Our Story So Far. in Whey and Sonic Screwdrivers.

For a dozen years, I have been Timmy™ on Open Diary. (Okay, nevermind that phase where I kept changing my name to dick with everyone.) It was home. But much like an old friend, it feels like our relationship has peaked. There are old friends there, people I know will read me. But even I can't deny that there is a stench of death. If the site JUST FUCKING WORKED, it wouldn't matter. Then I remember that I tend to cling to old things, as if never wanting to forage forth into new things, even if the old ways stopped working. You spend a dozen years building a community, building an identity, and then... You realize those people know you so well that you feel internally chastized. "What will they think?" Miss Emsley was absolutely right: Fuck everyone who wouldn't follow me. Even though I'm a hypocrite and am TERRIBLE with following any site other than ones I frequent.

It was always some hope that I would create some grand work, but I've come to accept that it's the process that yields the most wisdom. Yet when I look back through my entries, it's not arching wisdom I'm looking for. It's wondering WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED DURING THAT PERIOD OF MY LIFE. If I stop writing, there are blanks where memories should be. And then in a moment of ego, I wonder if, just if... If the great Timmy™ were to leave Open Diary, perhaps THAT will be the spell of death. I, who always defended our Kinky DiaryMaster, defended the site's wonkiness and endearing outdatedness.

I remember my ever-so-punny "Brief HIstory of Timmy", a fourteen epic that I wrote over three days. I will be far, far briefer today. I can trace my depression as far back as high school, but it's really hard to say whether it's always been there. I have memories of being in middle school and going outside to play basketball (Don't laugh, you fucker). As much as I have a pattern of escapism, it's not like I didn't do things. I remember making myself schedules and planning out my days, always staying productive.

It's odd to think self-awareness can wrought depression. I started writing an a carbon journal at the end of my freshman year of high school, back in `98. It was the odd thoughts at first, yet with the same melodramatic epic tone that I maintain to this day. I had no life, so as soon as I got home each day, I would document all my thoughts, and I mean all my thoughts. They weren't particularly deep, but it's fascinating to go back to those times and relive the nuances of my day.

Arching fear, social-anxiety, and a touch of apathy; as a child the label "shy" is what applied. I became frustrated with myself and made a decision that it needed to stop. I recognized that I had no confidence, very little social skills, and was terrified of ever stepping outside my comfort zone. I knew this at 14. I had a desire to change, but had no idea how. I spent sophomore year pining after my first crush, never having the courage to do anything about it. Lacking the strength to go after that which I desired is representative of me as a whole then.

Junior Year brought my first girlfriend and my first heartbreak. Oh sure, we didn't date long, but the feels didn't care. It still feels so stupid say, but Angel changed my entire world. It hurt, it just really really hurt, and I had no perspective, no way to deal. I had nobody to talk to. Somehow my sister telling me I'd get past it was of no comfort. I had never struggled with anything in my life, so I had no idea how to just fight it and be happy. So, instead, I resigned myself to being dark and brooding. It shifted my persona into believing I was mysterious, enigmatic, all that trite shit that is clearly a cover for insecurity. It's so obvious looking back I was terrified of people, therefore I was as bizarre as possible to scare people off. And by scaring people off, it made me feel just an iota of control where previously I had felt none in social situations.

My tendency to alternate silence with overaggression in order to feel a sense of control or dominance in a social situation is something that exists to this day.

That situation-dependent depression seemed to lift by Senior Year. But the floodgates had opened and I couldn't turn off my mind. It was constantly churning, constantly analyzing. Only a few friends could see through my front, recognize that I'm really not that strange, but acting that way.

There was a panic after I graduated. The Unknown. I remember Carolyn and I talking about that a lot, the mutual terror. The three years I spent dorming at Rutgers were completely depressing. I was alone, so alone. It was in this time that Cliff started talking to me about my issues. He could see me clear as day, which was always so touching that he bothered to put up with me. I always looked forward to coming home and hanging out with Cliff and the gang; those cherished memories of going to Chi-Chi's with Cliff, Erik, and Dan. While we all met Senior Year, it wasn't until after I graduated that we started hanging out.

Have I ever told the story of how I got started on Open Diary? It was a few days after I had graduated and I was sitting on my computer, with AIM open. I got a random instant message from a girl named Di. She was, sarcastically, looking for sex. Since she lived in Minnesota and I lived in New Jersey, we settled for witty conversation. Eventually I was introduced to Emily and one or two other girls. As it would happen, my grandma lives in St. Paul. So when I went to visit, I met up with Di and Emily. I want to say there was a fourth girl, but I can NOT remember. As I was aware of internet creepiness, we met up at a McDonalds. Nice neutral site. I met up again with Emily and later Elena on later occasions, but it's not immediately relevant. Basically Emily found Open Diary and encouraged me to join. It was one of the early social networking sites, and had so much energy back in the day. BACK IN THE DAY, MAN. I saw myself as a pedantic bastard (as I still do) and wanted to have great works stored somewhere. The first three years were full of anecdotes and wisdom, but always a mental block on truely sharing myself.

