notnatawree - Tumblr blog

[notnatawree]

hummingbirds

i've had several guitars in my life. pink glittery electric guitars, regular old brown acoustics, bass guitars with tortoise pickguards, black and white fender stratocasters.

my first guitar, that was really my own, and felt like a huge purchase - was a black epiphone hummingbird acoustic guitar. i remember when my parents bought it for me when i was in the fifth grade. gibson hummingbirds were all the rage with the 2010s pop girls, and i too wanted to strum a guitar with a pretty, illustration on the side. and black, of course, because i was just a little bit emo at the time and everyone had to know that i was angsty as i played safe & sound from the hunger games soundtrack.

i played a lot as a kid. i'd sit at the kitchen table with my dad and he'd show me how to play the songs that i requested. i admired his ability to listen to a song & have a complete tab written by memory in ten minutes. i stopped playing when i stopped having a dad (that's a joke; he's still alive). i guess you can say i stopped playing when i stopped having a dad who was present.

i'll dabble, even now, when i don't have fake nails on and when i want to relive angst. when i listen to a powerful noah kahan song and i want truly feel it within as i strum a guitar.

---

i am an internet lurker. but there's my daily lurks, and my weekly lurks, and my occasional "i haven't lurked in a while and i am really bored right now, so i guess i'll lurk" lurks. my dad & his wife fall into the final category. i don't care to check their pages often, but sometimes i'll start searching a page that started with "ju" and a suggestion pops up and i'm left with no choice but to take a look.

my dad's wife is now a realtor, and i'll give her credit for trying. trying is all you can really do in this world. do i wish for her success? of course no. do i, logistically, and from a strategical business standpoint, believe she will be successful? no. but good for her, allegedly. since she's attempting to enter the real estate world, she's probably taking suggestions from the leading changemakers in the real estate world: take social media by storm & build a following & in term build credibility through likability and relatablility and your sales will come in in virtually no time. life's such an easy things to read.

she posted a "tiktok" of sorts to her instagram page. a 30 second clip with the words "how we get to 10,000 steps a day" and it's a video of her and my dad circling around their living room in a musical chairs fashion while my dad plays guitar and sings along to some blues-y song from the 1970s that i've definitely heard but couldn't name.

gross and performative is my initial reaction to seeing such post. but i look closer at the guitar my dad's holding - a hummingbird.

it's a popular guitar, but i remember he thought it looked cool when i got mine and he'd play it from time-to-time. he liked the way it felt & it played. he liked the acoustics of the guitar.

i don't have moments where i consider whether or not people think about me. i think about others all of the time. whether they are in my life currently, or they only exist in my past. i think of my ex boyfriends often. i think of my ex best friend daily. i think of my dead loved ones here and there. i think of this random guy i went on three dates in january a couple times a day (you're still hot to me).

but to think that i exist in people's memories is so far-fetched. it's hard to imagine someone might see something and might think of me. it's easier to envision erasure. it's easier to envision i world in which i only exist in the perception of myself and those in my immediate circle. and when our connections cease, so does everything related to me in their understanding of the world.

tbc

[notnatawree]

outwardly gorgeous, inwardly grotesque

i have this running joke that i'm unlovable. it's really hilarious and i lean into it. i lean into it so much so that every new attachment i make reaffirms the point.

i made a joke with a guy that i went on a few dates with about girls who poop vs. bitches who shit.

"what do you think i am?"

-"definitely a bitch who shits"

it's funny, really. using that as an example. but deep down i fear that the discovery & implication of my inward grotesque-ness ultimately leads to my unlovability. because maybe i am a bitch who shits. and it's an ill pill to swallow that the majority probably have an affinity for a girl who poops.

the way i am initially outwardly perceived is a complete misalignment & misreading of the person that lies underneath. it's hard for me to imagine that there's a person in this world that will be able to fully string me together as an individual. deep down, it's the one thing i want. deep down, i want someone to be so curious about me that they read into my spotify playlists. that they read into everything that i say. that their amused by my thoughts and want to know more. and if i mention a book or a movie that i like, that they go on and investigate the deeper meaning to understand what that reveals about me as a person. i want them to go searching the internet for the secret tumblr that i told them about.

i want to feel understood. i want to feel fully accepted for all the characteristics that compose me as an individual. my gorgeous grotesqueness, bitch who shits, hands that suspiciously oversweat, offensive knee-slapping laugh, weirdly wide & flat feet, trucker mouth, road rage-y driving habits, weirdly dominant in bed self.

it's hard to imagine that exists.

