I like a woman who knows how to speak her mind, but also knows how to show common courtesy. That’s my idea of a ten outta ten. Give me the girl who will tell me what she wants and won’t shut me out. Give me the girl who will yell in my face, but won’t try to turn the whole world against me. Give me the girl who won’t play head games and will give me her heart. Every perfect, last, beating, stuttered breath and quaking, aching, breaking fraction she has. Give me the reality, the fear, the fire. The tenacity, the determination, the jealousy, the strength to persevere. The one who sticks around. The one who comes back. The one who won’t throw me to the wolves and never look back. The girl who yearns like I do. That true passion that will never fade. The love that is unbridled and unrivaled. Give me the ONE. That forever faithful... and I will bow down for eternity. For all time. I will never look for another. Only... her.
Location Written: ACup’s Break Room during Matt’s 15 minute break
I hate the fact that my pendejo of a therapist is making me do this. Well, he’s not a pendejo--not completely. He’s all right, I guess. Still kind of upset he didn’t laugh at any of the jokes I was making the entire therapy session. I get it though, he didn’t want me making jokes, he wanted me to talk. It’s just pretty weird, still. I’m not the type of person to do this, you know? Go to therapy. Seek help. I’ve always done my own thing and it never worked, but I felt like if I asked for help then I was a sad case. It’s why I refuse to tell anyone I’m even doing this shit in the first place. I’m embarrassed.
If I wasn’t the black sheep of my family already, I definitely am now. Growing up to old school, immigrant parents meant that things like depression or anxiety did not exist. It just didn’t. My mom always said that mental illness was for people who had time to have one. We were poor, Latinos, and undocumented (minus me, of course), so we had bigger problems to deal with than addressing our feelings. I was told to just suck it up and keep going. That I had to be stronger than that. That I couldn’t ever show weakness or people will take advantage of me. It’s stuck with me since then.
So sitting a therapists office? It felt like failure. Like I let myself have time to bask in my problems instead of moving on. I don’t know, though, maybe this will work. The whole therapy thing. I just kind of hope I can figure out how to communicate and be nicer to myself--I’m nice to the physical parts of myself but not so much the emotional parts. And maybe look back at my old life and not feel so horrible thinking about it. I also want to look at my new life and not feel like it was a failure. There was a point in my life where I was proud of becoming Matt, but I don’t feel that anymore. I feel like I failed making a new image of myself. Like it’s not 100% me anymore. Maybe I’m changing, I don’t know. I also got to work on all these emotions and not be so impulsive and angry and maybe less petty? I don’t know about the petty. Some petty shit I’ve done is pretty hilarious. I also want to stop being so toxic. Definitely want to stop having those toxic behaviors. Not just for me, but for Reagan, too. I was such a dick to her the other day when she was just trying to help. Like a girlfriend usually does. Fuck. Using that word is terrifying even if it’s true. In a way, though, she is.
I also hope maybe one day Lara and I can mend things. She’s not a virus like I said she was. I just reacted out of bottled up anger and sadness that the girl I love left me. Maybe there was just too much fear between us that we couldn’t really go anywhere. But when we were good? God, it felt like the world couldn’t touch us. Last year was a pretty bad year, but I don’t regret Lara. Not for a second. It just didn’t work out, I guess. We have unfinished business, and maybe that’s why I can’t move on. I called Lara my soulmate, at some point. I can’t just move on from that so fast. I want to, though.
Reagan. I’m going to THERAPY because of her influence. That’s got to be a good sign. I actually talk to her and open up about things that take me so long to open up about. We couldn’t be more different, but we work. A little.
I don’t know, even if my first therapy session was just me cracking jokes and laughing nervously the entire time, I think there’s still potential in something good coming out of this.
Its a wednesday night and I’m a little bored and a little stressed. So I thought I’d take this time to catch u up on whats up with my life right now, because its pretty crazy. So I’m back in university in New York, which has its own hazards. First week and I’m already walking home with a stack of books up to my chin. Eighty-page readings about eugenics interspersed with some french homework (desperately trying to learn the language before I study a semester in Paris, which isn’t even set in stone at the moment). I got an editorial internship at Paper Magazine which will be fun. When I went in for the interview there were two giant blown up cover images of kim kardashian’s infamous break the internet shoot, so that’ll be fun to have at my desk. I am genuinely excited though to get to work for Paper and I might get to meet someone famous. The main struggle that's been dominating my life this past week however has been searching for a new apartment in NYC whilst balancing all this. The apartment im staying in is perfectly fine (well maybe I wouldn’t go that far) but its not in the nicest of neighborhoods and is an hour away from campus via the subway. Given how much back and forth you do in university its just not practical to stay here, so literally the first day after moving in my roommate and I began coming through listings and realtors. We were shown a really great little one bedroom apartment in Manhattan on 55th & 2nd ave which we immediately moved to snatch up and put a deposit on. Now unfortunately we had to pay the deposit in cash because neither of us has a checkbook and their credit card machine was broken (I know that sounds shady as fuck :/). Anyway hopefully we’ll get to sign the sublet agreement soon once our credit checks come back and move in next week. In the mean time I get to mull over worst-case scenarios where I end up homeless, trying to sell conceptual works to tourists in times-square. On the bright-side, this was a great week for my social life. I not only got to see SOPHIE at the mystery concert but I met him by chance while I was skipping out on Vic Mensa’s set. I was super starstruck but he’s very pleasant and soft-spoken. I made a bunch of new friends at this concert too who are just as into PC Music as I am. One of them was Diveo, who is such a sweetie and I hope to see more of this semester. A cute just-graduated couple invited me to a labor day bbq at their place in Brooklyn where I proceeded to get day drunk.
I dont know if this will be a regular thing. I am supposed to journal regularly for my dance class and internship. Who knows? Relish this little peek into my life, or ignore it, I don’t care either way.
