Before I go off on my tirade I just have to reflect on how admittedly grateful I feel about the diaryland community. I feel like those who are on my buddy list are kindred spirits, they depress me and inspire me equally as I read their poetic rhetoric that chronicles lives that seem to run parallel to my own. Who would've ever thought the internet could bring people together in such a vague unconnected way.

I wish I could write like you guys. I wish I could write the way I used to write.

With that said, time for my entry. Yeah, no pressure.

The reason I have not been so keen on dland has been a combination of letting go of technology and simply having more desire to write in my journal than on a screen. A keyboard allows for easy rants, but a pen allows for the soul to flow through one's body and straight onto paper. You can't delete, you can't edit > undo, you just let it out. I am a fan of.. what is it called.. rhythmic writing? Where you just put your pen down and let it go.

Sometimes, when I write in my journal, I stop mid-sentence as a heavy realization begins to form on the page. I have had many epiphanies as of late.

I won't go too much on how I am searching for teaching jobs in the UK. It all seems so mundane compared to everything else that has been transpiring deep within my mind.

I also won't go too much into what I've already written down, except to say that two weeks ago I was in Ottawa for work. I forget the names I've given to certain individuals in this diary, so bear with me. I saw Boy and I saw the Waiter (ah, I think that was it). The latter more by chance, something I hadn't planned and wasn't specifically eager to see, but it was one of those confrontations that, looking back, you realize needed to happen in order for further things to unfold. A lynchpin, if you will.

We were supposed to watch the game. He showed up early so we just hung out in my motel room before. He tried to be all lover-esque and I was like no. I tried to explain what has been happening inside of me. Tried to explain, basically, the concept of bramacharya without referring to the yogic philosophy. I just wanted to keep my energy to myself, I need this energy, I can't let anyone else into my energy, I can't explain it. But the Waiter is a smart fellow, one who has lived, and he said a few things to me.

One thing he said was, "I think you're just slightly depressed, that's all."

The other thing he said to me was, "Has anyone ever made you feel special?"

The first comment was putting to words something that I have been hesitant to admit to myself. I am having trouble even now saying that I am feeling "slightly depressed" but I would be stupid to deny it. For Chrissake I work in the field of mental health. I spend all day every day talking to teenagers about the symptoms of depression and how it can be treated and encouraging them to get help, but I can't stop for five minutes and see my own situation from a clear perspective. I don't know if I'm depressed, truly, I have no fucking clue. Sometimes I think I am just screwing with myself, every time I feel "lack of interest" or "lack of appetite" or any of the other 13 symptoms on our board, I think "do I have depression?" and "have I always been this way?" and "is this a a major change in my behavior?" and "am I having trouble functioning normally in day-to-day life?"

But for someone to reflect that I seem so sad and put a name to it, and to say it in a way that makes it sound ok, I don't know it kinda just sticks with me. I'm wondering if I need to be put on medication, like maybe my body just doesn't produce enough seratonin and dopamine naturally, because it seems like if I'm not training every day this is what happens I just start to feel depressed. My knee is fucked, and the weather is looking up, and I can't even run.. So yeah, when you can't do "your thing" and all the things you love to do that make you feel good.. its no wonder I feel this way I guess.

The second thing that Waiter said made me cry. This is coming from a girl who doesn't cry. A girl who never, ever cries, let alone someone who would cry in front of someone else. It's not like I was sobbing or anything, but as he said that I came to this huge realization as I answered to the question of if anyone has ever made me feel special, "No, not in a long time." It was as if I forgot that was possible, that that happens, that that is what is supposed to happen between a boy and a girl. I told him, "You're going to make me cry," and as he told me no don't cry it didn't matter because the tears slowly formed in the corners of my eyes and silently slid down my cheeks as he kept talking about how I deserve to have someone show me what it's like to be treated for what they are worth.

What he made me realize is that I'm so done. The reason I don't crave meaningless sex is because I'm over it. I'm over the games and the booty calls and the not feeling special. He is right, I deserve someone who makes me feel that way. And right now I'm not really ready to settle for less.

It is with this realization that I saw Boy. The one who I have been writing about since January or so. I searched his face, his kisses, his vibe, for any indication that he would be able to provide what I felt like I so desperately needed at that time. To no avail. It didn't feel wrong but it didn't feel right. We had a charming time, and I thought maybe! just maybe! next week when I come it will happen and it will be great.

But then fast forward to "next week" which was this week. Again, a fine time, some fun and games and I have nothing really bad to say. Until the end. Because instead of staying the night, he left around midnight, claiming he needed to just sleep in his own bed and catch up from the weekend where he crashed on his mothers couch the whole time. Fine, I get that, who wants a crappy nights sleep in a motel when you so desperately are craving your own bed. But then I said, this is last time I am coming to Ottawa for work. You're going to have to come to Montreal and visit me. Will you?

His answer, "Actually I am coming to Montreal in June for a comedy show.. but I'm staying at my friend's.. and I only planned on coming for the show so..."

That was enough for me.