[notnatawree]

ah, the irony

It's August 12, 2023. I realized that I haven't sat down in a long time and wrote.

The last thing that I'd wrote on here was a note on Valentine's Day. And my asshole dad's birthday, and the new guy that I'm dating being refreshing and unlike anyone I'd ever been with before.

Well that's ironic. Things were going well. I was in love. We went to Chicago together this past weekend and it was my first trip with a significant other. The trip went well, minus a wallet thievery, but ended on a sour note.

We got on the plane and were settling in. I put too much Aquaphor on my lips and he started to laugh -- he went to take his phone out and I thought he was taking a picture of my sopped-up lips. No. Turns out he was taking a picture of my arm in my tank top because it was looking a little beefier than normal. I was humiliated.

Growing up, this type of degradation was all but atypical in my family at the hands of my dad. Hiding food, policing eating and exercise. I realized my boyfriend had done this throughout the entirety of our relationship. Maybe it was internal, as he'd struggled with being a chunky kid & has a mother that (despite being on the stairmaster for an hour every day) can't seem to get under 125 pounds. Maybe it was that he loves to cook and is a foodie, but has an even bigger love for being fatphobic and looking down on people for their weight.

One of the things that my dad had done to my mom that had made her feel her absolute worst was taking really unflattering photos of her while she was naked. She found the photos and was horrified, rightfully so. This situation made me feel just like that.

I have a fear of repeating history, especially on the front of my parents' relationship. And now, I had the same thing quite literally happening to me. I had the choice to stay or a choice to leave. I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay. Staying was easier. I like his parents. We have a routine. I have hundreds of photos in my phone - many of them literally brand new. I just hard launched him on my Instagram for all my distant and non-distant friends alike to see.

I didn't want to act on impulse and break up on that plane. I needed time to process, and in time + several more comments that caused my boyfriend (past tense) to dig himself deeper into his hole - I finally decided I was done.

The words that ended it more or less were a critique on my eating habits - that I'd been having a lot of sweets and unhealthy foods on the trip which showed I really wasn't interesting in pursuing a healthy lifestyle. I said "you can't eat sweets on a vacation?" and he said "it's not just from vacation." Break-up: verb happened simultaneously.

It wasn't amicable and it wasn't pretty. My response was "what an asshole" and "you're not a nice person." It's hard when something ends that way. It's hard when something ends amicably, too.

The most painful part of this was genuinely choosing to love and accept someone that didn't reciprocate. That they loved you, possibly, but under terms and conditions. A condition that you'll be a mold of their expectations. A condition that you'll meet their technical requirements of beauty and lifestyle. A condition that you can't fluctuate, because you DO eat healthy and exercise but have had to deprioritize such because of a legitimate health battle (more needs to be written on this, don't even get me started).

For people like that, nothing will be enough for them. They will never be enough for themselves, so to expect to be a partner to someone and be enough for them is absolutely absurd. It's an impossibility. Not feasible.

The fact that he got his wallet stolen feels a little sweeter now.

Xo

[notnatawree]

valentine's day

today is valentine's day.

valentine's day is interesting. it's my dad's birthday. my dad, who i'm estranged to. and on this day, when i think of him, i have to calculate how old he's turning. 2023-1969 uhh 3+1=4 so he's 54. that's how my brain works. he's an asshole, and deserves nothing still, but i oddly don't wish him unwell. i'm just kind of indifferent to it all.

but valentine's day this year has felt especially special this year. i had my first galentine's, which i've always wanted to do, but have never had friends that'd do it with me. it was pink and pretty, and full of yummy foods that i ate way too much of.

i started dating someone new, and it's refreshing. it's different not in my head; it's different in what's happening. he's studying for a test this saturday, and while we agreed to not do anything because of his schedule this week, i woke up to a beautiful flower arrangement on my doorstep.

i like him in a way that makes me feel like my jaw can relax, and my shoulders can lower, and that little knot in my back can finally go away. he's selfless and caring and thoughtful; it's refreshing to meet someone that meets you where you are in dating.

i'm not sure what'll happen, but i hope this sets the tone for the rest of my dating life. i haven't even received flowers from a boy in like over five years. my standards have been too fucking low.

