1557 Noe Street, San Francisco

"Dear Madoka,
I can't tell you how wonderful it was to have you around after so much time. Maybe it's the time and distance that set it up to be so precious, but it was just what I needed at this point. I love you dearly and I'm glad I've been consistent in your life and you in mine. To me, it means I can really trust you, not that there has been any real doubt about that. Any question (doubt?) of trust simply doesn't exist any more. I feel like I've been getting through a pretty dark period of my life and your visit finalized the end of it. It's a good feeling knowing you're out there and on my side.
love always, koji"

Madoka. Am I in love with Madoka?

Madoka visited this past weekend. I hadn’t seen her in over two years. Last year was the only calendar year since we’ve met that we didn’t see each other. I had started feeling that we were losing touch with each other’s lives and realities; and it’s true, we aren’t really compatible, our lives are very different. But that wouldn’t stop me from being in love with her.

If I’m not in love with her, why can’t I get her out of my mind? If I’m in love with her, why don’t I want to be with her for the rest of my life? That I love her is more than clear, but am I in love with her? I’m not sure. The love I have for her is so great that it obscures things, and my love for her is so deep that it evades the classification of being in love with her. It’s just an assumption that she’s arms-length away. Even if we did love each other independently, or if we did fall in love, nothing would ever come out of it. Neither of us would ever act on it because our lives are too different.

Madoka’s visit has changed things. For the first time in over two years, someone has entered my private space; forced me to accept someone in it. I was very anxious last week, I was apprehensive about her coming and being in my space. I think I needed her to come. Now I feel a little more open to having someone in my life, of physical intimacy – we slept in close quarters on a camping trip with Nobuko and Kate and held hands one night, and again on her last night here in my room, we were openly affectionate, holding hands, making physical contact. We could very easily have kissed.

Butano State Park

Madoka visited and we went car-camping and hiking with Nobuko and her girlfriend:

1557 Noe Street, San Francisco

My laptop died at the end of June. I didn’t permanently lose a lot; it was mostly an inconvenience. I lost whatever I wrote in the month of June. I think the only thing of significance in June was realizing that entries from like 1996 already articulated what I feel now. Writing in here about my “feelings” is stupid; I’ve already written it down sometime before.

So what’s going on in my life? I don't care about the band. There is just no passion, no connection, and no chemistry. I don't care about these people, I don't care what happens. I auditioned for another band today. I don’t think I’ll get it, and I’m not sure I want it, but I’ve taken the crucial step of starting to audition again.

I’m looking more closely at my cutting. I’m reading a book on the subject, Bright Red Scream, by Marilee Strong. I tried going to therapy, but it was just stupid. The doctor was an idiot, but the experience, for some reason, made me focus on cutting. At first I couldn’t even identify that as a problem to focus on.

Why am I still doing it? I don’t fit the profile of people doing it anymore. Or at least I don’t think I do. The book I’m reading accurately describes what was going on when I was doing it before, but things have changed and it has just become habit. It doesn’t give me the relief that it may have before. Now I just do it for the hell of it. It’s not because of feelings, it’s not a way of dealing or coping, it’s not an expression of pain that I can’t express another way. I just do it because I’ve always done it. I guess I’ve grown out of it, but the act is still there. Most of the time it’s no big deal, I can cut or not cut, I just decide to cut rather than not cut.

I know it connects me to my past, it provides proof of what happened before, but the scars are there, they aren’t going away, why create more? Perhaps a similar question is why am I still hoping to kill myself eventually and soon. And why I still abuse alcohol. It’s all related.