Chickensh*t in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

I think I screwed up royally. I think I left a clue that would make it super easy for LDL to find my LiveJournal (if he hasn’t already found this lovely piece of work here at OD). Gah! How do I keep committing such major, idiotic internet faux pas? And why do I feel the need to broadcast my dirty laundry in not one, but two separate cyber-outlets? Dumbass.

So I just deleted my LJ. I don’t care. I wasn’t getting any real use out of it anyway. I can’t keep up with it, and the damage is probably already done anyway. I don’t know why this is bothering me so. The content was exactly the same as it is here. I just feel like my OD is a teensy bit more hidden. Like it would take a bit of effort for him to search and find it. The LJ (if he actually did stumble upon it) could possibly have been a smack in the face. Yep…it was that obvious. I googled something that’s personal to “us”, and my LiveJournal just popped right up like a freakin’ neon sign.

Fuck.

Well, like I said. It’s gone now. And this diary is still here. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna delete this one. Because this one is a part of me. A huge part of me. Suppose I could go private again. But I don’t want to. Cuz noteleavers are a huge part of this diary too.

And that’s the truth. PPppppptttttthhhhhhh.

Got weepy last night. I fear I’m a fuck up. I try so hard to be so fucking perfect that I make huge life mistakes in doing so. Why am I so afraid? Why won’t I give anyone a chance? Why is risk-taking so terrifying to me?

In all of my attempts to build myself the perfect life, I’ve determined that I haven’t really even begun to live yet!!

And I’m so afraid of hurting feelings that I end up….how do I say this? Not being 100% honest? I don’t feel as though I’m lying, but I don’t feel that I’m laying it all out on the table, ya know? Or I guess I’m giving myself leeway (?), buying time (?). Whatever. I guess I feel like maybe I’m not being fair to the other party involved.

Yes, of course. I’m talking about LDL here. Because I want may cake, and I want to devour it too.

But I certainly don’t want him out there dating. Nosiree. I want him waiting for me. Devoted to me. While I traipse off to Miami with Best Bud to salsa dance with hot Latinos and hang in New York with the cute Canadian. While he waits for me to make up my fucking mind…do I want him or not???

Fuck you, bitch.

Not that I really think that he’s sitting around his tiny studio apartment literally pining away. I know he’s not. I know he’s out there, too. He even told me he’s dated.

But I also know that he finally wants to remarry. I’m pretty sure he’s really ready to settle down with someone. And he told me over and over and over and over and over again that he wants that someone to be me. But that he won’t wait forever for me to make up my mind. In fact, he told me that he won’t wait long.

And I don’t want to tell him to get on with his life. I don’t want to give him the OK.

Because that means that I don’t have the option. I can’t just let him go. I want to keep that string tied…however thin that string may be. I want it attached to him. I want to know that there’s still the possibility that I could move out there and that we could live happily ever after.

I know it’s fucked up. And I’m sure it’s keeping me from moving on. Why do I feel the need to keep my eyes on the future, but one foot in the past?

Chickenshit.