It’s a rough day.

I know that I’m always complaining and having my own personal pity party when I write things on here.  That’s not necessarily who I am.  I’m really a very happy person.  You wouldn’t be able to tell that all this is going on behind my smile because I really do enjoy life and I’m not a psychopath.  But I gotta let it out somehow.  The modern stream-of-consciousness is for me in typing.

 Last night, I was fighting with someone I care(d) about over text message (how lame is that?).  We recently had a falling-out.  I guess the thing is that he doesn’t feel enough.

 I love projects.  I don’t know that I’ve ever dated someone who isn’t a project, and when I have it’s been boring.  Most women at least claim that they want a healthy, happy relationship, but to me that just reeks of monotony.  I need the intensity of unhealthy (dare I say self-destructive) relationships.  I think love and hate are so closely related that when you reach one, either one, in its purest form, you’re surprisingly close to the other.  And jumping between the two in some ways makes you feel even more intense.  Happy, nice, and fun disgust me; intense, smoldering, and consuming are what I strive for.

I’m not going to claim that that’s ever worked for me before.  The relationship before this ended horrifically, and I still can’t look him in the eyes.  I haven’t told anyone exactly what happened.  But I can say that I have used my heart to its fullest.

Now, I’m in one of my projects, but I realize that I don’t have time or energy it.  He’s too damaged.  Or maybe it’s that I’m too damaged.  Or maybe it’s that we’re both slightly damaged and are starting to realize that we first and foremost have to fix ourselves.

I’m crazy about him for all his idiosyncracies, all the things that I say I hate but secretly love (or is it the other way around?).  I’m drawn to his lack of affectation yet cry when he won’t show emotion.  I love that he’s the ultimate individual yet wish he would tell his family about me.  I like to just be ourselves together but I need him to hang out with my friends.  I like that he’s too smart to fit in anywhere yet scream inside when he tries (and fails with an amazing amount of ease) to have a normal conversation.

I. Just. Don’t. Have. Time. For. This.

I want to be able to call him every day and ask how his homework is going and see if he paid his rent and make sure he went to work.  That’s normally my role.  But I can’t.

Part of me thinks I should feel like a horrible person.  He’s a nice guy.  I’m his first girlfriend.  I could make or break him for life.

But, the scariest, most repulsive, weirdest thing is that I really don’t care.  I can honestly say that I care about no one but myself.  I don’t want to know how his day was.  I’m not going to make sure he paid his power bill.  I’m exhausted.

So I abandoned him.  But I still want him in my life.  I’m one of those incredibly selfish people who wants everything.  But he wouldn’t meet me halfway (which I can’t blame), and he ran away.

Now, we started this whole are-you-going-to-call-me-on-V’s-day thing (over text message, not any other acceptable form of communication usually used for such conversations), and it started getting sour.  Then he dropped the I-HAVE-CANCER bomb.

When I say bomb, yeah, I mean bomb.  I lost it.

So I called him to clarify.  Guess what, no cancer.  Just some tests.  Certainty the potential, and all the fright associated with the doctor telling you you may have the C-word.  But nothing conclusive.

And after our conversation, the only thing I could think was, “That’s so immature to not involve someone in your life who clearly cares about you and not tell them, then when fighting drop it like it’s something you can blame them for.  Horrible.”

Horrible.  Horrible.  Horrible.

Most of all, I’m horrible because all I can think about is how selfish he was by not telling me about it earlier.  By bringing it up during a fight.  By being someone in my life who’d have the audacity to need me.