend's satisfied smirk and the Pilot's eyes looking me over as I started shaking from the aftershock. Friend chuckled to himself as he got up, and I just started giggling incessantly, still trying to catch my breath and unable to move any of my limbs more than they were already quivering. Had the light been better, I'm sure you could have seen my entire body flushed. Someone, the Pilot I think, said something, in reference to me coming hard and loud or something, and I tried to put words together to make a response and utterly failed. Which induced more giggling. Because it was really all I could do, as my breath finally started evening out and the tunnel vision widened back to include at least the room the three of us were in.

Comfort food, without the calories.

Walking home a few days ago after a solid 12 hours spent on campus (doing work and in class the entire time), I was dragging my feet and feeling utterly exhausted. On a side note - why is it that it feels my entire collegiate, more, my entire academic, career is coming crashing down on me in these last few weeks of college? In an effort to combat the exhaustion and the depression that always seems to accompany it, I called the Pilot. (This has become a regular occurrence.) As we started laughing and nerding out about sci-fi and dinosaurs and grammar, I felt myself calming down.

Thinking about it later, I realized that usually, walking home feeling like I was, what I'd really want would be comfort food - for me it's usually chili or Mexican food... Something warm and filling and most likely greasy. Of course, there's always the guilt that accompanies eating those kinds of things, knowing how full of unnecessary calories they are. But talking to the Pilot had the same kind of soothing effect. In fact, I've realized I basically associate hanging out with him with those feelings of being on vacation, and very truly so, where there are no professional, academic or social worries on my mind. It's a very happy place. I am relaxed and happy and very silly - midnight giggle-fits are a regular happening. The same thing happens when I'm with Friend. Being around either of them is like a much-needed refuge from my hectic life and even from my neuroses. Even after a no-good, awful, downright rotten day, just talking with the boys salves the wounds. They're comforting.

So they're my comfort food. Without the calories. And I'm very lucky to have them.

The pitch.

Well, it's that time of year. The academic year is coming to a close. It's something I've gone through, what, 16 times before? But this time it's different. This time, I'm not coming back. That's right, I'm graduating college.

And what comes along with that (other than parties and tears and more parties)? Stress. Primarily about finding a job. As everyone I've spoken to affirms, I know networking is key any time you're looking for a job, but it's even more crucial in this crazy economy. So, I'm networking. With all of you.

I would love to find a job working for a sexuality-related company, writing, editing, blogging, reviewing, doing outreach, managing... I've got a pretty strong skill-set. Of course, I can't get especially in-depth here, but I do have a shiny resume and elevator speech available to someone interested.

So, here are the facts:

I'm a graduate of one of the top journalism schools in the country, graduating magna cum laude with a B.S. in magazine journalism and a minor in LGBT studies.

I have experience writing, editing, and managing staff for magazines, newspapers and web sites. I have managed award-winning editorial teams and as such am familiar with the entire editorial process - from concept to publlication. My minor in LGBT studies gives me a strong background in sexuality and gender theory, and I'm always eager to learn more.

I have a variety of multimedia skills, including fluency in varous blogging software (Wordpress, Blogger and a Drupal-based CMS), as well as audio and video editing skills (Audacity and Final Cut Express), and am well-versed in other multimedia and design software, including Adobe CS3 (Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign) and Soundslides. I have examples of my work in these multimedia fields that I would be happy to share.

I'm fluent in Spanish. I am well-versed in AP style, as well as more academic styles of writing (including APA, MLA, CMS). I work well under pressure and on short deadlines.

I'm looking for a job that will be fast-paced enough to keep me busy and challenge me, where I can apply a dynamic combination of my multimedia and traditional skills. Ideally, I'd love such a position in the sexuality-related sphere, but I am open to new challenges as well. My physical location will be in Colorado, but I am quite comfortable commuting or freelancing from the Web.

Please contact me at sashasappho@gmail.com if you (or someone you know) are interested in seeing a resume and communicating further.

Sex as music.

I am STILL obsessed with this band. The Pilot introduced me to them while we were on break (or shortly thereafter, I guess). It's euro-metal, and I think it's sweeping and epic and incredibly sexy.

Enjoy.

Love letter to a memory.

The pillows you'd put on the bed for me are scattered on the floor, along with the comforter we didn't need to keep us warm. There is still some tangle of sheets around our knees, lit by the sunlight just starting to break through your still-shut curtains. It gives your whole bedroom a soft, warm and inviting aura. Or that might be you. But the light does look beautiful on your skin, catching your eyes and your smile that you flash at me sleepily and affectionately. I melt and get goosebumps at the same time, and I think you know you do this to me. That must be why you keep smiling at me.

