it's saturday night and i am sitting home alone, listening to the rain meet the street. i'm mildly dehydrated again; i don't know why i do this to myself.

i have a secret that i want to share with someone, but can't find the words or the balls [for lack of a better term]. while driving home this morning from the lonely, uncomfortable slumber in old orchard beach, i thought to myself about how extremely tragic it is that i allow myself to remain so unfulfilled. as terribly emo and whiney sounding as it is, it's nothing but the truth.

it could be that i genuinely don't care about myself as much as i should. it's probably a true lack of self-worth.

it's irritating to think that, in the past few years, i've put so much effort into correcting my flaws/faults mainly with hopes of salvaging my relationship with nick. then again, in retrospect, i honestly know that the work i put into bettering myself was indeed for selfish purposes, as it should be.

i suppose the frustration i feel derives from the knowledge that i lost my first love from my own doing. i never cheated, lied, or played games, i just really fucked things up with jealousy issues.

i don't know where all of this is coming from; i haven't thought about these things in a while. maybe my dating other people has got me thinking about all of the errors i made in my last relationship. i know it sounds extraordinarily weak to blame my diffidence on my fear of fucking things up or getting hurt, but it's the only way i can explain this right now.

today i understnad why my mother always advised on taking things [read: love] slowly.

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