Don't know. Don't know. Don't want to know. Ignorance is bliss; that's why ostriches perpetually have their puny heads buried in sand.
I don't know. I can't say. My head hurts.
And: I wish you'd just, once and for all, go the fuck away.
There's a very good reason why this journal has got incredibly impersonal lately. Quite apart from how I had nothing much of substance to say anyway, there's also the fact of the uncomfortably high number of people reading. But then, I'm fine with the same number of people reading if they were total strangers; what bothers me is the fact that this journal is read mostly by people that know me, not all of whom I'm particularly close to.
I think it's been established that there are a lot of things that I don't talk about - not just here, but in person as well. Besides the few close friends that I have to whom I tell everything, everyone else gets the superficial, the mundane, the unimportant. But it's not because they don't deserve more; it's because I don't want to present myself in a way that might potentially invite pity or sympathy, that might make myself appear vulnerable when I want to be anything but.
This is why I haven't given, and will not be giving, a very good friend of mine access to this journal. I trust him completely to keep my secrets (not that anything written here is a secret; I'm just saying), but I can't be vulnerable around him. We talk about all sorts of things but the one thing that we don't talk about is matters involving the heart. He'd listen for sure, but I just don't want him to see me as some poor damaged good that needs taking care of.
Even if it's patently untrue, I insist on believing that I don't need anyone to take care of me. The mere idea that I might need to lean on a person of the opposite gender repulses me in a way that I honestly cannot put into words. It might be an inhibition, a fear, or just plain disgust; whatever it is, it doesn't discriminate and applies equally to all, no matter their innate trustworthiness, or my confidence in their ability to reassure me and take care of me.
It's not about them, you see; it's about me. It's always been, hasn't it? It's not that I don't want to open up to you; it's that I can't. It opens too many cans of worms and tricks me into feeling a certain way when I've stopped trusting that a long time ago. That feeling that induces you into leaning on someone else when the only person in the world that you can rely on, the only constant that you have, is yourself - giving in to it is catastrophic. I'd like to think that I'm without feelings, but I'm not the ice princess I wish I could be. It's so easy not to feel human emotions - remorse, guilt, an intuitive urge not to hurt someone else - and just barge through life doing whatever the fuck you please, whenever the fuck you please, with whomever the fuck you please; but I'm not like that. And it is precisely because of my inability to be emotionless and unfeeling that I can't be emotional around people that could potentially hurt me or vice versa, even if they are the nicest, most trustworthy people on the planet.
God, I swear I didn't want to be like this. I was optimistic at one point, thinking that I couldn't possibly get any more cynical than I was, but I guess that was misplaced. Like Oscar Wilde said, the basis of optimism is sheer terror - and maybe that was all it was.
The question is, what was I afraid of? What am I still afraid of?
At times like these I desperately want to re-watch my beloved Veronica Mars. I'm reminded of that scene in one of the earlier season 1 episodes in which Veronica goes out on a date with Troy. At the end of the date, Troy leans in to kiss her, but she instinctively pulls back. When Veronica is back home and lying on her bed, she goes through a mental checklist of all the qualities that Troy possesses which she finds attractive, and her voice-over ends off with, "God, Veronica. What are you waiting for?"
Well, the bright side is, Troy eventually turns out to be a lying drug trafficker. But how often do we get it right? More often than not we get it horribly, hopelessly wrong.
And, I don't know, just hazarding a guess, but maybe that's precisely the thing that I'm afraid of.