money

1:25 PM 9/30/10

Today they woke me up saying that Curtis needs $800. And he couldn't ask for that much because it's too much and it would be unthinkable. I don't know how far behind he is in his child support payments, but I know that Weis was cutting our hours back in the summertime, so that was a few months ago when he lost a lot of income. They also want me to go look for him and give him some of the child support money. And this is something that I would do, for real.

But he had sent me an email. He said he doesn't need help with money, he wants to be only friends and nothing else, and he doesn't want to hang with me outside work. (That loophole irritates me. We're not working together anymore, so it's no longer applicable to say 'outside work.' The first thing 'they' think of is that I could still be allowed to meet him while he's at his job. I know what he really means - he means 'out in the real world' or 'in person.' But 'they' are looking at the loophole.) But he said, he's not ignoring me, and he *does* want to be friends with me.

That's why I had to get out of facebook. I don't want to be online-only 'facebook friends.' Also, I was checking the page several times a day, while I was at McDonald's, to see if I got any emails from Carrie or from him, or to see what they're doing, or to see any new photos. Every day there was some kind of drama - I was bugging Carrie too much, too many emails, always waiting for a reply from her - and actually *getting* replies, too - and I know she can't waste all her time emailing me about something she has no control over. She can't force Curtis to acknowledge any kind of real-world connection with me. She can talk to me *about* him, but that's all.

I actually do feel better in a way, after getting out of facebook. I had one of those incidents, which might have been a coincidence or a puppet incident, but it was appropriate. I went to the library to shut down the facebook account because I have a browser problem at home and the page wouldn't work (it's on my to-do list). When I left the library and got in my car, the radio was playing 'Tonight's Gonna Be A Good Night.' I've been starving for music for several years, and all my music comes from the radio and the SpamZak at work, so I have to like whatever songs are available. And I like that song. It was the right song to be playing when I was having a rebellion to save my life. A rebellion for my survival. I'm not going to do the facebook drama addiction anymore.

I have to not care whether he lives or dies. But they always get me. They tell me that he is at great risk. He has car accidents, he drinks and drives, he uses drugs, he doesn't wear a seat belt, he doesn't care about his life, he tries signing up for the army. He writes these comments on facebook about how we should live as though we might die tomorrow.

I used to feel that way in college. I liked reading the ... who are they? William Wordsworth and those people. The people who used cocaine. It wasn't the Romantics, was it? the writers in that time period. The.... Song of Myself, and - they had this manic high about the possibilities of life. I liked those writers. I felt that my life was - I did random silly things, I was extremely hyperactive, I took risks, I did wild things. I had adventures. I went swimming in the Shenandoah River at college. I went outside in the rain and got totally soaked. I suggested that my friends and I throw glass bottles to smash them on the side of the bridge because one of my friends was mad about something and we wanted a way to express it. I drew pictures, big paintings full of color, screaming with pain and energy - I have a favorite one, I still have it, it's in storage. I took long walks, miles and miles, so that it was hard to get back home. I went driving to unfamiliar cities in my car, at random for no reason.

I had this desperate mania. It was hyperactive energy, but there was no strength, no solidness, backing it up. I couldn't do my schoolwork. I could only pass tests if I was lucky enough to remember it, or if it was a class that I liked. I wasn't able to focus enough to do all my work and get goals accomplished. The desperate mania was a desire to express all my energy, but there was nothing to create new money, new resources, new learning - I couldn't sit down and achieve my goals. I couldn't finish anything. (There were two things in my adulthood that helped with that. Actually three things. 1. Feingold Diet. 2. Coffee, caffeine. 3. St. John's Wort. I don't want to take SJW because it changes my personality too much, and it makes me a puppet, and it has other side effects.)

Every time they tell me how much at risk he is, I get convinced again that it would be okay to do whatever I want, to go find him at his job and give money to him, to not care about what he says to me in email. In the real world, he was always - well, he *acted like* he was glad to get notes from me, and the small money gift that I did give him - he always responded to them in the real world.