[notnatawree]

the anatomy of a corporate happy hour - drafting 2/3/23

[drafting, intensely]

i'm officially 7 months into my first corporate job, and a few happy hours later, i'm confident to say i'm making some conclusions. which brings me to: the anatomy of a corporate happy hour.

if i could draw this out, and i feel pretty passionately about this, so maybe i will, but if i could draw this out i'd start with the in v. out dynamic.

you have the "in group." and the in group will always be interesting. there will be one high level executive in this group, maybe more than one, but there will most definitely be one. around them will be a few of his subordinates-- maybe 2-3 levels below. they want to build this relationship.

you have the "out groups." this will consist of people who might work on the non-corporate side. maybe building facilities, or the reception staff. they'll mingle with corporate workers,

you ha

BTBC

[notnatawree]

being known - drafting 2/3/23

i've struggled with self esteem all my life. and i'd get into that, but i've been getting into that for years.

for the first time, recently. i've been feeling confident. sure i have insecurities. i don't know if i'll ever get to an insecurity-free point; if it's not one thing, it's another. i truly believe that's the case.

but as i suspected, confidence has been the missing element of my blossoming. i've been going out more, introducing myself to people. having small talk at happy hour, and not overthinking every social interaction. i can say yes to a date without much thought of whether or not he'll think im fat. i can agree to go to a club, and confidently enter the dancefloor. i can walk around, and feel worthy of taking up space.

i can expose my personality to people— either at work, or on the internet. in a random fitness class. in the elevator on the way to the parking garage. i feel comfortable complimenting a random person.

i'm at the point where i can do strangers decently well. it's the people who i want to keep in my life that im starting to fear.

tbc

[notnatawree]

drafting: us v. them; on my relations w the 1% - feb 3, 2023

us. us poor people. us lower class folks. us people that've used government programs to survive, and live paycheck to paycheck. us that look "out of place" and wear michael kors purses. we have this weird foreign, often ambiguous understanding of what the illusive 1% is. we might have one token "rich" family member who started a business and owns a big nice house. or maybe we passed people sitting in these massive seats on the way to the back of the plane, that is, if we've ever even been on a plane at all. there's a dissonance. we don't understand them; they don't understand us. and we all go our merry ways, not understanding each other and invoking our own biases against the opposite group. it should be the duty of the rich to understand the poor, but that's a different story.

you see, the 1% is illusive. and i didn't deal with them period until i got to college. in my hometown, we'd venture off to neighboring "wealthier" areas, and complain about how privileged our peers in these places were. we'd have to work after school or on the weekends— sweating all day, cleaning literal feces from bathrooms, for all but $10/hour while our wealthy peers would be able to go out with friends, focus on hobbies / academics / extracurriculars, and build a better future for themselves while they sustain on the family dollar. it's a vicious fucking cycle.

i met my roommate off a facebook housing group. she lived in a privileged town in the bay area, one that my crowd growing up knew as nothing more than where the illusive 1% lives. i didn't know she came from a rich family until several weeks of knowing, and while not admittedly, you can tell by the lack of awareness on surviving on a new grad salary (a decent one, at that), comments about certain aspects of her lifestyle, designer bags, & most upsettingly to someone who desperately wants a better life— the ability to max out her retirement to get a company match while her lifestyle is still partially funded by her parents.

it's upsetting to watch someone make the same as you, but will continue to build significantly more wealth than you in the long run simply because of that family foundation. i want that for my kids, but cycles exist for a reason— you don't choose which one you're born into, and you have little autonomy in where you end up. pulling yourself up by your bootstraps is bullshit and everyone knows it.