I let him leave, I said goodbye, and I went to bed. I woke up an hour or two later and realized he wasn't there and I was sad. I woke up in the morning and I was sad. I drove back to Montreal after work that afternoon and as my colleague fell asleep I was thinking of the night before and what he said I then I was really sad. And I knew it had to be over because this guy wasn't the right guy for me.

I don't think I have to explain it. I don't think I need to dissect every word of what he said for the purpose of this entry because the message is clear.

I knew I would have to say something to him. I had to suppress the part of me that likes to run away. I remembered what happened with Kryptonite and how I thought I would be ok with just saying fuck this forget this but how that blew up in my face when I felt the need to communicate only after it was too late. I wanted to avoid drunk text altercations and I knew I owed it to him to be honest as soon as I was able to finally decipher my feelings.

But shame on me I did this via text. Honestly, I would not have had a problem having this conversation over the phone, but to me it wasn't even worth the phone call.

"I want to talk to you about something. I'm not good at this communication shit but I need to spill it out now before I get drunk so bear with me.

I really like you. Really. But I'm a point in my life where I'm over just hooking up with people for the sake of having someone or something to do. So if you are wondering why that hasn't happened yet, that's why. But for me, if I ever feel like I start to really like someone and they don't feel the same way about me, I'd rather it stops sooner rather than later, because I don't want to get hurt. I feel like that might be where this is going"

He replies, "But you are moving away, so I would assume nothing serious would happen anyway."

To which I said, and am rather proud of myself for saying this, "I get that. But I don't believe its fair to try to control your feelings or miss out on good opportunities because you don't know what the future may hold. Life is too short."

I felt the need to post this conversation (even though its soo 15-year old, whatever) because I was able to say something and mean something that I have been working on for some time now. The concept of not trying to control your feelings, just because you are scared. I believed it and I lived it and I stood by it.

He said it was good to tell him what I was thinking, because he had no clue where my mind was at. I said well yeah I hate communicating mushy shit but at the same time, I didn't know what he was thinking either, so we both suck.

And this is where it gets really good.

"No, I don't. I just wanted to get naked."

At this point I'm in a bar with a beer in my hand waiting for the Habs playoff game to start. I know this conversation must be concluded before the alcohol starts making my blood run hot. I didn't know what to say.

"That doesn't make it any better." I decided on. He said at least he's being honest, better to be honest than not.

I told him I appreciate his honesty. And that now I was drinking and I had to go. But then five minutes later I realized I was beginning to fume, and I was like, no.

"Actually, you know what. There's a difference between being honest and being a jerk. Maybe next time it would be better to say nothing at all than to admit you just wanted to get in someones pants. Sorry I just decided I didn't appreciate that at all."

This concludes my retelling of this conversation. I feel stupid going on my phone and reading the texts so I can relate them here clearly without changing the meaning of what was said. It's important to me because hopefully in the future I will read this and I will remember what I have learned and what I have yet to learn.

I let too much slide. I shouldn't have let it go, the first thing he said about just wanting to get naked. That's not being fair to myself. So yes I re-opened the can of worms after supposedly having concluded the conversation, which is so stereotypically neurotic but right now I don't care. Because I felt like I needed to advocate for my feelings, that were hurt, and for what I was worth. And to send him the message that no this is not ok, this is not how you treat people. There's a difference between being honest and being a jerk. There are other, more sensitive ways to say the same thing if you really want to be honest. He was just being a jerk.

I also learned that I thought at this stage we hadn't seen each other enough to have the "What are we?" talk. God I hate this bullshit I hate instigating that conversation and I dread doing it. I actually don't think I ever have done it. But now I realize that maybe that conversation needs to be had, sooner rather than later, and always. I don't know. I don't know where this would have gone if we had stopped having fun for five minutes and sat down and asked one another where we thought this was going, where it should go, and where it shouldn't. Like I said, I hate that bullshit. But I guess I learned that it is a necessary evil.

I learned that I have at least learned a little bit since my past explosive "break-ups" if you can even call it that among two people who aren't officially seeing each other. I am happy I was able to confront the problem before it got too big, before feelings--not only the positive but moreso the negative-- became stronger. As soon as I was able to rationalize my feelings and why I was having those feelings, I knew we had to have this talk, and I did it. I guess that's the best you can hope for.

I feel sorry for anyone who is reading this entry, and who by some act of God made it this far without being bored out of their skull. But this entry was as necessary as the events that inspired it, I guess. Last night, and still a bit today, my heart was not really broken but I will admit, a little bit cracked. It hurts. It hurts to remember my feelings upon first seeing this guy, reporting to my friends jokingly "oooh I'm in looove," thinking of this guy who again seems to be just perfect on paper.. and then to confront the reality that the ones who are perfect on paper are never good for you at all. Just look at this guy, who I thought was not possible of any harm, to so openly say "I just wanted to fuck you" (essentially). You and everyone else, buddy. I'm sick of it, honestly. I'm done with those guys, really. I feel my budding resentment for these men blooming. Will the cycle never end? Will the bullshit ever stop? I kind of hate them all.

And that makes me sad. It makes me really sad, to reflect on what just happened and how that has pretty much been the story of my life. And here I have to insert the cliche "I thought he was different" and of course admitting he wasn't different at all.