I sit up onto my knees, try to run my fingers through my hair, tangled from your hands and my own movements. As I start to fumble with the sheets, I hear you sit up, and feel your body heat before you've touched me. As you close that distance, one hand finds its way to my bare waist, my hips, and pulls me to you. Your other hand brushes the hair off my neck and shoulder before it joins the other at my waist. I close my eyes and lean into you as you kiss my neck, softly and sweetly. You pull me tighter to you as you rest your head on my shoulder, and as you do, I glance up - and see our bodies reflected in your vanity mirror.

And in that moment, kneeling in your bed, with your arms around me and your head on my shoulder, seeing us reflected and bathed in the light of morning, I felt more beautiful, and loved, and perfect than I ever have. Neither of us spoke a word, but you stayed with me, like there was nowhere else you'd rather be and I forgot there was a world outside your bedroom door. Our reflection made the moment cinematic in the grandest way. And looking at you, and your incomparable beauty, I was more beautiful, too.

Being with you was worth the wait. And surpassed every expectation I could have. Then again, that part I knew the moment you kissed me. Whenever I look up to see a full moon, I'm reminded of you. Thank you for being exactly what I needed. Thank you for being such an unbelievably beautiful memory.

I am NOT a lying slut.

Despite what some people feel the need to tell the world.

Edward's facebook status, when I went to his page to un-friend him (something I then realized I can't do from that page. So I looked at it without needing to. Awesome.), said "Edward is tired of giving everything to people just to have his heart ripped out for no reason at all. Basically, I'm tired of lying sluts."

I think this all may end up in me not being able to claim that whole "I'm a slut" title proudly. Even reading it, there was so much malice in the term, I can hear it. I can't imagine what it would have felt like being spat from his mouth. Oh, wait, yes I can.

I've blocked him on facebook. I called t-mobile to block his number from calling me. Apparently I can't do that because I'm not the primary account holder (I'm still on my dad's plan, since he pays it for me). So I had to call my dad and explain the situation, which was embarassing, and actually he sounded a little angry at me about it. Then he had to call the company and apparently add some feature that allows us to block phone numbers. It costs money. (Not much, it's a negligible amount, but it's the idea of the thing... That, especially in a situation like this, I have to PAY to make the harassment stop?) And will take a few hours to take effect. Weak.

In case you all hadn't guessed, there's been a new round of calls, texts, and messages. I'm going to post them here, again, just to clean them out of my system, but also, actually, to have some sort of physical proof. I don't know how long this will go on - he knows where my family lives back home, and I'm actually nervous. Jesusfuck. How did it get this bad?

And the worst part is, it does hurt my heart to see it end like this. I want to be able to forgive him. But I can't. And I'm pretty confident, at this point, he doesn't deserve it. Roland has been chatting with me about some of the similarities he's seen in Edward's behavior and his own past indiscrections - I still refuse to believe you were ever this bad, Roland. In a way, it gives me hope that Edward might someday grow up and become a real, decent, lovely man like Roland. At the same time, the vindictive side of me revels a little in knowing that, like Roland has told me, Edward will look back on this and be ashamed of his behavior. Although I'm not sure he will. I think his head is so clouded with hatred for me and hurt that he can't see straight. I don't know if he ever will, when it comes to me. He holds on to things.

In any case, two days ago, after another few unreturned phone calls, I sent Edward one text message saying "Please do not try to contact me." I figured it was just enough to be clear, while remaining uninvolved. At least this way, he couldn't claim he just thought it was a phone company error. (Since 70 unreturned calls often are.) Yes, we're at 70 now.

Here's what he wrote back:

April 9: why? god damn it please dont do this sasha. please... talk to me at least. please.

i wont stop until you fucking talk to me. act grown up for a second and just talk to me.

so im in the hospital right now, it be really nice if i could please just talk to you.

(Here he called another 15 times, until 3am)

April 10: could you maybe explain to me why you not only broke my heart but hate my guts? maybe?

FOR FUCK'S SAKE IVE BEEN HOSPITALIZED FROM BEING SO STRESSED AND DEPRESSSED I PASSED OUT. COULD YOU PLEASE JUST FUCKING ANSWER!?10 DAMN YEARS OF LOYALTY AND LOVE

I THINK IS A PRETTY FAIR PRICE TO HAVE A RIGHT TO BE UPSET! JUST TALK TO ME AND ILL GET OUTTA YOUR HAIR AND YOUR LIFE!