It was text messaging that started destroying our trust. We had this wonderful feeling of perfect trust when we stood next to each other and talked. I loved that feeling. Sometimes I messed it up because of my drug-induced mood swings - I always wanted to explain to him that the trust was still there, but my moods were changing, and to please put up with me in spite of it. But when I started text messaging him, and when I got the email from him on MySpace, that was what made me unable to trust him anymore. There were a few things going wrong in the text messages and it got worse over time. Sometimes he would say a little thing which was probably not intended to hurt, but it hurt very badly. He hardly ever answered, but every once in a while, we would have an actual text message conversation, and we only ever had a few.

Also, I had this inhibition. I couldn't touch him. I wanted to touch him so badly. Sometimes he acted like he wanted me to touch him, and was disappointed when I didn't - in fact, I saw that several times.

When they tell me that he could die, I agree with them. He almost died in a car accident. He wasn't wearing his seat belt. The air bag stopped him from going through the windshield. He hurt his neck and his back, and I still wonder if it still hurts him - it was hurting him for a long time afterwards. It might hurt for the rest of his life. I hope not. I hope he heals. Every time it rains, when the weather changes, my skiing injuries start hurting again, and I got those from my college manic hyper time period when I decided to go down the 'intermediate' hill instead of the 'beginner' hill at my skiing lessons.

So in a way, I don't care what he says in email. But I do. If he dies, then I will, indeed, say, 'Yes, I wish I had ignored those damn emails and just given him money to help him out.' That is the truth.

I don't know how I would approach him. I know where he's working because he decided to announce it on facebook, at the same time that I was begging him and Carrie to block me from seeing their page, and they were refusing to block me, and I told Carrie *NOT* to tell me where he was working - and what does he do, he announces it on his page while I'm still addicted to looking at his page every five seconds to see what new things he's put on there. So I knew right away where he was working. I was trying *NOT* to find out where he was working because I knew that there would be the temptation to go there, and I knew that this would be one of those puppet things -

About being a puppet, about being forced to do things. There has to be some small bit of agreement, of consent, to make me do something. If I'm not on drugs, that is. If someone is on the right drugs, they'll do anything you force them to do. But if you're on very low levels of drugs, or not on any drugs at all, then the 'suggestions' that they give you have to be agreeable to you. And I am saying 'yes' to giving money to him, and also, I am *kind of* saying 'yes' to going to the place where he works, although he didn't give me explicit permission to do that. I sent him an email telling him to tell me not to go there. As usual, he didn't respond. And the 'outside work' loophole is still there. It's not okay to hang with him 'outside work.' Okay, that means inside work is fine!

How would I approach him? I don't know. It would be terrifying. I was thinking of it, and planning, and I know that I would need perfectly clean new clothes and shoes without any drug residues on them. If I had any residues on my clothing, then it would make my feelings too intense. The adrenaline would make my heart pound too hard. The fear would be uncontrollable. That is what the drug residues do. It's the fear of being rejected. That he would have an unpleasant look on his face. That he would have fear, dread, a 'burdened' look, the 'oh no, what now?' look when he saw me. Some new problem I have to deal with. Something I dread. It's Nicole with all of her usual drama. Also, I couldn't go to him if other people were standing around him.

'They' suggested doing something funny like throwing a piece of fruit at him - assuming he's in the produce department. It was one of those images, those fantasies, where it's supposed to be funny and cute and playful, but I don't think I could do that in reality. The produce department might not even be where he is. If he's not in that department, he could be in the back room someplace, the unloading dock or something, for all I know, and if he's back there, there's no way I can go back there to see him. I have no idea what department he works in. And I didn't think of that till now. That's going to be frustrating, not knowing which store he's at and which department he's in.

I've known people who I was always nice to, just because I was on drugs that made me be nice to everybody. But it didn't mean I was sexually attracted to them. That's how I interpret his behavior towards me. And why does that matter - because the particular *ways* that I want to touch him go beyond friendship. Even just holding someone's hand is more than friendship. Or, it can be.

I should just post this and get it out there.

At least I can't addictively look on facebook every five seconds now. I'm trying to break the habit. Whatever is going on in his life, I can't know about it. I keep thinking of it and getting the urge to do it. I can easily create a new fake profile and look at him whenever I want to, and I have to resist the urge to do that. He didn't make his page private. At least I assume he didn't - I haven't tested. That was something I begged both of them to do.