My eventual mentor, Alex, saw through my writings and took me to task with my issues. Phrases like "Calling cards of the insecure" hurt a lot, yet it hurt the most because it was all true. So, much to her surprise, I sought her out to ask just what she was talking about. The on-campus counseling as well as Cliff's pervading directness helped, but it was Alex that I felt most comfortable being vulnerable with. I remember Cliff telling me the answers were the past, that I needed to understand everything that had happened to me in my childhood and that all at once, I would know the answer. He was right. Alex told me I needed to stop judging my emotions, and give myself a chance, just a chance, to be positive. She was right.

As the circle continues, I met Paige off of Open Diary. Circa May 2004, at the end of my downward spiral that culminated with me failing all my class. At best.... she offered me everything I wanted to hear. With my feelings of helpless, I wanted so badly for someone to save me, to do everything for me. We indulged in elaborate marriage fantasies, talked a lot about how we wanted things to be. But that's all they were, fantasies. It was a mutually shared fantasy when we met, and I was too blinded by my desire to be "open-minded" to see the truth in front of me. We were both lonely and desperate, willing to do anything to make it work. There will always be some level of chemistry between two people that want it badly enough, but it never would have worked. At the end, I recognized I would NOT be able to heal psychologically if I stayed with her. So I left her.

Those who stalked me at the time are aware of the skeleton in my closet, as well as those I hold close to me now. It haunts me to this day at times. The constant battle of "Am I a good person?" It was six weeks of pure darkness after I left her. I took asylum at Cliff's for thirteen days, mostly playing Final Fantasy X. I returned to my parent's and never said a word to them about it. They never liked Paige to begin with; and with good reason. The classic story that exemplifies how down I was, I remember. Cliff, Erik, and Dan had come over to cheer me up. Or to hang out. Whatever. I was so depressed that I sucked the life out of the room. They all left feeling depressed themselves. Kind of funny looking back, but that was a low of all lows.

Rock bottom came in December `04 when Paige and I were talking on the phone. Up to this point, it felt like I was playing a funky dance with her. Everything she was saying was implying I was a bad person, but she wasn't going to come out and say it. And finally... I snapped. For the first time in my life, I cracked. I screamed at the top of my lungs, telling her I hated her, that it was her fault, all sorts of terrible things. Even as I screamed I could feel the energy fading from me. I hung up and threw the cordless phone, and collapsed into a weeping mess. It was over, it was all over. Clearly I was a terrible person without reprieve or worth sympathy. Clearly I would forever be indebted to her. My story that I had wanted for myself was over. I finally had broken social protocol and dared to be selfish. Clearly I had no worth as a person.

And in that dark moment, from the smallest whispers of my mind, "No." No, my life will not end this way. I remember calling a friend and her saying to me, "No, it isn't fair." and it was the most profound thing I'd ever had someone say to me up to that point of my life. That my thoughts, my feelings actually matter. My social anxiety and all that shit had made me so wrapped up in making a mistake that I never gave myself any credit for what I wanted. That was the day I made the decision to fight. I would fight until I had my revenge, and my friends, revenge is a powerful motivator. I would fight until I had power over her. The power to deal with her on equal terms, to not feel intimidated, to feel pride in myself of my own doing.

I got a job at Panera Bread and worked myself ragged. I had nothing else going in my life that I pondered getting a second job for the hell of it. I took on more responsibility than was mine, and became arrogant at management for not doing their job. Getting fired from Panera was one of the best things that ever happened to me. Without a direct plan or goal, I started going to County College of Morris. Rutgers was overwhelming because of that arching goal hanging over me. Fall 2005 was the first time in my life that I ever felt in control.

I stayed at CCM for longer than one would think I should have, in part because I've never had a sense of direction in my life. I remember something I affectionately called my "weekend dip", where I just couldn't be happy on weekends. Being social helped, no doubt, but left by myself I felt anxious. My brain never stops. To this day, my brain never stops. I remember trying to do things for myself to make myself happy. Cognitively, it makes sense. I DESERVE to be happy, I DESERVE a treat, yet when I would do things, I'd still feel a pervading sense of emptiness. There were some girls added to the Kiss List before Candi, though the most important girl, Victoria, I never actually kissed. Victoria's lesson to me was the power of words, that the slightest turn of phrase among a vomit of dialogue will be what one remembers. It simultaneously made me realize I needed to watch what I say, but also that my own words could have the power to move people.