10 fucking years sasha, i think i deserve to know why you bullshitted me so damn much and why you decided to break me so fucking bad. i do believe i AT LEAST

DESERVE SOME KIND OF FUCKING EXPLANATION! DONT YOU! YOU WANT ME GONE ALL YOU FUCKING HAVE TO DO IS TELL ME FUCKING WHY!!!!!!!

stop being such an immature spoiled lil hooch and explain to the ONE guy who has always been there for you and loved you why you decided to hurt me so bad!?

how did you become such a heartless uncaring whore? your not the girl i fell in love with. i finally get that.so enjoy as many random cocks as you want.farewell.

WHY? WHY?WHY?WHY?WHY? I FUCKING DESERVE TO KNOW WHY!? WHY THE FUCK DID I WASTE YEARS PINING OVER YOU!? WHY DID YOU LIE AND FUCK ME UP SO BAD!? WHY!? until i get

an explanation, some kind of closure on why the only girl i've cared for has bullshitted me like this i wont stop,you can block my number,you can block facebook

but im not only smart sasha but resourceful and i will bug the FUCK outta you until hear why you chose to fuck me over so bad. i deserve an answer. i need

closure, so grow THE FUCK UP FOR ONE SECOND, GROW A CONSCIENCE AND TELL ME WHY!?

hello! why sasha?! why!? hello! fucking hello!? this will all be done and over if you can just tell me why? WHY!? FUCKING WHY!? i need to know why. im so close

to cutting just a lil too fucking deep and would so much love to know why WHENEVER i care for another person i get fucked over! why i hope and wait and get hurt

ive been beat down by so much bringing me to rock bottom, and you pushed me into hell, so before i just end all the bullshit of my pathetic sad life

could you remember for one fucking minute how you used to be a good person and a close friend and just tell me WHY!?

before i rip how i feel into my own flesh could you please remember the good of me and help me understand.im so close sasha to just ending it all. i need to know

fine, ill do the only fucking thing i can do to stop it.

you may not be the only reason why crimson is flowing right now, but your cruelty sure as hell helped me get the resolve needed to do this. thank you.

That last message sent at 3:05am, my time.

And then there were the voicemails. Accompanying the 30 or so phone calls last night. At one point, I accidentally answered one (I was opening my phone to answer a text from Friend), so I just said "I have nothing left to say to you. This is over." And hung up. Here were the voicemails he left (because I sure as hell don't want them on my phone):

April 9:
"Goddammit sasha will you please just talk to me? Don't let us end like this, please? I'm begging you. Just fucking talk to me, please, I'm begging you. Talk to me and I'll leave you the fuck alone."

"Please? At least let me say I'm sorry to you. I'll apologize or something I... I, I don't wanna lose you, too, Sasha. I'm sorry. I am a fucking wreck and I don't wanna lose you, Sasha."

"C'mon Sasha. After everything that we've been through, for 10 fucking years I've been trying to get you to love me back and it just fucking tore me up that you actually don't.. still! I'm sorry for what I said, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it, I jsut.. I need you in my life, even if it's just going to be as a friend. I don't wanna lose you, please I'm sorry. Please forgive me, please."

April 10:
"You know how fucking stubborn I am, how fucking stubborn I can be, and how fucking stubborn I WILL be. Especially after devoting 10 fucking some-odd years of just trying so hard. And then everything seems to be so fantastic, and yet still it's not good enough for you. I would just like to know why I wasted 10 years of my fucking life trying to be with you and why you would bullshit me and then break me like you did. So how about you stop being such a spoiled, immature little brat and just fucking talk to me and maybe get me to understand why the fuck you fucked me over so damn hard. Maybe? I don't know. I think I deserve to at least know fucking that. You think?"

"No, you know what, I'm not gonna leave you alone. I'm not gonna stop bothering you. Because I need to know why the fuck you, of all people, of all the girls that I ever... oh god, you were the only one I ever fucking trusted. The only one I actually had fucking feelings for. The only fucking one. I would just like some kind of closure, some kind of understanding at why the fuck you have fucked me over so damn much. Why? What the fuck have I done to you? To have you bullshit me, and make me feel fantastic and like I matter to you, when really I fucking didn't. Why? You, Sasha, of all fucking people? I can't believe you, out of anybody, would do this to me. I fucking can't."

