Long Distance "Relationships"

I said I wasn't going to write a blog today. Well, I lied... This is very long so please bare with me!
I've had the incredible urge to just write for the past few days. I HAVE put this urge to some good use by adding to my increasing list of lyrical attempts, but for the main part I feel I need to get a few things off my chest. Surely if I I write them down I'll be able to get some sort of visual on the situation and maybe draw my crisis to a conclusion

In various other posts I have written about my "quarter life crisis" (as Kears refers to it) and how my job seems to be the main contributor. This is in fact not a lie, but an embellishment on the truth. This is quite difficult for me to air, so bare with me, I hate talking about this shit, more than I hate feeling it

Picture the scene, three loud London girls, stumbling into a rather large house in this rather posh gated community, Orange County, California (one that you would in visage on a show like Cribs), taking over and just causing general havoc for a few days. First night we were there I got trashed, and I mean blotto. I've never been that drunk, and I haven't been since. I get drunk a lot, but I'm talking off my face to the point where I can't remember what I did for most of the evening. Luckily the guys we were staying with were pretty stand up guys, and they looked after us a treat. I honestly couldn't imagine my life without them now. Probably the greatest guys I know in the whole world. So that's where I met him. The guy who's fucked up in my entire life. Not in a bad way. I'll explain a bit more as we go on

After that first night I have no idea why he came back to the house, he was supposed to go to San Fran for the weekend or something, but he gave it a miss. I vaguely remember talking to him about my art and stuff, but I must have made such an extreme tit out of myself, to the point where if someone was like that with me I would have run a mile. I remember some singing to Skid Row at the top of my lungs, which hurt like fuck the next day so it must have been loud. I remember looking disgusting - we'd just stayed at a hotel in Hollywood for two days, been at a Motley Crue gig the night before and must have got about an hours sleep. My hair was greasy and I was just wearing my Hooters top and some jeans. I'm talking new realms of disgusting. And I also remember some vomiting. Apparantly he spoke to me in the bathroom, and he brought me a glass of water, so he probably saw that part. Good start...
When he walked in at the beginning of the evening I was blown away. Beautiful hair, big brown eyes, slim build. Love it. I didn't think I stood a chance. This stunning OC guy could have had any pick of all the tan, blonde, chirpy girls in California.

I'm not good at making the first move. Ever. It's not so much the feeling of rejection I fear, because everyone knows I pretty much don't give a fuck about whether people like me or not. It's more the fear of the unknown. What if he says yes? Relationships have never been my forte. I hate guys when they get too clingy, but when they aren't showing enough interest I start to wonder if I've done something wrong. I hate jealousy. I hate possessiveness.
All the traits my first boyfriend had. He made me quit drinking, smoking, drugs, self-harm. Any of my vices, you name it, I quit it. For which I am grateful. Seriously. Without that push only God knows where I'd be right now. Probably dead. Or worse. But he was too possessive. All my friends at the time were guys. Simply because girls are bitches. So he thought I was sleeping with every guy I talked to. He wanted to spend every second of every damn day with me, always round my house, which was difficult for me, I never let people in my house unless I completely trust them. Which takes a lot. He'd made me quit every form of outlet I had, and at the time I was going through A LOT of shit. In the end I felt so suffocated and trapped I had to sabotage it. So I set up a situation where I knew he'd accuse me of sleeping with my best friend, thus sparking off an arguement giving me a reason to get rid. And I did it. It took a three hour arguement in the rain to finally get him to leave me alone, but I did it. Call me vindictive, call me what you like. It's true, I was a complete bitch to him. I was sixteen and naive, and I do sometimes feel a little guilt about it, but I just couldn't be this perfect life form that he was seeking.

