No regrets from here on out.

I stayed at his place again.

There have been strange omens both times I've gone to see him. Before I left for my first date I broke a bracelet I had made in high school. It was undoubtedly my favorite because it kept me from hurting myself. Instead of making myself miserable, I made stuff--the bracelet being one of the first things I had made. And it broke before I had met him.

Yesterday I couldn't find my metrocard for 30 minutes. I'm not a very superstitious person, but when things like this happen, I start to wonder.

I don't understand him at all. Sometimes I wonder if I'm trying too hard to make this happen. Or if there's something wrong with me. He and I had plans today, but I guess he forgot about me.

I need stability; it's the one thing in my life I had never had. I've never felt safe before--something was always on the line. I just want somebody to be there physically so I can be reassured that not everything in life is ephemeral. That some things can last.

I've already dedicated this fall semester to studio. I'm going to spend every spare hour in studio to challenge myself. I don't have friends anyway--might as well learn something.

I know it's not healthy, but I'm going to keep doing it until I get a resolution. I'm not doing this because I'm oblivious--I know what I'm doing.

I haven't been this depressed in a while. I kind of want to call in sick tomorrow and just lie in bed all day. I just don't know what to do anymore.

DATING

I'm starting to realize and understand the sad culture of gay dating. I haven't been on very many dates--it only takes me one hand to count them all, I think. But all of them have involved a lot of physical contact. I thought yesterday would have been different. It's strange because I thought he was different.

Every dating experience I've had with a guy has always ended up being very sexually-driven. All of them had fallen apart, too. I didn't want this to end quickly because he's a great guy with good morals. I understand it's hard to resist when you're in the moment, but what turned me off was how presumptuous he was. He had it planned. I thought I deserved better than that. I don't really know what to believe anymore.

I'm just miserable here. I have no outlet, I have no friends. I'm starting to crawl back into a familiar depression. It's frightening to know I don't have anybody to count on in this city. The days are short, the nights are long. I'm afraid for myself. I just can't do this alone.

I'm just so burnt out these days. I don't have any form of outlet any more. I don't have a piano, a studio or a friend in NYC. I'm a lonely wreck; all I have left is this blog.

I haven't been on a date since last October. I've realized I don't know how to meet guys except through the Internet. It's sad, pathetic. I'm young; I should be having the time of my life. I'm in NYC, for fuck's sake. But I'm still depressed. I might be more depressed than before, but who's keeping track. I just want somebody to care for once--to be considerate. I've been expending myself all my life for others: my parents, my grandmother, my sister. I know it's selfish, but I just want somebody to be there for me. I have people who care, and I am grateful to have them, but it's something about the tangibleness of a relationship--of having somebody there physically--that makes all the difference.

I miss my family. I never thought I would. My mother (and my sister) made me tear up a couple weeks ago. My mother was talking about how my sister was going to make a lot of money with her new job, and the first thing she said she would help with was to pay for my education. It's funny how somebody so reckless and frequently inconsiderate could be so caring. Family is family, I guess.

I'm just in these weird moods after work. I don't how to feel these days.

I was loved in a dream I had last night, and I was happy for a moment.

It has been one year since I started writing in this blog. I don't know what to make of it. I haven't grown much, to be honest. I'm still writing blog entries late at night in sleepless mental torpor. I am deteriorating. I don't think I write as well as I used to, and my writing wasn't even any good to begin with.

I just want that one person to love me. I don't really care about how many friends I have; I care about how they are. I have many friends who care and are concerned for me, but I just have a hard time trusting people. They are going to hurt me, I say to myself. They'll listen, nod, then leave. Like everyone else.

I wish somebody understood.