the last few guys i've dated have all come from wealthy families. i blame pretty privilege and the curse of being slim thick after major weight loss. the first wealthy guy i dated was sophomore year of college; his family had old money from oil in mexico. he lived in a beautiful, ginormous house. and spent his college years having fun at a school that he did not have to work very hard to get into.

the next boy was medium wealthy. his dad was early in tech and they lived in a pretty big house on a lake in northern idaho. he was career oriented and disciplined; i at least admired that. the next one's dad worked in the white house and has a wikipedia page. the current one is neighbors with a member of the US royal family.

it's exhausting. i don't know that i deliberately seek this. i think it's just kinda what my dating pool looks like as a conventionally attractive girl that went to a decently prestigious university. they probably think i'm one of them. and i have had this habit in dating these guys to let my identity slide under the surface. i never let them know me or anything about me; i reveal very little. so much so that i fear all of these guys that i've dated have absolutely no clue who i am.

i'm at a point where i don't know what to do. i've tried hiding my background. i've tried to pretend like i get it. i've tried to find these people relatable. i don't. i like them, sure. but there's a disconnect that is irreparable. I'll never know them like their rich friends know them. I'll never know what vacationing in Italy is like with a rich family. I'll never know what ravaging through your mom's closet and finding a treasure trove of vintage designer feels like. I'll never know the comfort that I'll be well off when I'm older. I'll never know what it feels like to dream of something like a magnificent wedding abroad, and actually truly believe that dream will come true. Everything I feel, I feel with doubt. Everything I want, I feel I don't deserve. I work hard, but it still never feels like enough. I want community, but I don't know which one to belong to. It's tuff.

to be cont

[notnatawree]

letters to my nemeses: to my father

I.

To my father, I'd save the best for last but the fuck you is so strong and lingers over me with every breath I take whether consciously or not, that I must start here. When I think about the grace you've received from your ex-wife and children, I want have each of my finger nails pulled off one-by-one as I face some other really uncomfortable circumstances. Like maybe with one nostril running in a faucet-style fashion. You deserve no ounce of grace. You deserve no breath on this earth really, but you especially deserve to breathe and feel each breath pierce your lungs with a thousand mini swords. You deserve a bat taken to your car and all windows bashed in, and all your tires slashed. You deserve the fattest shits ever left all over your lawn. You deserve your house to get tp'd, because you fucked with my little girl that lives inside of me, and that's a quintessential menace child's fantasy. But oh, I can get darker. You deserve to be snowboarding, and fall into that little ditch around a tree and die a sad slow death as you're suffocated by snow, while no one knows where you are. You deserve an AIDS diagnosis (okay, it'd be HIV but still. And I won't stand for HIV stigma if I ever become famous for this, but hey, we can't deny it's a pretty fucking bad thing to happen). You deserve your newfound son to end up in prison, cause that'll reflect you being an awful parent in all of your drug addict friends' faces. You deserve to not be listened to, not be heard. You deserve eternal loneliness. You deserve a lack of enthusiasm when you propose plans you're excited for. You deserve to be playing guitar at one of your shitty little gigs, and realize, inside, that you're in-fact, only good enough to play these shitty little gigs.

You deserve guilt. You deserve an "I fucked up, big time" moment. You deserve an "I fucked up, big time. And there's actually no going back" moment. You deserve to feel the irreparable damage you've caused. You deserve shame for the terrible parent you are. You deserve internal transparency. Internal transparency where you can admit that you're a fuck up, not just a person who's had a series of fuck-ups.

You deserve to feel it when you lay on your pillow at night. You deserve to feel it in your long-sleeve pajama tops that never feel cozy and you can't quite figure out why. You deserve an itch. You deserve discomfort. You deserve to see darkness every time you pass by a mirror. You deserve to live an unabashedly fabricated life. You deserve this until the moment you take your last breath.

[notnatawree]

drafting 12/6: wedding rings, a corporate man's favorite accessory

tbc

[notnatawree]

drafting 8/19, little thoughts

I usually think I have my life pretty figured out. And the moments where my mind goes blank are rare, but this time in my life has left me with nothing. Just empty, and utterly confused. The days string along with little clarity, so much so that I can’t think outside of my head. I can barely even function inside. 

