-My pelvis is currently awash in terrible, terrible pain. I'm not entirely sure why this is or why this could be, but I am not enjoying it. It's not even so much my pelvis, either, as it is the entirety of the lower half of my body. I hope to the big G-O-D I'm not in the beginning stages of paralysis. I also hope I don't have a tumor, but the latter definitely seems less terrible.
-Given that my menses is rather fucking delayed, and for no good reason at all, I would also like to assert to the world that I am currently impregnato with the second Messiah, who I have endearingly nicknamed Jeshua. He is a lovely little fetus, but I do hope he does not exist (though I'm about 125% sure he doesn't).
-While in Intro to Bible today (LOFUCKINGL), where I inhabit the corner the farthest away from the teacher, I sat musing about promises. One does not often contemplate about such things, especially such irrelevant things, but given today anything except the bible seemed relevant, I gave it a go (in my brain, that is). I began to think about the promises I have made in the past, the promises I currently make, and the people I make these promises too. With those things in front of me, I came to recognize that promises exist solely due to lack of trust. I know for a fact that an individual would not extend or beg for a promise to someone they trusted completely. They pinky-swear-promise-cross-my-heart-hope-to-die with someone they expect to fuck up. Promises possess an air of uncertainity. True, the promise can be kept and the individual can be proved wrong. True, they may disappoint and there you are, proven correct. But, in the end, how do you know? Promises are words. They aren't signed in blood. You won't lose your life if you accidentally, or even purposefully break one. You can live, quite easily, within the confines of a broken promise without the other person involved ever realizing anything has happened. Now isn't that a load of shit. Promises aren't just words - they are empty words. For example, in the case of my own life, I have often 'promised' people I would eat or not throw up. Clearly, those promises had very little power because words have no weight (no pun intended) in regards to illness. Illness scoffs at that promises and says, 'Yeah, and?' So, I broke those promises. And, no one ever questioned. And, if they did, it was to say, 'Oh, I knew you'd let me down.' Which is more proof than I'll ever need.
I also realized that I cannot even promise to try. Why? Because sometimes I wake up in the morning and just don't fucking feel like it. And, that's okay. Everyone has those days. I cannot be Positive fucking Pamela all day long nor can I try to be or be expected to be. What I can do, however, is not so much promise to try to do my best or be my best, but actually try my best and be my best. The word promise screws things up. It just sets me up for failure. And, trust me, I definitely do not need that.
Thus, what I mean to say, as I always mean to say something, is that I refuse to make another promise, because all of them are empty and futile.
-I eat a large amount of junk food. I'd chalk this up as being a teenager, but I realized today it's because my school doesn't exactly have many other options. Woops.
-Mayor Bloomberg is a fucking tool and still has yet to respond to my letter...three months later. EAT A DICK, FUCKFACE. YOUR LAW IS WRONG.
-One last significant little blurb.
Once again, as I was musing in Intro to Bible while the teacher droned on about the Tower of Babel and Hittites, I processed how interesting the concept of love is. I'm not sure how to articulate this whole thought procedure, but I will do my best:
At nineteen, today, I see that love can fade and that the two people previously in love can and do exist without each other. It has not always seemed to easy to me. At fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, even eighteen, I was wholly conviced that I would die without that love. And, that once the love faded, I would, too. I suppose I had a valid point, though it does seem quite dramatic in retrospect. When you love someone as fiercely and as passionately as I did, nothing seems to exist beyond that love or beyond that person. Everything else is relative. I sometimes randomly come to during the day and think, 'Wow, that person I loved, he isn't dead. He still lives and breathes and exists and goes to school and does shitty things just like me and every other person.' Isn't that such a bizarre concept? That person lives without you; You live without them. They seem irrelevant to your life and you irrelevant to theirs. You could spend years with one person, not seeing a single other solitary thing in the entirely of the universe, and suddenly, as if knocked in the head with a boulder, you wake up, look around and think, 'Shit, where am I?'
I still feel like that sometimes. I was washing my face in the bathroom today and I looked up in the mirror and thought, 'I'm alive. Funny how that happens. I thought when that relationship ended, I would drop the fuck dead.' But, here I am, alive and kicking.
What I find to be the most strange is that the dynamic between you and this particular person is never, ever the same, regardless of whether you remain friends, get back together, etc. The initial dynamic is golden, innocent, and unprecedented. It can exist with no one else because no one else is you and no one else is him and no two people are you two people. The love between you is electric and on fire and burning, burning, burning, lighting up every room and every day as if there's never been a single moment of darkness. And, when that fire stops, when that love falls away, what's between you is simply a pile of ash. And, that's what happens.
You can love someone else; they can love someone else. You probably will; they probably will. That's life. You don't ever love just one person. But, the love between person a and you is different than between you and him as the love between person b and him is different than between you and him. But, that does not make it any less wonderful and or strong. First love is always the hardest love and always the love that requires the most effort. But, here's the thing I've learned, if I've learned anything at all - love is effortless. If you desperately, desperately love someone, you don't need to constantly try and put on heirs. You can just be, and that is enough. So, though the original love and dynamic are unprecedented, they are foolish and blind. The first love won't kill you. Love in and of itself will never kill you; only you and god can kill you, and only god has that right. the first love will, however, change you, and taint you, but not necessarily in a bad way. You learn. You love, you live, you learn from the mistakes and you move on. And, you love again - you never stop loving.
And that's my spiel.