"Hey how about before I slice my goddamn wrists open like I should have done probably many fucking years ago, maybe you give me some kind of fucking closure so I can figure out why, exactly, I keep getting fucked over and why you are loving hurting me fucking this much. I would love to know why. Hopefully I'll hear from you soon. Too late, and it'll probably be too fucking late, I can honestly tell you that. Ahh, thank you, so much. This is great."

Again, that last message was at about 3am. I think. My voicemail doesn't time-stamp things.

Sigh. I never thought there would be someone in my life who would make ex seem sane. Downright likable, actually. I mean, hell, at least after I finally left him, he stopped calling after about 15 unreturned phone calls.

Sometimes it's hard to ignore that I'm the common denominator between these guys, though. I joke with my current partners about promising me they won't go crazy and decide they hate me, but it's one of those half-serious jokes.

I just want it to be done with.

flashback.

We'd been in town for a little less than 24 hours. The first night had kept us all three awake long into the morning, and as such we'd slept into the afternoon. It seems silly, given the night's activities, but I still wasn't sure where Friend and I were at. I'm always nervous when I see him again, as I never assume he's actually going to still want me. And I didn't know how the dynamic had changed since we'd all slept together.

But the Pilot was in the bathroom, showering or brushing his teeth. I was standing in the kitchen, rinsing a glass, when Friend swooped in. We'd all been a little hyper thus far, a combination of the company and the conversation and the sex. He stepped into the kitchen next to me, and didn't say anything. I just remember him being even more energetic than usual. And he took my face in both his hands, and leaned down to kiss me. Sweetly, but with intent. It lasted only a few seconds, but as he pulled away, I remember my feet faltering a little and a goofy grin spreading across my face. And the butterflies. Always with the butterflies. Sigh.

flashback.

As I turned to face the Pilot, I put my palm squarely on his chest, pressing him down to the bed. In a move surprisingly smooth (for me especially), I threw my other leg over his hips, and he muttered "yeah, that's one of my favorites, too." I leaned down and kissed him squarely on the mouth as I lowered myself onto his cock. I kissed along his neck and collarbone as I started moving my hips up and down, slowly at first. As he began moving his hips up to meet my motions, those movements got steadily faster, our breathing heavier. I kissed him once more before pushing myself upright, my hips still moving faster, my panting louder. As I sat up, a delicious fullness overtook my senses. My hips were moving without my command, grinding into him harder and faster, and I threw my head back and let my whole body rock. If he had his hands at my hips, I didn't know it - I wasn't aware of anything but the pressure building at the base of my spine and the heat spreading from that same spot. My hips were rocking back and forth at an almost frenetic pace - I can't even imagine how my naked tits must have been bouncing with my none-too-subtle motions. The force of my thrusts I know were moving his body beneath me, and I didn't care. I was entirely on another plane of existence. He pressed his hips, his cock, into me a time or two more and I felt him come. I tensed my nearly-spent muscles around him and folded my body back down on top of his. "Oh, that's just not FAIR," he exhaled.

The corners of my mouth turned up in a smirk, I looked over at Friend for the first time. He was looking at us, smiling. And stroking himself. My smile broadened as I slowly pulled myself off the Pilot, whimpering just a little as I did...

What I would have said...

...had I answered any of the 44 phone calls Edward has made since he blew up at me. In the past few days, it was down to only three or four a day, and I haven't heard from him in the past two days. I think he might have finally gotten the message. Of course, I definitely got his message. Speaking of, here are the latest texts:

Um...hi. ive been a complete wreck over what happened. so much i couldnt even work...so could we talk maybe?

please? im so fucking sorry you have no idea. please talk to me.

please please please please

please sasha. i feel like complete shit. could you please please talk to me. please sasha.

im so sorry. what i said to you was awful and inexcusable. i just...well i wanted you to want me like i wanted you. and hearing just me want what you wanted hurt... a lot. still thats no reason what so ever to have attacked you like i did. im so fucking sorry sasha. please forgive me. please please im so sorry.

could you even just tell me to fuck off. anything would be nice so i know your ok. please?

wow... you hate me that much now. ok i can take a fucking hint and leave you the hell alone. bye. (April 1)

HELL FUCKING LO!

..............

Of course, the "leaving me the hell alone" apparently included 20 or so more phone calls. That's the most active way of ignoring someone I've ever encountered. Somewhere around the longest text where he was apologizing, he left a voicemail. I was expecting a similar tone to the text - he realized what a jackass he's been and he's so sorry, won't I forgive him, blah blah blah. But no. Here's what I heard, instead.