Staying with him would’ve been painful. Saying my piece was painful. Not saying anything would’ve been painful. Admitting to the person that I want to be with that I don’t think I can be with them if they can’t fulfill a huge expectation was painful. The realization, just as much. The fact that the desire to end things was reciprocated after I said my piece was painful. The “yo” and “aight” before we got on the call was painful, and I cringe thinking about it. The apology for “ghosting me for a bit” was painful. Breaking up with him before this discussion even came to fruition would’ve been just as painful and confusing. It’s all so much to take in, and I still don’t know what to think.

There were things that I wanted to say. There were things I wanted to tell you, things we could do to become better. I thought that maybe one last effort to make things work might have been worth it. A spreadsheet of all the flights we could book so we could spend time together. But I let you open the conversation, and you led with saying this is an illogical, nonsensical idea of a relationship. And that you got in over your head a bit. And that if it’s hard now, it’ll only get harder as time goes on. And I hate that I agreed with all of this. I didn’t say anything other than, “I guess I agree.”

Because I truly do agree, but I truly am a hopeless romantic. 500 Days of Summer is my favorite movie because I have a tendency to Tom my way through life, just as I equally have a tendency to Summer my way through it as well. 

When I met you, I stated that I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship at this age. I mean, I wasn’t. You said you were on the same page, sort of. You hinted at a relationship a few times. When you asked me how you should introduce me to your friends. When we were sitting in that shitty Filipino restaurant in San Leandro, and I said how relationships were dumb at this age, and you smirked and said hmm, not if you’re with the right person. 

We continued spending time together, all with this knowledge that you were moving across the country. I became terribly confused. While I wasn’t explicitly looking for a relationship, I, in fact, said that I didn’t want one like two days into knowing you— knowing you made me change my mind in what I wanted. Logic runs my life, as it does yours. We have the same personality type, after all. And I go through life logically thinking about what my next decision should be. And I stick to a plan. My early twenties will be dedicated to my career, friends, fun, exploration. My mid twenties is when I’ll buckle down, and start thinking about real shit. Retirement, properties, love… I’ll find someone then. At 26, someone will just conveniently appear. At 28, we’ll get engaged. At 30, married. And our first baby at 32. That’s it. Two year fragments of an absolutely meticulous, foolproof plan to ensure my happiness. But what happens if you change your mind? 

And this entire time, I haven’t known what I’ve wanted. We agreed to a relationship after months of avoiding the talk. You thought I didn’t want a title. I thought you didn’t want a long distance relationship. We both spoke too late, and missed our shot. I should’ve told you how I felt back when you were debating to take job at Zoom. I didn’t want to get in the way of your future. I didn’t want our *very new* relationship to deter you from pursuing what was right for you. I didn’t want you to think I was some insane girl to pity for wanting you to stay. 

I’ve always been selfless. And I’ve loved so hard, I’d give anything to the people that I love. Maybe I could work on that a bit, maybe I need to work on myself more. 

[notnatawree]

drafting, unknown date late 2022: on therapy, on self-development

I’m deeply dedicated to becoming the best version of myself. This is a lifetime commitment. I know there’s no ultimate place where a *perfect version* of myself exists. It’s just not real. It’s not attainable because it doesn’t exist, but I’d like to do everything in my power to situate myself mentally and internally so I’m well-balanced, healthy, and happy, ultimately.

And I think happiness is attainable. Not true blissful happiness to the point where you have no problems, and everything is merely cast by some happy go lucky, rose-colored lens— but in the way where I can wake up, live with the pain that exists within me, and still look forward to life. I think the ultimate state of happiness is a combination of resilience, kindness + love + compassion towards yourself (and others, pre-fucking-liminary), and a love for the life you have created, and are ultimately seeking to create. 

I don’t quite have that big piece: kindness and compassion towards myself. I blame myself a bit. I’m not compassionate to myself when I “slip.” I don’t love myself enough to be able to identify my needs. I don’t love myself enough to think I’m worthy of some amazing love that fulfills me. I’m getting there. As a single girl. I have to get there before I commit to another relationship. 

