Listening to a new Tori Amos song. She just got to the part where she says, "we give ourselves away thinking that will make him want to stay." I gave a lot of myself, but I didn't feel I was giving myself away. I felt like I gained way more than I sacrificed. One thing I kept saying to him when I was trying to convince him to stay was that the good outweighed the bad. I still feel that the good outweighs the bad.
The bad is pretty bad. I can admit that. There's not a whole lot worse for a gay man than having AIDS. This is when family means the most. This is when you band together, not fly apart. He was supposed to be my family. He was supposed to be the one who would hold me while I cried. Now I can't even talk to him. I can't even reach for the one person who could make this better. It will never be 100% again, but it could be better. It can't be much worse.
I spent most of yesterday decorating a midtown loft for a circus/burlesque party. It was a lot of work and I feel like I did an inspired job. I just buried myself in it after therapy. I want to just take my career all the way. I gave up so much of my time and energy to devote it to his star. I don't regret that. He's worth it. Now I just have something to prove, and I am proving it.
I have to go to this party tonight. I am so not in a party mood. I don't really want to be around tons of people, and I don't really want to smile and be friendly. I want to hide. I want to hide in his arms. He will never let me do that again. He is so angry at me. My shrink reinforced my belief that his anger is getting the best of him, and that's why he's lashing out. She asked me if it makes it any easier to let him go. It doesn't. He is better than that. He is better than this. I just wish he would remember that.
He has said some really hurtful things to me. He's trying to hurt me, at this point. I can't hurt any more than I already do. I'm simply at capacity for pain. I have never hurt like this. I have never been so completely destroyed by the actions of another person. Inaction, rather, because it's not what he's doing, but what he failed to do. He failed me. He failed himself. He failed our love. He may never realize that. I do.
I was trying to avoid looking at his Tumblr account, but my sister started telling me he's not as hot as I think he is, so I went on to remind me. He's hotter than I think he is. He is the sexiest man in the world. His face is perfect, he's got the cutest head. He's got the hottest body. I jerked off looking at photos of him, a magical ritual of self-gratification. This was after I stopped talking to my sister.
One thing I saw on his Tumblr is that he's using the backpack I sent him as a birthday present. I felt warmed by that. He was having shoulder pain from carrying a bag that hangs off one shoulder. I found a fairly inexpensive black bag with a ribcage design on it that I knew he would love. I saw a photo of him wearing it. That made me smile for the first time in a while. I hope it helps his shoulders. He never thanked me for it, but seeing him use it is all the thanks I need.
This morning I woke up and reached for the hand of a stuffed Lorax he gave me. The cute little yellow fellow is so soft and just sits with two other stuffed animals he gave me. I have them at the head of my bed. I wrote his bed there, first. I still think of myself and everything I own as his. I don't give myself away so easily. The first thing I did was grab that tiny hand and close my eyes, imagining it was my love's hand, imagining I was reaching for the comfort I need, and getting it.
I wonder if he's getting my psychic messages. He told me I was being manipulative and disrespectful for posting things about him. I wonder if he thinks my psychic calls are disrespectful, too. I call out to him all day long. I beg him to come back to me. I beg him to be kind to me. I beg him to love me. It's been a month and a half since I've become this psychic beggar.
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