I was broke, so I got a job at a nearby Taco Bell on July 27, 2007. (What? 7-27-07, easy to remember.) It felt like I was giving up, like I was going nowhere. I was in my mid-twenties and getting one of THESE jobs? I contemplated quitting at times during that first year, yet I couldn't deny the amount of freedom I was afforded. My boss liked me, and her praise motivated me to be a fountain of awesome. Oh yes, I thought I was better than everybody else, and my performance proved it. A year later, I was in training to be a manager. Sometimes my minions ask me how I got promoted. Not only did I do my job well, and desired to do things by the book, but I also took responsibility. I also had a knack for breaking or bending rules without getting caught, this is absolutely critical for any management position.

I sometimes forget how much this job improved my confidence. Playing the hospitality game. I tell people now that if you're unsure of what to say, just speak slower to give yourself time to think of what to say next. I'm serious, it works. I had doubts of my own ability to manage, to lead, to be THAT person everyone would listen to. I naturally modeled myself after Stacy at first, because she's awesome. It took a long time for me to find my own style and what felt like me. I don't respect authority figures that just expect you to blindly follow orders. "Who the fuck are you telling me what to do?" My style relies more on empathy and reason. We have shit to do, and I want to get it all done. These are the reasons we're doing things. I'm putting such and such in this place because they excel at it. I'm putting this person over here because he's always over there and needs a change of pace. Yes, I'll run short-staffed to give out breaks, because if I don't, everybody is too damned flagged at the end of their shift to give a shit. If I have people do strange things, I explain why. And if nothing else, Stacy impressed upon me the simple respect of "please" and "thank you". It fucking works. Best boss ever, and she's part of the reason I've stayed as long as I have. Even if my weak moments, I have confidence that I'll be able to react to any situation.

I am fucking Neo, bitches. I am in control, I will do what I want, and nothing will stand in my way.

I met Candi in fall 2008. I still have never done a full write-up of our relationship. The first year we fucked like bunnies, hence her nickname for me "Bunny." We had sex so much I actually worried we weren't connecting or getting to know each other. When I met her, I felt like we were going to date for a few months and then go our separate ways. Whether self-fulfilling or not, I had my first bout of doubt around August 2008, where I said I wasn't sure if I loved her. This would start a cycle of doubt where every 9-12 months I'd want to break up with her. We'd get back together with varying degrees of normalcy. And every time, she'd end up hurting more and more.

I remember doing the half-hour drive to Wayne so many nights. We'd end up having a good time, yet I couldn't help but feel like I was forcing it to some degree. "Why am I doing this? I don't need to be driving to her." "I don't really feel like seeing her tonight. Why am I pretending I'm so super-interested?" It became a running gag where I never missed her. She's always loved me more than I've loved her. But seriously, if she went somewhere for a week, I had no feelings of missing her. I rationalized it, "Well, I know you'll be back, why would I miss you?" Yet, this is telling. If I had Teh Feelz, why didn't I ever miss her? Why was I so indifferent towards her? I know damn well I have very little social life, and it was beyond awesome to have someone to spend lots of time with.

Not being alone did a lot to make me feel better.

I remember a break-up in November 2010. She begged me to stay with her. I weakened and said okay. The months that followed felt like a slow death of our relationship. Just going through the motions, doing the things that we previously liked even though it didn't feel the same. Our penultimate break-up was in June 2011. We felt disconnected, sexually disinterested (Imagine six months sans sex), and just a lack of effort on my part. I thought that was that, and was ready to move on with my life. I uh. I met up with an internet friend of high esteem and uh, kind of fell in love with her. SORRY ABOUT THAT. I was a crying weeping mess, and that sadness didn't lift until around December 2011. And in my moment of weakness, I let myself be vulnerable with Candi. We had some notion that we could "still be friends." I affectionately called her my Ex, and thought everything would be fine.

For better or for worse, Candi and I got closer again. Yet without the labels of relationship, we were finally able to communicate all the shit that was bothering her. Like how much she leans on me. Like.. shit, I can't remember. I broke up with her thinking she couldn't be The One, that I wanted better. And somehow, that period of time, I felt like I had gotten past this. That... we COULD have a good future together. I spent christmas with her family, we went on vacation over spring break. By then, we acknowledged that we were de factor back together. I realized how I'd hurt her in the past and I couldn't just get back together with her. I knew back in November that if I was going to be close to her, it was all or nothing. It was a moment where I wore my underwear to bed, because "we're not dating". She got hurt, and...

