What a childish thing to say. How angsty and pointless and frivolous. Making a mockery of something that actually happens to people, or taking what I have for granted. I’m not serious, I wouldn’t do it, I know better.
All thoughts that run through my mind when I consider saying it out loud to someone I know, a friend, an acquaintance, a facebook friend from years ago who for some reason decided to see how I was doing today. I’ll admit my self degradation comes in waves. It feels about a month ago that I was sitting at work with ear buds in, listening to the same track from Amelie and writing out my deepest thoughts as if I was some distraught poet on the edge of acceptable mental stability. As if my words carried some weight that would one day be looked at and awed upon as if I was a tortured genius. A genius, mind you, that never manages to spell genius right on the first attempt.
These chapters come and go, more often than not brought upon by memories seeping out of their allotted places in my head, into the parts that I visit daily. This has been an ongoing issue for the past year, if not longer, and I feel equally foolish admitting that it is because of a failed relationship that I sit in anguish, wringing out my brain onto an anonymous blog like an eighth grade girl.
I have exhausted my friends of the subject. All advice has turned into “get over it” or increasingly obvious attempts to get me hooked up with some LA guy. That is where I live now, and is probably the root of all my problems, and as I have yet to experience what possible positive outcomes this decision might have for me in the future, I write to you, the wall, in a desperate state of defeat.
The actual incident was lacking in any real substance. I have been attempting to hang out with someone I met here through my brother. A decent enough guy, good looking, mature, has his life together, at least my mother would approve of him. This isn’t my first attempt at seeing someone, either. I’ve gone on dates over the course of the year, I even had a boyfriend for a few months (another reason this entire mess happened) and to a degree I probably deserve any conflict growing in my brain like a stubborn black mold.
I haven’t been able to let someone in far enough to tug on a heart string. I come up with fantasy crushes, fall for people I can’t have, pine away for someone from afar, but when any of this thoughts come to fruition, I completely collapse at the first sight of intimacy.
I don’t know if these things happen as a result of my inability to get over it, or my refusal. I often wonder if I hold on to the prospect of it in some sad attempt to believe in love like a fairy tale.
When we broke up, the second time, (the first time -mind you- was completely my doing) I called in a fit of regret and desperation, and was told that I was going to be ruined. That men were going to be ruined from me, and that I would never recover, to which I scoffed and brushed off as an arrogant stab. However, a year later I can’t help but wonder if he was right. I hold everyone to such a high standard now, one that can’t possibly be met, but in the same breath, is it so impossible to find that love again? To constantly be surprised by someone, while at the same time always feeling comfortable and consistent? I never thought it would be so appalling to hope for those things to exist, but after holding out, I feel as though I’ve set the bar too high.
Last night, I drove home with these memories whirling in my head. I had been asked to spend the night. I am always asked to spend the night. In fact, at one point he laughed and said it was because he wanted to sleep with me, and was not sure if I wanted that. He and I had an unfortunate break with the holiday. To preface, I should mention our interest in each other hadn’t been brought up by either of us to my brother. I, being close to my brother, had a problem with hiding any sort of relationship with his friend from him. His friend was not so concerned, this alone bothered me. Over the holiday, we both traveled back to our home towns, and I brought this matter up with my brother on our flight. He had said he didn’t care, but thought I should know that this guy had slept with a mutual friend, and also ex, of my brothers. This really was enough to lose any sort of attachment I was feeling for the guy. When I brought it up to him, he truthfully informed me of the incident, and not being one to judge people on their mistakes (especially after what I had gone through), I didn’t want to hold it against him. But upon coming home and hanging out together, I just cannot shake the lack of intimacy - and I don’t mean lack of physical attention- he has made it clear what he wants most of the time. I have just never been overly physical and tend to shy away from people who appear to focus on that. I feel it can take up so much space, and then when it is gone, you realize there isn’t much else there. Something drives me away from it, and when I feel it so strongly, I know I should just go home.
That left me with more thoughts than I wanted. I don’t like having to wonder what his intentions are. Through all of this, I thought back to a moment I had while I was at home just the week before. I was instructed to go through my things by my mom, so she could clean out my room, and through my assorted boxes of decorations and half filled notebooks from college, I came across a photo album that my ex boyfriend had put together. One picture in particular stuck out. It was a picture of the two of us when we had started dating. The disturbing part was the unfamiliar look on my face. I was smiling, almost laughing. I looked happier than I have felt since I moved here. The ghost in the picture was so estranged from the person holding it. My mom had been in the room with me, so I didn’t dwell on it at the time, but remembering the instance, that moment could have been a few seconds or an hour. Then his words replayed through my head. I am ruined. Broken. Unable to recreate the existence I had, am I to be one of those people constantly searching for something to fill the void? Hoping I am one of the lucky ones who actually manages to create something better? I looked up from the vacant air I had been staring at to the road I was driving on. Toying with the notion, the ease in which it could happen, the impact. It was the farthest my head had ever gotten with the idea, and while still far from a place where I would go through with it, I still surprised myself. It would be so simple, so brief, the worst part being the potential I survive and have to deal with a ruined car and medical bills.
And now here I sit as if nothing happened. Instant messaging with that same guy, who currently thinks he can coerce me into bringing him soup that I made a few nights ago. I don’t know at what point I’ll stop feeling like I’m living in some sad dream, where I’ll wake up back in 2008 as the sweet, naive, happy version of myself that I saw in the picture. Or maybe I just have to accept that this is my life now, and that girl is just a ghost.