I spend a lot of time re-evaluating my life and my choices. Life is all about choice, and the choice to seek help is something that seems rudimentary but I think it’s hard. Even knowing you need help is hard.

But what’s hardest are the moments where you go from light to dark, dark to light. How do we take the tools we learned in light times, and apply them during dark times? How do we take the pain, trauma, fear, and burdens that we carry from dark times, and set them free during light? I’d, ideally, like to never feel the polarization of light and dark. Maybe that’s what I’m missing. Rather than seeing chapters of my life as being too good, or being TOO shitty, maybe I have to take it for what it is. 

There is so much light in my life right now. I love where I am, I like my job. I’m learning more about myself being out on my own. I’m getting closer to clarity on who I am, and what I want. Yes, did I endure a hard-ish breakup? And yes, did my stalker return?  Yes. And do I have to set up major boundaries with family? Haha. But there’s a lot to be grateful for. Even in the dark. 

The pain enlightens me. My breakup tells me that I’m not ready, not because of necessarily where I am in life logistically. I mean, I graduated college. And I have a decent job. And I’m out on my own. I could, without doubt, be like prepping for a serious relationship that could very well lead to an engagement and marriage. Children even. I’ve done all the right things. But there’s no fucking way I’m ready. 

I don’t speak up for my fucking self. Enough to demand my needs. I find identifying my needs to be hard. And I find identifying what I even want to be hard. I don’t know, because frankly, I don’t quite even know me yet.

[notnatawree]

drafting, unknown date late 2022: a note on semi-serial dating

There’s a new romantic player, well kind of. It’s kind of tiring that every date that I go on just seems to go well. And it always seems to turn into something more. Every single one of my flings has started this way. 

I’m just at the point where selfishness is all that I can offer myself. Being kind, yes, I vow to practice this. But I won’t alter my path this time for the fulfillment of others’ pleasure, desires, wants, etc. If hurting others comes at the expense of my own pursuit of happiness, then that’s something that I accept.

This guy is awesome. He comes from a great family, has a great job, seems responsible, is genuinely kind, is super sweet— is a literal teddy bear if it took human form. And part of me feels guilty for not feeling some real connection to him. It’s bad timing, yes, but it’s also just like— I don’t want every guy I start seeing to turn into some monogamous, regularity of a pseudo-relationship that I genuinely just don’t want. 

I want to go on a date with one guy Friday. And another Saturday. And another midweek. Have a crush on one. Have just pure physical chemistry with another. Have one that I can be an absolute bitch to, and with. One that is down for an adventure. One that takes me out on fancy dates. One that’s a party boy who knows the bartenders and has a big friend group.

[notnatawree]

drafting, unknown date late 2022: 74

Im a compulsive social media checker. It’s how I find out too much information. It’s how I’ve gotten so good at making inferences. It’s toxic as fuck.

I’m punishing myself by making myself do 10 push-ups each time I look at any of your accounts. Which, are essentially non-existent. But your lack of social media presence leaves me three things: messenger active status, your Spotify, and your Venmo.

You have 73 followers on Spotify right now. God, I’m literally Joe from You. The day it becomes 74, the day I see that one singular extra follower, I know will be a day that’ll make my heart drop, my stomach hurt, and send me spiraling. Luckily, you’re a clueless rat, so I know for a fact you didn’t see that my followers went from 8 to 9 the very night we broke up. Whoops.

I have to prepare myself for what I’ll feel. Moving on is hard, I do it, don’t get me wrong. We will break up and I’ll check your social media, but you’ll never hear from me again. We won’t be friends, acquaintances, or anything in between. I like it this way. 

But I know that new Spotify followers are almost always going to be a romantic interest. It’s just cold hard facts of life. When J #2 started acting weird to me, I saw a new Spotify follower appear and knew it was over. And when, 5 months later, she was in your Facebook Cover photo outside of your absolutely disgustingly stunning coastal Northern California mansion, I just knew it was true. 

It makes me sick a bit, but what can I do. 