God, that sounds like emotional manipulation, looking back. Because I saw she was hurt, and I weakened. Fuck, man, I need to repeatedly go back in time and slap myself across the face.

We went on a fantastic vacation to the Mayan Riveria in mexico, where I propose on the balcony and asked her to be my Stinkie. Romantic as fuck, and a well-needed reprieve from the stress of life.

Fall 2012, I started at Montclair University, with the plan of spending two years there to get a degree in Math. I was stressed, but I handled it in stride and was a fucking machine. My reprieve was drinking with her on Saturday night, usually coupled with coitus, cunnilingus, and cuddles. End of August, we got cats. Well. I got cats, but I couldn't really say, "No, they're not your cats." She kind of lived in my room, never wanting to go home. February 2013, we moved in together. The first couple months felt beyond awesome.

And then a shift. Somewhere in May, my psyche shifted. Our apartment is a disaster area of trash, disorganization, and things we haven't gotten around to. The things we enjoyed doing stopped feeling as fun. And as always, we could count on one hand the number of times we'd had sex in the year to date. She started feeling slighted that I didn't want to "spend time" with her, complaining that I was always on my computer, or ignoring her. I agreed that we lived together but didn't really spend time together. Her anxiety climaxed with her leaving her job and going on disability. As with previously, I felt zero space to express myself and shut down for her sake.

By chance, I started mentoring a girl I worked with, Elissa. Candi felt slighted that I was texting her more than I was spending time with her. In the spirit of honesty, I brought Elissa to meet Candi, and it was a complete disaster. Candi spent the rest of the night berating me, telling me what a terrible person I was. Phrases like selfish, inconsiderate, blind, naive, immature. Elissa is a 16 (now 17) year old minion of mine. Candi thought that spending ANY time with her outside of work is completely inappropriate. I told her to trust what I was doing. I mean, dude, boundaries, Elissa and I are never going to date, that's not the kind of threat she is. But I couldn't deny Candi's point that I was speaking more to Elissa than with her. But for me, the damage had been done. When she berated me that night, she made me feel like she wasn't on my side, that she didn't trust my judgement. I FUCKING KNOW WHAT I'M DOING. Candi seems to think that by merely talking to this girl, I could harm her. No, it doesn't work that way. I am of good character, and I believe that THIS situation will be just fine. Candi told me I live in my head, and that this is me being idealistic. Me being idealistic that I can help this girl and everything will work out. Well, fuck you, that's exactly what's going to happen. She seems to think someone will think I'm a sexual predator. Except, dude, Elissa would never do that, and HER MOM LIKES ME. I digress, current events.

This current semester has been one of hell. I took on five classes and two jobs, and just crumpled under the stress. I began having panic attacks like I haven't had in ages, crying an average of three times a week. Feeling weak, so weak, like I haven't in ages. The echos of failure from spring '04 are in my head and I try my best to prove those demons wrong.

Candi left for her parents' yesterday. She spent the previous night wretching and vomiting, unable to sleep. Stress and anxiety causes her physical shit; I had no place to complain over a simple sore throat. I chatted with Elissa and her mom last night. Her mom told me I'd feel better once a decision is made one way or another. Right now, Candi knows I feel like I don't love her, yet STILL is willing to sacrifice everything for me. Goddamn it, will this girl ever learn? Will she ever take pride in herself and do things for HER? I understand that we were engaged and that means planning a life together. But for her, the only thing going for her was ME, that we were ENGAGED, and everything would just BE BETTER. But how does that solve anything? How does that do anything?

It's embarrassing. It's really embarrassing to think we went through all this only to have some messy end. She thinks it's my depression "blocking" things, but then why have I NEVER had squishies? Why have I never pined for her or felt for her the things I have for other girls previously in my life? Why when she's walking out the door did I not get down on my knees and beg? Why, when she cries, do I want her to just shut the fuck up, rather than have empathy? I'm not incapable of empathy, I'm far more empathic than she gives me credit for. She thinks it's all in my head. And I KNOW I have issues, I know I'm not perfect, but this relationship has reached a point of toxic. It's very, very shitty and drawn out because all of our shit is here. She'll be back in a day or two and she's going to give me space to get through this semester. I wept yesterday at the thought of not being able to do the little things with her.

Yet I see a bigger pictures, far bigger. I have dealt with struggle before, and no matter the level of weakness, I've always survived. Bexxy told me recently that I'm a fighter, and it was really touching. The past two months have felt like falling down the stairs to reach where I'm going. I'd love nothing more than to feel strong and get through things with my head high. But I will keep going even if it means walking through muck to mordor. Depression pervades, precipitating apathy, demotivation, and boredom. But I know this will pass and I will get past this.

I think that gets us up to date. I think I will go poop and shower now.