It has been so hard for me to write. I stare at this empty box, write a few words, and close the window. I just can't express how I feel in such a tiny little box. It feels too confining. I feel that the keys on my keyboard and the little black letters they create on the screen could not possibly accurately portray what's going on inside of me.

But I'll try.

I feel like a different person. I feel like something has changed inside of me; its changed the very essence of my being. I'm not happy. I don't enjoy the same things. I don't have the same regard for my friends.

I feel trapped within my mind. I feel seperated from reality by an invisible impermeable boundary. My social life is non-existant because I refuse to acknowledge any goings-on in the world that are not in the forefront of my mind. As a matter of fact, I've developed a one-track mind. I have set objectives and they are all I see. Everything thing else fades into oblivion. Including people, the things they do, and the things they say. Its not that I don't care... but at the same time, its exactly that. I wouldn't call myself self absorbed, I'm just not all there.

When I have moments of clarity I acknowledge it, and I hate it. My revelations lead to sadness and hopelessness. And then they pass, and I feel nothing again.

Something strange happened to me last week. I was in Montreal and met up with a friend. A friend I talk to every so often online and keep promising to see on the rare occasions I go to Montreal. There is always an implied sexual intent to our conversations, and that was cool with me, he was on my 'to do' list a few years ago (immature, I know, but in my defense I was 19 and thought it was amusing). So last week I got what I wanted. Was downtown, saw him and went home with him.

Deep inside I knew I didn't want to be there. I just didn't want him anymore. But at the same time, I felt that I needed it--for my sanity if anything. I don't think I'm the only person in this world that can admit to the need for a good fuck (for lack of better words) as a much needed release for sexual frustration and other stresses and anxieties. So I kind of forced myself to go home with this guy, convinced myself I would be grateful for it later and would feel much better after I got it all out of my system.

I can't describe the exact moment where I had this epiphany. Things didn't go as planned, someone wasn't prepared for the situation and I got frustrated. And at the same time relieved. It was a mix of feelings all at once. All I knew was that I just couldn't stay there. It had absolutely nothing to do with him, but I couldn't stay in his presence. Even now I cringe thinking about what happened--or rather, didn't happen--with him.

I didn't know what I felt. For whatever reason, I felt that it was wrong. I don't know why.. I'm allowed to do as I please and there is nothing wrong with seeking sexual pleasure with someone I knew fairly well and was pretty good looking, to mention it.

I started thinking about A Certain Person and I wondered if I freaked out like that because of him. Because maybe I want him, not anyone else. But I won't admit to wanting him in the slightest way. I don't want him. At all. Yet I do. But I don't.

And this is my life..