As for my next bloke. I wanted him because he was a complete fucker to me. But I loved it. I could throw all my shit at him and he would throw it right back. We matched each other in how fucked up we were, which was also good, because at the time no-one else would have put up with either of us. Let's just say in the end, we just fucked each other up even more. He cheated on me with my best friend, and I was back on the drink and self-harm. Along with all the shit I was going through at home and all the bullying at school, he just couldn't be the guy I wanted. The guy I needed to save me. So one day we just stopped talking. We didn't even discuss not talking, it just happened. Soon after he left school, and we never spoke again. Actually I lie, we bumped into each other at a gig in a local pub, and we reminisced for a bit, until his new girlfriend got the hump and dragged him away. All the guys I've stumbled by since have been no better. Although, I have no bad feelings toward any of my ex's. I learnt something from all of them, as I think they did from me.

Back to the point. So I spent the four days in the OC with these guys, just hanging out and other general merriment. Mainly drinking and eating steak. I don't think I left the sofa other than to go to Disney Land (and the bathroom) in the entire four days we were there. Why? That's where HE was. This guy totally captivated me. He'd say things, really unimportant things, but things that I would say to other people. Back home. 5000 miles away. It was uncanny how I'd found a parallel to myself on the other side of the world and I couldn't even find one back home. The only guy I know who will put up with a four day Star Wars marathon, stay up all night talking with me about random shit, and let me slap them in the face without kicking my ass. Plus he had this stare that was just penetrating, like he was staring into my soul. Not to mention his sexy-ass voice. He has impeccable taste in music, which is extremely important to me. I knew he was a keeper.

To say I was gutted at the end of the four days was an understatement. It meant I was going back to Hollywood, and only God knew when I would be seeing him again. Funnily enough, I saw him pretty much every day, and when we got a text a few days before we were due to go home saying that the guys were taking us back to the OC to spend our last night with them I was absolutely stoked. I'd managed to keep a certain amount of restraint for the whole holiday, and I was going to grab my chance while I still had it. And I did. We stayed up all night again - I'm not one to kiss and tell so let's leave it at that.

I went home that afternoon. I can safely say I was heartbroken. I cried as the plane took off. But so did the other girls so I managed to shrug it off. I hardly knew this guy, had known him little over a week, yet I was completely taken by him. We've kept in contact. When my phone bill leapt up to nearly 150 pounds, I finally figured how to use my email on my phone

Here in lies my dilemma. Technically we're not in a relationship. That would be impossible. The distance is killing me as it is, let alone making the damn thing official, and I don't even know if he knows about my feelings, let alone mirrors them. But I know being without him is not where I want to be. I've never felt this way about a guy before. He just understands me, and it's easy. I'm not always having to explain my actions, I don't have to tell him exactly where I am all the time. Sure he doesn't know every little thing about me, he certainly doesn't know about my past yet (I learnt my lesson about telling too much from the previous two guys ^^^), but I know I could probably tell him and he wouldn't judge me for it, or run a mile, like so many previous other guys. I know he's not perfect, far from it, in fact I don't know everything about him either, but I love everything I do know, and I can't wait to learn the rest.

I'm not usually one of the crazy "love me, define me" kind of girls. As Sugar so often says "we're strong like wildebeest". Only the longer I'm without him, the weaker I feel. Hence going back to this "quarter-life crisis" malarkey. I can literally feel myself changing into one of these girls. I want to email him all the time, I want to tell him I love him - I want to tell EVERYONE I love him. It's just not like me at all. And I hate it. I hate being one of those girls that I look at, and I judge because they're lives revolve around their bloke. But now, I get up and the first thing I do is check my email inbox, and if it's empty I feel like calling in sick and staying in bed all day. I check it every chance I get at work, just in case. I'll stay up all night emailing him, because I never know when I'll get the chance to speak to him next. When I get up in the morning he's just going to bed, so I dread the first eight hours of the day when I won't hear from him.
It's absolutely mentalist behaviour. I know it is. I can see myself doing it. And what's worse is I get the distinct impression that he's going to get tired of me. And then where will I be and what will I have left?