no good.
Tonight, Wataru rang. A lot. Eventually I answered and we talked for about 2 hours.
During those two hours, various attempts at emotional blackmail by him, and various cold-hearted responses from me.
I got stuff off my chest about the suicide messages, and about the fact that he didn't seem able to take responsibility for anything.
He asked if I'd considered how my meetings -- actual meetings, nothing else, mind -- with other gay guys would have made him feel. I said I probably had been thoughtless. Then I asked if he'd thought about how his meetings with exes would make me feel. answer: that stuff was all in the past.
As the conversation went on, it seemed to me at least, more and more that we wre bad for each other. He didn't see it that way
A horrible situation, and a horrible way for me to respond.
Sunday 30 September 2007
Monday 10 September 2007
Still feel alone
... but working out why I broke things off.
I know understand why the word "break" is used in "break-up". It's a horrible, wounding, ragged-edged process, and instinctively I want to put the two pieces together again to make the pain stop.
But then I remember. I didn't feel equal, or in control of my life, or that I was doing any good. Too late, I found out that I was doing just fine. At least, that's what he said when we were staring down the barrels. But the not-trusting part (yeah, it keeps coming back to that) was the most hurtful. He didn't even mean it that way. He just thought I wasn't capable of making my own friends without his supervision.
All the progress we'd made with him not being my parent as well as my boyfriend. And in the end, I still didn't think it was enough. The unilateral nature of the separation makes me doubt myself. He was my best friend in so many ways. But now I don't have anyone here to talk it over with. And I miss him desperately.
Amazing how your mood can turn around, eh? Yesterday morning, I woke to some fairly suicidal-sounding messages. So I got up to his place as fast as I could, not knowing whether I'd find him alive or dead. No reflection on me, by the way. Suicide in Japan is a lot less taboo than it is in the (admittedly post-Christian) West. Plus, having had two experiences of suicide close to me, it outweighed the urge to resist in case he was going Fatal Attraction...
Anyway, I rang and rang and rang on the way up (even from the train, though you're not supposed to here). And when I got there, I rang and rang and rang on the doorbell, terrified that he'd done something bad. No answer. I got my keys out, but he'd put the chain on the door. WTF?? Eventually, after much more more ringing of phones and doorbells, he came to the door, stared at me, closed it, and then released the chain and I followed him inside.
I resisted the urge to punch him for making me think he might be dead. So I just cried instead. Then, as I was about to leave, he patted the bed beside him, gesturing for me to lie down and stay for a bit. I lay. After he said that I had killed him, and killed his dreams... he started to listen. He hadn't shown any emotion -- just complete withdrawal. Then, once we started talking, he eventually cried. He'd never cried at all, even in our darkest times. (That was something he took the piss out of me for!) But this time, ... tears. Floods of them. From both of us. When I left, he was lying on his back, still crying. I've something similar once before. But this time it hurt like daggers shredding me inside.
They say it's like losing a limb, but this is all in the internal organs. I can still walk, talk, carry out basic tasks, and (clearly) type. But I can't bear to think of how he is, cos then I want to call him and see. But that won't help, cos it'll draw out the inevitable process again.
Ouch ouch ouch...
I know understand why the word "break" is used in "break-up". It's a horrible, wounding, ragged-edged process, and instinctively I want to put the two pieces together again to make the pain stop.
But then I remember. I didn't feel equal, or in control of my life, or that I was doing any good. Too late, I found out that I was doing just fine. At least, that's what he said when we were staring down the barrels. But the not-trusting part (yeah, it keeps coming back to that) was the most hurtful. He didn't even mean it that way. He just thought I wasn't capable of making my own friends without his supervision.
All the progress we'd made with him not being my parent as well as my boyfriend. And in the end, I still didn't think it was enough. The unilateral nature of the separation makes me doubt myself. He was my best friend in so many ways. But now I don't have anyone here to talk it over with. And I miss him desperately.
Amazing how your mood can turn around, eh? Yesterday morning, I woke to some fairly suicidal-sounding messages. So I got up to his place as fast as I could, not knowing whether I'd find him alive or dead. No reflection on me, by the way. Suicide in Japan is a lot less taboo than it is in the (admittedly post-Christian) West. Plus, having had two experiences of suicide close to me, it outweighed the urge to resist in case he was going Fatal Attraction...
Anyway, I rang and rang and rang on the way up (even from the train, though you're not supposed to here). And when I got there, I rang and rang and rang on the doorbell, terrified that he'd done something bad. No answer. I got my keys out, but he'd put the chain on the door. WTF?? Eventually, after much more more ringing of phones and doorbells, he came to the door, stared at me, closed it, and then released the chain and I followed him inside.
I resisted the urge to punch him for making me think he might be dead. So I just cried instead. Then, as I was about to leave, he patted the bed beside him, gesturing for me to lie down and stay for a bit. I lay. After he said that I had killed him, and killed his dreams... he started to listen. He hadn't shown any emotion -- just complete withdrawal. Then, once we started talking, he eventually cried. He'd never cried at all, even in our darkest times. (That was something he took the piss out of me for!) But this time, ... tears. Floods of them. From both of us. When I left, he was lying on his back, still crying. I've something similar once before. But this time it hurt like daggers shredding me inside.
They say it's like losing a limb, but this is all in the internal organs. I can still walk, talk, carry out basic tasks, and (clearly) type. But I can't bear to think of how he is, cos then I want to call him and see. But that won't help, cos it'll draw out the inevitable process again.
