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Warning: this contains rudeness and venting.
I can't sleep, my stomach hurts, I have a cough and Tori's mates are all here and they're shitfaced and Steve is downstairs fucking some Swedish tart. I can't believe what a fucking loser I am. He was talking to Tori and I wondered what the fuckity fuck was going on so I came out and Steve asked me if I had a condom. Way to go, Steve, thanks for reminding me about my inability to get laid. This depressed me and I ended up sitting on the stairs crying my eyes out. Tori was really sweet. I felt bad that I'd got her out of her room but I've just been really low recently. I know I should shut the fuck up and realise that people are worse off. I know. I'm in Swizz, I hear all the time about oppression. I'm not dumb enough to think that I'm worse off than a Palestinian mother whose son has been shot by the Israelis. But I'm entitled to get depressed. Ever since my dad died, I've had depressive phases. Never got as bad as Gina, I'm not going on Prozac cos Mum is worried it'll fuck me up. But I wish I could be happier and not this miserable whingeing waste of space that I am. And why oh why oh why am I upset about the fact that Duncan got laid last night (even though he was wasted and so was Bethan) and Steve is getting laid? Simple. I'm jealous. So trivial, I know, but sex is everywhere. You go into Taylors to buy the milk and you're confronted with More, Cosmo, every fucking woman's magazine telling you how to get the best orgasm ever, how to have the best sex ever, mind-blowing sexual encounters, positions that'll rock his world (lesbian sex never comes into it, alas, unless it's fake lesbian sex in FHM and porn mags for men to jizz over). Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. And somehow, the message gets through that there is something wrong with you, you should be getting laid, you're deficient without another half or even a fuckbuddy, you're missing out on getting a fifty second high off some bloke.
I was bullied in Year 7 for being a virgin. Nobody has sex in Year 7, but I somehow believed they were all doing it and loser girl here wasn't. I got bullied for not having a boyfriend, and somehow, that's stuck with me all my life. It's probably why I was so jealous of Emily and Jack. I'm always jealous. Rob and Helen, Paul and Jilly, Clare and Donna, the names and the faces change but the idea is still the same. I want some too. Don't leave me out. Give me someone to fuck so I can have an amusing sex story for when we're all drunk and Miriam and Ange are comparing their fucking experiences or Steve's showing off about whoever his last shag was (Duncan and Joe are a bit more discreet. I should clarify that I'm not jealous of Miriam and Ange, presumably because they've been with Jake and Faresh respectively for years, and I'm not jealous of Joe, just because his boyfriend is a sweety, and because one of his exes was such a cock that I think Joe deserves happiness. Besides, it's impossible to be jealous of any of these people).
Why am I bothered? Why? A couple of my flatmates, and a couple of my good friends (not naming names) are virgins, and they don't give a fuck. Tori says sex is overrated, but my god I love sex so much. Adam was wrong when he said masturbation was better. You can't talk to a dildo. It doesn't have a face (I loved watching Owen's facial expression when we did it on my chair). It can't stroke yr hair and yr back and tell you it loves you and you can't get off with it (see above point) and it doesn't have arms to wrap round you...big difference. See, what I like most about sex is the intimacy. I like lying on the bed and sitting on the chair holding on to the person and tasting them, touching them, feeling them, hearing the sound of their voice, feeling their breath on my neck and their penis (I haven't yet had sex with a woman) moving inside me. Just the feeling of two people locking together and creating one glorious whole and then the aftermath, when you're too tired to speak and you're just lying there in each other's arms, kissing and stroking each other's hair and just enjoying the stillness, and as Cerys Matthews said "You want to ask questions but you don't cos you're in this lovely trance." But it's intimacy I want, not a cheap thrill. I'm not like Steve, I'm not desparate to rack up the points on my shag chart. I just want to be held, to be loved. And to be fucked. That's why I don't want to fuckbuddy again; when I did it I fell in love with the guy and he didn't love me back, and I think that's why we split. I couldn't cope with being used. Paul might like being used for sex, but I don't. And this is shallow, but I couldn't have a relationship without sex. I feel so bad saying this but I was so frustrated with Adam, because I wanted to fuck, and he didn't but wanted to do everything else.
What really pisses me off is, I've been single for two months AND I STILL MISS OWEN AND I WANT HIM BACK. Michelle's the same, she and Andrew have been separate for about the same time and she's as bitter as fuck because she knows that if he asked her back out, she'd say yes. Even if he is a two-faced cock (he called his ex a psycho, yet he was with her in ye Queen of Hearts, and Michelle was worried he'd been slagging her off to his ex). Owen was special. We had the same sense of humour, we laughed at the same things, we got angry about the same things, we had the same beliefs, the same experiences of bullying and self-loathing and insecurity, we liked a lot of the same bands and movies, went to the same clubs (although Owen hasn't yet been to Jilly's) - in short, Owen was nearly a male version of me. I loved everything about him, his guitar ability, his sexy Irish accent, the way he said "So it is" all the time, his sense of humour, his messy hair which I used to love stroking, the fact he looked like Tommy Scott, the way he took the piss out of me, the conversations we had about stuff...and the sex.
The only other person I've ever felt so much love for was my ex-fuckbuddy. I loved him so much it hurt, and when he gave me that phone call, it was as though he'd rammed a kitchen knife right through my heart. Funnily enough, Emily and Jack had split two nights earlier, and on that very night HE was over watching Spinal Tap, and he didn't put his arm round me like he normally did when we watched TV. I should have guessed it was over, but I kidded myself into thinking he was just tired. I can't remember exactly what he said on the night of dumping, but I remember screaming "YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!" over and over at him and later, when he'd hung up, putting Catatonia on and sobbing my heart out, before slashing my breasts, arms, groin and legs. God, I was a mess. I started WHS the next day and people must have speculated as to what caused the marks on the temp's arms.
Owen Rafferty, I miss you so fucking much. If you didn't live here it would be better. But you live in the block next door, and every time I walk past, I see the room where we used to have sex and it hurts. You know something? You know when we went to see Michael Moore, and you brought Downsize This! because you thought he was going to sign it? I still have it, and I'm too frightened to give it back, because I can't bear to look at you and see my ex-boyfriend, someone I loved and used to have sex with, who doesn't want to know any more and probably doesn't even want to be fucking friends. (Now don't go telling me to get the fuck over it, readers. Please. Hear me out.)
People are going to read this and laugh, well they can piss off, it's my fucking journal and I'll write what I want.
Thank god Rob can't see this. He'd want to slap me round the face.