For the first time in any breakup, kinda, I’ve sorta sought to get even. Even if that means getting even in ways that aren’t visible to them. I signed up for dating apps the night we broke up, even conversed with men. I planned dates the week after. And a week after that, fucked one of them. Who I’m still seeing, by the way. Who has the job you wanted, but couldn’t get. I want to take a selfie with him, and put it on a Spotify playlist so you’d inevitably see at some point, and see that I moved on with lightning speed, making you feel like you were insignificant, even erased from my life. I want to never speak to you again; I want you to feel like I wanted this. I want you to feel like I didn’t care about you, I want to gaslight you into thinking none of it happened. I want to display how my life is going fabulously, in hopes that yours is quite shitty. I want to make you feel like shit in the most cunning, indirect, pathological ways. 

But, I won’t. And I’m fucked up for thinking that way. I guess I feel this way because I care. And why do I want to hurt the people that I genuinely care about? Lord fucking knows. 

[notnatawree]

archive 8/4/22: quick write up about my romantic feelings

I feel so strongly for ***. At least I think I do. I have doubts, of course. I don’t feel 100% in. I can obsess over him, and marvel at his cuteness, and think about him. And listen to cute romance songs and tell myself that I feel this is right. But deep down, I think I may be lying to myself. And it sickens me to know that I may be doing this to myself. 

Do I want to be with him genuinely because I want to be with him, or sheerly because I want to be someone’s girlfriend. I want my pictures to be shown, and I want them to marvel at my prettiness. I want when someone asks, oh does your son have a girlfriend? For the parents to say yes, and be like she’s such a stunning, sweet girl who he met in college!

God, I’m such a narcissist. I truly don’t believe that I’m capable of having a true, love that is genuinely filled with love and nothing else. 

Maybe I have doubts because he isn’t affectionate. Maybe I have doubts because of the doubts. Maybe I have doubts because I doubt my own ability to be committed to this. I don’t know what to think, and because of the distance. I can suppress this if I want. I could just simply delete my Messenger app, and he’d be gone. I wouldn’t hear from him. I wouldn’t be forced to deal with this torture. Maybe that’d be easier. 

If I break up with him, will I be happier? If I break up with him, will I regret it? What if I miss out on dating, HERE? I want to have cute beach picnics. I want to go to little markets. I want to cook dinner, get drunk, and fuck. I want a reason to thoroughly shower and shave my entire body!!! I want a reason to wear a tight dress and heels and see a new restaurant. I want hand holding along the cute Santa Monica streets. Being with him offers me what? The potential of a future? The POTENTIAL that it MIGHT work, given we overcome distance, given we overcome time differences, given we overcome the fact that I can’t even know anything about what he’s doing at work, given the fact that I am not even entirely sure of what his feelings for me are? God, I think I’ve answered my own questions. And it’s kinda sick, but I don’t know what else to do.

[notnatawree]

drafting 12/2: the day you can no longer bring yourself to tears

i wrote a lot this year about a guy. i don't normally have journals dedicate to a guy and my feelings and experiences with him, but this was unique.

lots of guys have liked me. that's a privilege, i guess (eh). so i get my pick of the litter when i choose to like someone back. and these people are strategic. i would never invest if i didn't anticipate a significant return.

on february 5, i was perusing the list of zoom participants for my cs x social science class to look for a potential swe lover. i found a cute one. and then proceeded to google him. and find his github, linkedin, etc. fuck me. the very same night, im at the school bar scrolling through tinder. with absolutely no intentions of meeting any of these guys, and honestly using tinder for the sole purpose of locating one of the guys that i fancy in real life, but would never otherwise speak to them. and vice versa. then boom. i see said swe lover boy from zoom. i like him. we do not match. fuck off, in the interim, i will revisit in a few days to ensure you hadn't just not seen me yet. oh fuck. next evening. we matched. "hi you're insanely cute." 300 days ago today exactly.

i hadn't liked a boy like this really ever. at least in a long time. i'd dated a few guys. i'd liked them. but there's two boys that have struck me right in the heart (this is a joke/play on words on something my high school bff and i used to say about one direction) in my life. my first little love-- my high school boyfriend. and now, him. #2. my high school boyfriend and i broke up at 16. i met #2 just weeks before turning 22. six fucking years apart. holy shit.

