feeling disposable

I know when I started this I promised I'd not get deep or talk about actual shit going on in my life. Because honestly, I hate when people do that. It's so melodramatic and attention-grubbing and silly. Nonetheless, here I am, about to vent a little, because I am feeling down, and I need to. So if online bullshit journal entries turn your stomach as much as they do mine, just skip over this.

Scott left this morning to go back to Iraq. For a week and a half I couldn't wait for him to leave, to have my house and my life back to myself again. Then things finally normalized, and now I am ultra sad that he is gone. It is nice to have a built in companion at all times, someone to go to the store with, to go dancing with, to go to shows with. None of my friends are that dependable, because of varying lifestyles and occupations. So now I feel lonely, really lonely, and scared and sad and abandoned. Abandoned, again.

And today, I am feeling the need to mend fences, which I know is senseless. (Ah, beautiful, "Kiss Off" by the Violent Femmes just came on the radio.) It's so rare that I cut anyone in my life off, or that they cut me off, that when it happens, I instinctively want to do anything and everything I can to correct the situation and mend the relationship. And I guess part of my problem is that when someone cuts me off, I feel disposable. As though everything I did wasn't worth a shit, every word I said meant nothing, and in the end, I was just a warm body to get someone through the night, and now my usefulness is spent. So I therefore want to "fix" things, to reassure myself that I mean something, that I wasn't just a shoulder to cry on, to be dismissed when the need had passed.

In my head, though, I know it's not even worth the time. If someone will drop you once, he or she will drop you again. And it will hurt just as much the second and third times as it did the first. So instead I'll just lean on the people I know love me, who won't dump me when something more convenient comes along, until the sadness and pain has passed and I am left instead with the memories of the good times and the belief that I was truly cared about, for whatever reason.

Sigh. Well, if you made it this far, you've probably vomited at least twice by now from the utter melancholia of this journal entry. Sorry about that. I'll try not to do it again.