Ouch ouch ouch...
Saturday 8 September 2007
the lowest point
This week has been tough
But this is the lowest point.
The Cat and I just split up. I never expected it to be nice, but after the longest of chats he sensed that I still wanted to leave him.
He fought for us and I still wouldn't change my mind. Something wouldn't let me. Conviction, for once...?
I was warned I'd feel guilty. But never this empty, this sick. The only guy I ever loved, like. And after 8 months...
Tuesday 4 September 2007
Jetlag, day four
It's fairly pathetic, but it always takes me about 5 days to get over jetlag...
I got back on Saturday morning. Shared a bus journey with the guy from the next office, so that sped things up. Then I got back home (with keys, SO gratefully rediscovered in my hand luggage at the Narita carousel), and read a wise text message from Dr B, recommending staying up until 10 pm. I.e., about 9 hours away by the time I read it. Rubbish.
What can a boy do?
I dropped my bags off at home, had a shower, found myself ravenous, and ducked out to Wan Zhu Ji (pronounced ワンツーチ) for some of their lovely white-sesame tan-tan men. I got it almost right. Although the crazed tramp who sat beside me for the meal put a bit of a spoiler on it. Actually, I felt bad for him, the poor guy. But he at least made me stop dead when, after shouting and raving throughout his whole, precious meal, he said "o kane" and that was it. No more shouting "ko-e...aehapewof apzisdoiaWIOFni" over and over... just wandered off in contented, ramen-filled silence.
By this time, I was really spaced. So I wandered around town for a short while, then headed back to Tsutaya to pick up something to keep me awake. I opted for Lucky Number Slevin (get it! It's brilliant!), and something Japanese: A Day on the Planet (きょうのできごと). The first movie, I got through about a third of before sleep came. Then I watched the next third waiting for The Cat to come down. Then the final bit when he was there. Great movie....
Lastnight, then, I ended up watching my second ever Tsubumaki Satoshi film. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, That's incredible -- I always wanted to watch two of his films. Well, even if you only get to live out half of that ambition, you'll be in for a treat if it's either The Waterboys (very funny), or A Day on the Planet. Actually, that's not entirely true. The first movie is always worth getting (with subtitles if you're a non-Japanese speaking person like me), the second one is great if you're spaced out on jetlag, cos it's very relaxing and quite cute.
Ergo, whatever. Hahaa.
In other news, the last two weeks were pretty successful on most fronts, apart from word on when I'm supposed to finish up here. I met Mr M and Sperm (now an actual comedian, as opposed to just an eejit), Neilo (obviously), Ben N, Sarita, Simon, the future Mr Simon, their new place (still being finished), had a nice time at home with the folks, had an outpouring of grief with Paddy (poor lad), told Mum about the Cat (not all positive, oops), had fun with some people I've come to regard as good friends in Dublin, and didn't make a complete twat of myself. A fairly clean scoresheet (just wipe off a few of those smudges, there... oh no, that's just my MacBook Pro's dodgy screen... boo hoo!).
There. Back to the grindhorse, then!
I got back on Saturday morning. Shared a bus journey with the guy from the next office, so that sped things up. Then I got back home (with keys, SO gratefully rediscovered in my hand luggage at the Narita carousel), and read a wise text message from Dr B, recommending staying up until 10 pm. I.e., about 9 hours away by the time I read it. Rubbish.
What can a boy do?
I dropped my bags off at home, had a shower, found myself ravenous, and ducked out to Wan Zhu Ji (pronounced ワンツーチ) for some of their lovely white-sesame tan-tan men. I got it almost right. Although the crazed tramp who sat beside me for the meal put a bit of a spoiler on it. Actually, I felt bad for him, the poor guy. But he at least made me stop dead when, after shouting and raving throughout his whole, precious meal, he said "o kane" and that was it. No more shouting "ko-e...aehapewof apzisdoiaWIOFni" over and over... just wandered off in contented, ramen-filled silence.
By this time, I was really spaced. So I wandered around town for a short while, then headed back to Tsutaya to pick up something to keep me awake. I opted for Lucky Number Slevin (get it! It's brilliant!), and something Japanese: A Day on the Planet (きょうのできごと). The first movie, I got through about a third of before sleep came. Then I watched the next third waiting for The Cat to come down. Then the final bit when he was there. Great movie....
Lastnight, then, I ended up watching my second ever Tsubumaki Satoshi film. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, That's incredible -- I always wanted to watch two of his films. Well, even if you only get to live out half of that ambition, you'll be in for a treat if it's either The Waterboys (very funny), or A Day on the Planet. Actually, that's not entirely true. The first movie is always worth getting (with subtitles if you're a non-Japanese speaking person like me), the second one is great if you're spaced out on jetlag, cos it's very relaxing and quite cute.
Ergo, whatever. Hahaa.
In other news, the last two weeks were pretty successful on most fronts, apart from word on when I'm supposed to finish up here. I met Mr M and Sperm (now an actual comedian, as opposed to just an eejit), Neilo (obviously), Ben N, Sarita, Simon, the future Mr Simon, their new place (still being finished), had a nice time at home with the folks, had an outpouring of grief with Paddy (poor lad), told Mum about the Cat (not all positive, oops), had fun with some people I've come to regard as good friends in Dublin, and didn't make a complete twat of myself. A fairly clean scoresheet (just wipe off a few of those smudges, there... oh no, that's just my MacBook Pro's dodgy screen... boo hoo!).
There. Back to the grindhorse, then!
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