Until October

I'm not going to make it. Until October, that is. I realize that this blog has been silent for a long time. I haven't felt enough of an urge to visit it, to write in it, in a while. Things have occurred in my life; I've run through my fair share of experiences with the opposite sex, for one. I've done things that I have looked back on in with slightly pink cheeks, but regret is for the weak, and I am not weak. I messed around with one of my best friends, a situation that many thought was mostly a bad idea, if not an extremely odd-if not somewhat disgusting-one. It worked out though, strangely. Although we ended up ending it-correction, I ended it, because I was no longer interested, and matters of distance and lack of emotional attraction played part-we have had the chance to remain friends, without awkwardness, which is quite nice.

After him came a slew of crushes, both from me and on me, and trips to the psychic somehow led me to the person I currently call my boyfriend. She had warned me, of course, about my intentions with this boy, the boy who she stated that I was "confused about." Indeed, she was correct at the time; I was confused about his feelings towards me, as there was another girl upon whom he greatly doted. However, I realize now that it was my personal confusion that caused her to be wary; I thought I was attracted to him, which I was, but only because I was confused about my emotions.

Yes, it seems harsh. I'm harsh, and I'll admit it; I don't deserve to be in a relationship, not a serious one, not right now, and definitely, definitely not with him. The psychic I saw specifically warned me to stay just as friends with him, a piece of advice which, me being me, did not clear my brain enough to alter my decisions. I was set on having him, mostly for the fact that I wanted to win his affection away from the other girl. This intention, mixed with a little-okay, a lot-of alcohol, landed me in his arms at 2 in the morning, and the rest only escalated.

At first I thought it would be okay. I thought I had made the right choice, even after my sobering up, and that belief came to me as a blessing, as if the psychic who I'd seen had been too nearsighted, had not clearly evaluated the situation. It was good, great even, for the first week.

And then he told me he loved me.

AFTER A WEEK. Such words put me in a strange position; indeed I felt as if I liked him, and that I cared about his feelings, and that I could rely on him and tell him my woes, but love? There are few I love in this world; more often than not, people who care for me only remain in my life because I have some use for them, whether it be to pass the time, or to benefit me in some way. It's cruel, yes, and yes, I am quite a bitch for it, but that has been the way it has been. But when those words came out, and the look of expectation appeared on his face, I cracked. I repeated it back, without really meaning it. I didn't love him, and as the days passed after, the words created a counter-effect. All of a sudden, I began to see all his flaws, all the misalignment in our morals, in the variances in our values. He had no drive to do anything except play and waste his time away, and yet he picked at me for not having interests or hobbies. He did not appreciate anything; after a time, I felt as if I had to seek his approval on everything, be it involving me, or activities I suggested, or restaurants I recommended, or things I did. Nothing was ever good enough, for he could do better, for he had tasted better. Pessimism was his best friend, criticism his favorite tool, and yet, nothing I said, none of my words, could break through his stubborn exterior; he had to have it his way, or else he would whine and complain.

I realize that I sound bitter. I am bitter. But the fact that I'm this bitter, after a mere 2 months, is clear indication that this relationship has been a mistake. Of course, I do not deny that I play some part in this. I lied to him about loving him, and I am now regretting-despite being so against the idea of regret-that I ever initiated anything. I feel as if I should feel sorry, but I also feel as if I shouldn't. I did not realize, fully, what I had gotten myself into. And yes, I'm bored. But is that something that I should feel guilty over?

Whatever the answer to that is, however, doesn't matter. What matters, really, is the fact that I must end it. I don't care for him in a romantic way, and thinking back, now, maybe I never really did. Maybe the mixture of over competitiveness and intoxication put me in a mindset where I thought I was interested. And maybe, just maybe, that was what the psychic had warned me against.

Considering that I have thought about all this, I had originally planned to hold out until next March to end it. Many reasons pointed for that date; I didn't want to hurt him in such a short time period, as had his previous girlfriend, and I didn't want to do it during winter holidays, which last until Valentine's Day. As time passed, however, the idea of holding off until March seemed more and more excruciating; in this, I thought, perhaps, at least October. I would be lasting longer, still, than his ex, and I would at least have the distance of separate universities, and the stress of the new school year, as excuses. It would be right before November, his birthday month, and after our mutual friend's birthday. Now, however, I realize that these future dates have been set in much futility. I can't last that long. I don't want to last that long. And why, why should we last that long, when I had previously explained to him that I get bored incredibly easily? Why, why should the sober me have to put up with the situations drunk me instigates? I realize, now, that I really can't last much longer. I can't even muster up an "I love you" anymore, not even a false one.

I have to break up with him.