so maybe that's why it struck me. and it was doomed from the beginning, see previous journal entries if anyone ever reads this. i cried throughout our time together. i'd cry driving home from his place. next to him in bed. at home. i made a playlist dedicated to my sad feelings of him leaving. i was often happy, but so scared, and so sad. i liked him so much, but the sad unfortunately outweighed the happy and led to our demise. wah.

we broke up, officially, on august 15. we spent a week together in july and i loved every moment he was with me. we finally got clarity on where we stood. we fucked, a lot (my personal favorite). we re-had our first kiss at the griffith observatory at night. we had a proper hug on the goodbye. and then we tried long distance. for five weeks exactly.

i know i love this boy still. im still so sad, and devastated. i want to text him a joke, not that i miss him because that's hideous. i am still plotting what our first exchange will be since breaking no contact. im assuming it'd be a birthday message, since we have the same birthday. he probably thinks i don't want to hear from him. and while i dont want to act out or irrationally, i know distance is the only way i'd move on.

forgetting is the only way i could move on. and that comes with time. while i once felt so intense for my #1 first little lover, even years after, i now feel nothing. if i saw him on the street, i wouldn't get a shock pulsating through my body. only time and distance can heal that.

but today, i wanted to cry. i wanted to listen to said sad playlist that i made about him, and cry. i wanted to feel grief.

im past the on-command crying stage now, i guess.

[notnatawree]

drafting 11/2: fear of being a trophy wife

i have this fear of being a trophy wife, yet i almost solely measure my worth through my physical appearance.

feeling anxious about something? wear a little makeup. going to a work event? you better be best dressed. and smell fucking fantastic. when i think about what makes me a unique individual, i think that im unique in that im pretty.

so, while i fear becoming a trophy wife-- being someone that they're only attracted to on a surface-level physical basis. why do i measure my worth in looks?

bye

[notnatawree]

drafting 12/2/22: they should coin a term for this fear

im really fond of all things sex. i started masturbating when i was young, could tell a story in vivid detail about the first time my coochie throbbed (lesbian washing machine episode of 1000 ways to die), the countless hours i spent trying to figure out how to reach climax, the soft porn videos that i used to watch (girls riding, my favorite).

ever since the day i made myself come for the first time-- i’ve only ever been able to orgasm in such position. and i hate this!! i’ve tried to change it. and i’ve come close (smirk) don’t get me wrong. but im only able to come in one position. and ive only been able to come using my left pointer. yup. go lefties. 

so when it comes to sexual encounters that i have, orgasming is a... difficult thing. i think i’ve masturbated in front of a few guys that i’ve dated, especially like with my high school boyfriend where we exhausted every possible sexual avenue for two years because i wasn’t quite ready to have his penis in me yet.

but now that im getting older, im starting to think more critically about ways to resolve this. there’s a few ways that i bucket sex things.

for one, and this bucket is massive: the entertainment and thrill of it all. the non-endgame part. the part where it’s just hot that a guy’s fingers are inside you. the part where it’s unique having a dick in your ass. those parts of sex. where it’s not like, oh im stimulated and going to come. more of in a “this is hot” and “i am participating in this” kind of way. 

the second, much smaller, tinier bucket is the: my pussy is so fucking stimulated right now i actually feel so much pleasure and maybe i WOULD come hypothetically. i could probably count on my hand how many times i’ve experienced this. once while getting fucked by my sophomore year of college situationship. we were listening to summertime in paris after a cute date in his (single) dorm room and having the most intense passionate eye contact. stimulated. another instance would be with my one and only boyfriend in 5 years that lasted in fact, 5 weeks (officially) was rubbing my clit and taking directions and as an intelligent computer science boy, knew how to follow an assignment. i literally thought i was going to come. i didn’t, though.

i’ve never come by someone else’s manipulation. not even a toy, at that. i think i need to start resolving this because i would wonder what it feels like to orgasm because someone else made you. that’s like so far gone and absurd sounding to me that i can’t even seem to conceptualize what that would feel like.

like a guy that im seeing legitimately makes me lose my shit to the point of orgasm. i need to seek that. and i’ve always told myself that i’ll probably marry the first guy who does (embarrassing).