What if I told you I had a secret blog,--so secret that only one other person knew about it, so secret that it wasn’t even on the internet as we know it, but on a parallel world internet, in which URLs are little pockets filled with space and time instead of HTML and Javascript. Some are really big, with lots of pages containing the entire story of a life, all the ups and downs, pleasantness and unpleasantness…others, like the one I have with this special, secret person, are a single snapshot of a state of affairs—a rendition of the bond between us, the wants and desires and needs that keep us locked in each other’s orbit.

This blog is beautiful, far more beautiful then BTB could ever be, because the person I write it with is the realest, most lovely lady who ever existed.. She’s her own person, unafraid to feel and take risks and remain loyal to those she’s “decided for”, even when they act badly and hurt her. Which is what I did…I hurt her terribly…despite of or maybe because of all the goodness and love she gives to me so freely.

I’ve got this knack, you see. I break the things that mean the most to me, because I don’t think I deserve anything good.

I’ve been going along with blinders on, being busy, hectic even…trying so hard to write something decent, trying so hard to push against the heavy weight of inertia and stake out some space in the future that I’ve lost touch with the here and now. I stopped updating my secret blog. I stopped adding to the story my love and I created. I detached, I withdrew. Maybe I was never there to begin with…I’m somewhere, though. I can’t only be this rat race hustler who only sees herself when she looks at the world…. There’s a part of me that breathes and hurts and wants so badly to deserve her love that I’m like a bull in a china shop, crashing through everything around me…why am I so constantly overwhelmed, so wrapped up in my own shit, thinking I’m doing the right thing, but doubting myself enough to require constant affirmations that must annoy the living hell out of my beloved? I want to be told I’m the greatest, the most wonderful perfect person EVER and anything short of that throws me into a tailspin in which I lash out at the world for denying me the smallest shred of stability.

I want to trust but I don’t trust myself.

Everything good in my life is from her. She’s the real secret behind this site—the real Sterling, if you will, only she’s far nobler than Sterling could ever be. And my god she’s had enough…I made her sob, and she’s a tough chick who doesn’t cry easily. I stood there in the kitchen with my hands hanging limply at my sides, wishing I could do anything to change what had happened…take back the awful shit that came out of my mouth. I can be so cold and mean and ruthless…it’s the past, it’s the awfulness saved up inside of me…all the lowdown shit that happened that’s no longer staying DOWN. it’s coming up like a fast food lunch, spilling out uncontrollably, burning through all my controls.

I stood there, listening to her dear, sweet voice as she cried her eyes out. I wanted to put my arms around her, I wanted to make promises that took the pain away, but she’s heard them all before and she’s sick of it.

She told me not to come close to her. She’s scared of me.

I’m scared of myself.

She doesn’t want this anymore. She’s closing down our secret site….

And I don’t know what happens next

All I want is to win her back

To love her again and make her happy

Fuck writing,, fuck being an artist—I wish I didn’t have these urges!

Fuck my past and everyone in it, the whole room is imploding, the whole sick crew…

It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault…

…It’s all my fault, it has to be--there’s no one else here

I’m all alone.