So, I'm still acting normal. Somewhat anyway. The urges are there...but I'm swatting them away. I keep wondering how long I can keep it up, keep up this facade like I'm okay to the outside world.

Eben slept on the floor last night. I came and covered him up with a comforter...but he apparently didn't want to come to bed with me. He told me when he came back to our apartment (that doesn't exactly sound right right now) during his lunch hour that he didn't deserve to sleep next to me. He says he's going to sleep on the floor for a week. So, he's finding ways to punish himself, since I won't do it...intresting. His touches are fleeting and short, stopping at hand-holding in the car on his way back to work (he had driven my car to work, and his had stayed there while he was in Boston). He can barely look me in the eye. He says what happened haunts him. My thoughts, exactly...

I know I should derive some sort of pleasure out of his guilt, but I don't. Watching him hurt just makes me hurt more. I know that he should feel guilty for what he did, but I can't help it. I want things to go back to the way they were. I want him to come home to me every night and sit with me and make love to me...to be able to go out together, drink if we want, without any problems. I want to be able to feel him next to me while we're sleeping.

We can't do any of that though. I have this horrible feeling that things can never be the same after what he did. So, here I sit fighting off the urge to get fucked up or binge or cut or all of the above...because I can't drown out these thoughts in my head. I want them to go away, I want to be okay, I was SO CLOSE to being okay...but now, who knows. Now, it is taking every ounce of strength I have not to hurt myself.

I wish that would help, hurting myself I mean. I can imagine the look on Eben's face if he saw that I had cut, I can imagine him crying. I want him to SEE how much he hurt me. But what good would that do? What good does anything do right now? No matter what I do, I'm stuck. No matter what I do, I'll hurt.

I wish I had a happy ending to this little tale, my little tale. But, no happy endings here. Sorry. You'll have to go to some other diary to find a happy ending. It'd be nice though, wouldn't it? I miss those. I miss being happy, being a child, before all the bullshit happened, when my life fell apart at the age of seven. What I wouldn't give to change that...to rewrite my history. I know I wouldn't be sitting here, writing these pathetic words, thinking these pathetic thoughts. Maybe I wouldn't be happy, but I'd be a lot fucking closer than I am now.

Damn...I'm so fucking tired...

EDITED: You know what's more fucked up than anything? I'm horny less than 2 days after this shit. What the fuck is wrong with me?