Bars

"Every empty one of us have methods
To quell the madness of this pace
But yours have led and running south
A jealous storm has carried down your face

You could take that wait and all that fuss
So now just get the best of us, you know
Give me love not suicide
And the wiser, wider part of me will show

A picture says with sight
What we can't say with words
But you've been walking eyes to feet in dark sunglasses
A picture will survive
So smile and look alive..."


This weekend was meant to be a nice happy one with Jared as my parents went away. But he ran a temperature and had to go to the doctor, and ended up having to go back to his house. I'm coming to the conclusion his immune system must not be very strong.

So I spent the whole day today watching season one of Grey's Anatomy. I've never watched a whole season of something like that in one day, unless you count Doctor Who (shut up) which I don't. It was actually quite nice not to have to wait a week to find out... well, to remember... what happens next. There's something to be said for wasting a day in front of the tv.

But it was then that I realized that I'm no different. I enjoy drama just as much as the next person. Other people's dramas mean that I can forget mine. It's when it actually gets inside my head that I hate it. And well, obviously! Really, who would like that? So it's my fault, really. For being sensitive. For letting things that aren't real get inside my head. Grey's can make me cry, but for the most part I find it relatively unrealistic. It doesn't really relate to my life like it does to other peoples'. But something like Wuthering Heights... I know EXACTLY what it's like to have someone obsessive and damaged hold on to you. So tightly that you can't breathe. And I know what it's like when you get used to them. And then when you finally break their hold you get so much oxygen that it only takes one spark to ignite...

It's a family trait. Damaged people find us, and grasp us, and use us as ladders to climb back up to the light. But unfortunately, sometimes we get overwhelmed. We have to rip the ladder away from them and use it ourselves. And not look back. And not wonder if they've made it up or not. We have to separate ourselves to survive.
I'm really bad at that bit. I have a chronic case of what if. Of looking back. If anyone took a picture that summed me up, it would be of me looking over my shoulder. It's not healthy, it's not good for me or for anyone around me, but it's just the way things are.


That's another theme. The Way Things Are. Can I help the way I am? The life I've lead, the friends I've made, the people I've been involved with? Should I be punished for that?

This holidays I've caught up with an old friend. He and I have History. It's all resolved now, but that day at that cafe we talked about it for the first time. It all happened two and a half years ago, and it was the FIRST TIME we'd talked about it. It was... liberating. It was really nice to find out that he was still sorry about it... about hurting me. A long dusty puzzle piece clicked into place, completing that picture. And it felt good.
We ended up going back to his place and watching Mr. Bean, and eating gourmet pies. But when a technology malfunction meant that Jared didn't hear from me for hours, and then when he did, found that I was alone in a house with another boy that I'd had History with, he was very upset. Very.
It all culminated in Jared and I having a big long conversation and him asking me to never let myself be alone in a house with another boy again. And it's not like that really happens that often... in fact, hardly ever. But... just the simple fact that I've been forbidden to do something is a new thing. A new step.
I have this problem. It's called being a teenager. I'm lucky, I only have a mild case of it, but it means that sometimes... sometimes... when someone forbids me from doing something, I really REALLY feel like doing it.
Not that I will. But I want to.

Man, I feel screwed up. The only reason I'm blogging about this is that I've been thinking about it, and when I think about it I end up feeling like there's a thin layer of gauze wrapped around me. Like a set of almost-translucent bars around me. Cutting me off. And the question prods me in the side... doesn't he trust me? Doesn't he think that I can look after myself?
I've already asked him stuff like this, and he says he does trust me, but he still feels bad about it. And I will do anything, ANYTHING, to make Jared happy. No question.

But inside myself, in the depths of my mind, I should be allowed to be a bit annoyed.

Right?