"Could you seriously, like, fucking call me, or talk to me, or something? I would really fucking love to hear from you at all. So could you please for even one goddamn second stop ignoring me and actually goddamn pick up your fucking phone? I'm begging you. Please? Don't be more of a bitch than you have been in the past. I don't want to at least lose my fucking friendship with you. Please just fucking talk to me. Please? Goddammit!"

Did anyone else see an apology anywhere in there? Cause I sure as hell didn't. In fact, I saw more blaming me. Because I was being a bitch, like always, right? I brought this on myself, right? And when he left this message, I was actually getting close to breaking and answering one of his calls.

But, had I answered the phone, here's what I would have liked to say to him:

No. I don't forgive you. You said yourself what you did was inexcusable, which is exactly why you're not being excused for it. I could go off on some tirade about how no one but NO ONE talks to me that way, but I'll leave the tyrannical ranting and raving to you. I'm more a fan of thinking about what I'm going to say before I say it. Not always, but I think I've managed to learn my lesson, having burned enough bridges in the past. Apparently, you aren't there yet. So I hope you enjoy it on your island, with just the smoldering embers of the bridge that used to lead to me.

And even if I could get past the incredibly viscious, hateful things you said to me, the bigger problem is that I know exactly what they are leading to. I've seen it already, and you know that. Maybe that's why it was so shocking to see you turn out this way. You knew exactly what I've come from, better than most. And you must know who you sounded like when you said those things to me. And every time you tried to apologize, then when I didn't respond fast enough (or at all) you went back to screaming at me. I know exactly what would have happened had we been in the same room in that situation. Because I've been there before. I know what the bruises would have looked like, because I've had to hide them before. I know what your tone would have sounded like, because that sound has been burned into my memory, as all I could hear when I was cowering in a corner as objects flew at my body. And you know all that. You know that those situations have come about not only from people who called themselves family, but from people who told me they loved me. So how could you possibly be any different? You've told me loved me countless times. You've told me I was everything you could want, that I was perfect to you.

And do you remember what I told you when you said that? I told you that maybe you shouldn't put me on such a pedestal. And this is exactly why. Because as you're sitting there, screaming and crying and smoking and hating me, you forget that I didn't lie to you. I didn't lead you on. What you're so angry about, in fact, was the very fact that I was honest with you. And that in that honesty, I told you something you didn't want to hear. Something that didn't fit into the fantasy you've been clutching in your fist with an iron grip.

So even if I could forgive what you said - which maybe I could have, found some excuse or something - I can't forgive what made you say it. I can't forgive the hatred and anger in your voice, just like I can't forgive the fear it strikes in me. Just like I can't forgive the other people in my life who have treated me, used me like that, I can't forgive you. I can't forgive you now that you've become that. Because as soon as you said those things, as soon as you berated me, you lost any right you ever had to be anywhere close to my life. You don't deserve me. And, in fact, if that's how you treat the people you love, who have loved you back, then maybe you don't deserve anyone at all. Because I won't let you do that to me. I won't fall back into my old habits. I know where they would lead. And they lead so far away from the life I'm living and loving today that it's unfathomable. I will not let you take me back there.

So no. I don't forgive you. I can't. And I won't. You don't deserve it.

HNT: damaged.

I've been feeling a little damaged lately. My friends, bless them, have been doing a great job trying to piece me back together. But of course, taking me apart is always easier than putting me back together.

I've contemplated posting this photo for a while. It's a different kind of revealing HNT. Not because I'm ashamed of it, or even make much of an effort to hide it anymore, but because it reveals something about who I used to be. And I wear it that way - a reminder of who I was, and what I came through.



Sometimes this is a rough point in my relationships. There's always a moment when someone, (well, if they didn't know me when these were new) notices the marks. And asks about them. Or, worse. They don't. Turn their eyes away, or make those puppy-face eyes at me. So for the record: This was never about suicide. It was about coping. It was what I did. I don't do it anymore. I have other methods for coping now. And again, I'm not ashamed. I actually think the marks are kind of beautiful. That might well be my morbid fascination, but nevertheless. So here. Something personal about me. They stand out more now that I'm tan... this was taken a few weeks ago.

So in the hope of healing from all these damages and emerging a whole person - not scarred, but maybe marked; and in the interest of being able to see such flaws as beauty, HHNT.