It's been a long time since last I wrote. I keep forgetting to get back on Gaia, and then when I do I just don't feel like writing anything. That's changed. A lot has happened in the last few months and I need to get it down before I explode all over mum's new lounge suite.
In the last week of term 3, 2007, (that's mid September because I'm in Australia) my mum, my uncle and I all flew down to King Island to visit my little brother. He was on a term long camp as a part of year nine with our school and King Island is in the middle of the Bass Straight. On the second day we were allowed to pick him and Josh, his best friend, up and let them give us a tour of the island for a few hours. But while we were at the campus I met William Pucci (nicknamed Poochie) who was one of my brother's house mates and apparently hated by the entire group on the island. We had talked a few times over the phone and had quite a bit in common, so I already liked him.
That night we returned to the campus to have dinner with my brother's house and then watch a presentation for the parents about their time on King Island. I spent a lot of time talking with Poochie and sat with him at dinner and during the movie, which my brother must have loved because it meant he wasn't being bothered by the boy. We talked about everything, just about, and he told me all sorts of things, like the fact that he was bisexual (not gay like the entire school believes). I told him I had no clue about my sexuality, which is very annoying but unfortunately true.
When it came time for me to leave I hugged him. THAT IS NOT MY STYLE! I am a socially akward person and have enough trouble just making casual conversation with anyone. I knew my friend Sam since year six and didn't hug him until year eleven, even though we played together a lot in year six and talked a lot in years ten and eleven. He is one of about two or three people I can actually call my 'friend' because I have a lot of trouble defining that word.
But still, I hugged Poochie after knowing him about ten hours. The next day we (mum, uncle Jason and I) went down to the harbour to watch the five houses on the campus compete in the Grassy Challange. They had to run, swim, paddle and then jump off the jetty. We were a little late and arrived just as my brother's house was finishing. That didn't much matter. I spent the rest of the time I was there with Poochie sitting on the edge of the dock and just talking to him. I never counted but I know he kissed my cheek a number of times, which made me extremly uncomfortable for some reason.
A week later when the group was returned to school I met up with Poochie again and gave him my number to make sure he would call me, because it was the last day of term and I wouldn't see him again otherwise. That night he called me and we talked for ages. We even set up a day and a time for me to come see him in Ballarat, which a half hour drive from my house. He lives above his dad's coffee shop and we were alone in his room for many, many hours. NOTHING HAPPENED!
That's a lie. We watched a couple of movies, swapped music, cuddled on his bed and eventually he kissed me. I went with it. I do like the guy, a lot, but that's part of my problem. I'm not sure if it's a girlfriend/boyfriend thing or just a friend thing, which is really starting to get to me. Three weeks after we were 'together' I got back from a seven day vacation in Brisbane and within three minutes of stepping inside his home he broke up with me. Considering how much I liked him, I was surprised I took it so well. I didn't cry, I didn't argue with him. I did get a little shitty and tried to hate him, but you have to put the emphasis on tried there. Poochie is a lovable guy, you just can't hate him, or I can't at least.
Later when he walked me to the train station so I could go home he told me he wanted to try dating guys again, I told him I was fine with that, because it's true. I couldn't care less what gender he dated. He then told me I should try playing my side of the team as well, because apparently I give off the air that I like girls instead of guys. A few people have told me that now, but I'm still confused.
Anyway, once he left, my world crumbled. I was given time to think. Thinking is bad for me. Once I got to thinking I blamed the whole thing on myself and cried in the bathroom for a good twenty minutes before walking down the street to Sanity to buy a CD. Unfortunately retail therapy doesn't work for me, though I'd been looking forward to that CD for a good month or more. It got worse on the train. My mp4 broke and I was left in the silence with my evil thoughts. By the time I got off I almost walked the fifteen minute drive home, though mum turned up before I got very far and drove me the rest of the way. It was the day before my seventeenth birthday.
Later that night Poochie called 'just to say hi' and I told him I didn't want to talk to him, that he'd screwed me up and I hated him. I'd planned to hang up on him if he called, but when it came to the moment I couldn't bring myself to do it. We talked for an hour or so and I was left in tears by the end of it. School started up again two days later and I caught up with him all bright and bubbly and tried to make him talk to me. He wouldn't. He said he was akward about the whole 'breaking up' thing and couldn't even talk to me.
Two weeks later I asked if he was over it. He said 'meh'. I could have accepted 'no' and walked away. I would have been delighted with 'yes' and happily become friends again, because he was the one who suggested we should be. If he had said 'maybe' or 'I don't know' I would have asked what I could do to change that and then tried my hardest to help him relax around me. But he said 'meh'. To me that meant he didn't care about me at all, he didn't even look me in the eyes when he said it. I felt so torn apart I cried during my next class, and no one noticed.
Months later on the very last day of school I snuck up behind him and surprised him into talking to me. We spent twenty minutes of me forcing conversation and him avoiding even looking at me. I knew he was still akward but I thought that I might be able to break him of it, silly me. Eventually the horrible akwardness got so bad that he confessed that it had taken him eleven months to get over his last boyfriend and talk to him. I was pissed off that he'd taken so long to tell me, close to tears because I'd have to wait still longer, but I think I still came across as if it wasn't really that big a deal. Eventually I told him I'd try again in eleven months from the date he broke up with me, hugged him, punched him in the shoulder, and walked away to fight the urge to cry on the far side of the school oval. I don't think he knows how much I've cried because of him.
Things got worse from there. The first few weeks of the holidays weren't so bad, I had lots of things to distract me. But then my family went on a vacation to Kuala Lumpur for ten days and I spent far too much time thinking. I got all screwed up over him all over again and when we finally got back home I sent him a stupid text at one am that just said 'I know we're not talking. But I hate the way I miss you. Sorry.' He never replied to it, and at this point it's been almost a week.
I was stupid to send it. Stupid to still be torn up over him. Stupid to think I could get him back, either as a boyfriend or just a friend. I have a horrible feeling I'm never going to talk to him again, even though he starts senior school this year and we'll have the same lunch and recess times. Still, it'll be my last year of school and there'll be a lot of stuff to keep me occupied and distracted. Yes, we are two years apart in age, and it doesn't really matter to me. I've dated older and younger because my own year level just doesn't seem that interesting.
The reason I've gone and written all this is because I can't find any other way to get it off my chest. Kids Help Line are s**t are being the kind of listeners I need to talk to and I'm afraid if I try calling Poochie to talk about it it'll only make it harder for him to accept me as a friend again, if he ever does.
I'm a sentimental fool that puts far too much pressure on guys to be my perfect boyfriend. In saying that, I'm not looking for perfect in every aspect. I like my man to have flaws, to be a little on the rounder side, to not understand my every thought, to not be the centre of the popularity solar system, to miss important dates, to need a gentle push in the right direction. Though I'll admit that shorter guys get on my nerves when it comes to kissing standing up. So I'm a romantic, so what? My day dreams will always be my escape, and sometimes quite a lot more interesting than what the real world boys and girls have to offer.
There. Now I feel better.
Ideth Community Member 
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