Relationships

To those who don't live on the east coast in the US, there was a blizzard here this week. It's basically all anyone can talk about and we've been in snow day lock-down here in Boston. I spent most of the snow holiday drunk and watching tv and hanging out with roommates and friends.

My last post was a giant complaint about feeling awkward and alone. Monday night made me feel very much outside the group. Tuesday night was completely different, though. I went along with some coworkers to a party at my manager's house. We played beer olympics drinking games and drank a lot of whiskey and beer. I threw up in the bathroom on purpose when I felt like I'd had too much, and I think it helped me from losing control completely. Then my manager started handing out Adderall to everyone at the party and like a stupid idiot I took some. I felt nothing at all, so I took another one a few hours later. By 1 in the morning I was super wired and intent on learning Spanish for some reason. I walked home and felt beautifully alive, I couldn't stop talking and doing things.

L, my boyfriend, came over after sledding with his friends in the closed-down streets. "You're acting really weird," he told me. I explained the amphetamines and he laughed. He had been smoking pot with his buddies and was tired and relaxed. Me, on the other hand, I was talking a mile a minute about anything and everything. Hours passed in what felt like mere minutes and soon it was four o'clock in the morning. 
What was simple in the moonlight by the morning never is. 

I told him things I've never told him before. That I have intense guilt about my body and not being pretty enough for him (that was humiliating to say out loud.) That when we met online I was going through a weird phase and didn't even really know what I was getting into when we took a chance on meeting in real life. He said from my profile I seemed lost, like I had stumbled into a world where I didn't belong. He had been sleeping around a lot at that point, too. And I'm sure for a long time after we met. I asked him to please, please sleep around still. "I just want you to feel free, to be happy," I told him. He said he wouldn't, he wants this relationship to be different. Which made me so happy, in a way I wasn't expecting at all. He wants me, for real. He wants to know me and care about my day, he likes having sex with me but he also likes to drink coffee with me and watch the movies I like. I feel special, knowing that now.

My pupils were huge from the drugs and he just wanted me to sleep. So we started drinking, spiced rum this time. Then like an even bigger idiot than I'd already proven myself earlier, I took two hits of a bowl he packed. Alcohol and weed together make me almost immediately violently ill. I ran to go throw up and got all the booze out. Still sick. I tried to lay down and had to keep leaping up to throw up again. Agony. He was sweet about the whole thing, but if the positions were reversed I'd have been so annoyed. I bet he is. In the morning I felt ill, partially from the booze and weed combo and partially from the amphetamines, but we made love all day anyway. "made love." Such a cheesy name for sex. Fucking. Screwing. Sleeping Together. But after all the honesty last night, I'd call it making love. I trusted him more, was more sure of who he is and what we are.

I'll exercise more and eat better and blah blah blah as soon as I'm on my feet again. For now, I have sleep to catch up on.