In the few days since the elimination of the boy, my spirits have soared by leaps and bounds. I wish it had happened sooner. I had no idea how absolutely liberated I would feel. It was as though once my mind was made up to be truly finished, my life could come back into being. I haven't felt so absolutely free in almost a year.
You see, with the boy, even when it was good, I was never at ease. I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I anticipated the inevitable breakdown. I didn't ever reach a point of actual trust. And why would I? What precedent would lead me to believe that he could in fact be trusted? None.
I wonder how much of the whole thing could have been avoided had I stopped letting my pride dictate my decisions. I think that more often than not, I sacrified my happiness and kept trying in an effort to save face. I didn't want to be that girl who couldn't make it work. How completely ridiculous.
I'm reminded of something Gary said to me once. I was rambling on about something completely unrelated, and he stopped me with these words: "Laura, you can't fix him."
And now that I've finally stopped trying, I couldn't be happier.
And now, it is time for the purging. I feel the need to symbolically rid myself of all of this dust-collecting (literally and metaphorically) crap in my life. I am purging my closets, my paperwork, my bookshelves, and my heart and mind. I am replacing my bedding (which carries the bad karma of relationships past) with fresh, clean, white linens. I don't want to sleep amidst the ashes of things past anymore.
Good riddance to bad rubbish, and bring on the new day...
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Public Forum
Happy trails, Boy. I hope you find the things in life that bring you closer to truth, to happiness, and to that difficult transition from boy to man.
I hope that I do too. Except for the man part.
In all honesty, I feel like a tremendous weight has been lifted. Yes, goodbyes are always difficult. Yes, there were tears (probably all mine). Yes, there will be moments of weakness where my heart will ache, and my body will long, and my soul will heave, but I will be fine. One of these days, I will be just fine. A little bruised, maybe. A little more guarded. A little less likely to let myself fall again. Smarter, but colder. Stronger.
Closure is what I've been after. It's enough.
And to whomever let the proverbial cat out of the bag, thanks a lot. Is my sarcasm apparent?
I mean, nobody reads this thing, right?
The End.
I hope that I do too. Except for the man part.
In all honesty, I feel like a tremendous weight has been lifted. Yes, goodbyes are always difficult. Yes, there were tears (probably all mine). Yes, there will be moments of weakness where my heart will ache, and my body will long, and my soul will heave, but I will be fine. One of these days, I will be just fine. A little bruised, maybe. A little more guarded. A little less likely to let myself fall again. Smarter, but colder. Stronger.
Closure is what I've been after. It's enough.
And to whomever let the proverbial cat out of the bag, thanks a lot. Is my sarcasm apparent?
I mean, nobody reads this thing, right?
The End.
Monday, November 12, 2007
You can't start a fire without a spark
Today I awoke with a mission. My anger with the boy has not subsided. My mission, therefore, was to find someplace that could chop of my hair and dye it black. This has little to do with the boy, and much to do with my own habit of matching my outward appearance to my inner emotional state. And that state has lately been much edgier than my basic red-brown bob was projecting. I wanted to do something drastic and bold. And I did. It looks badass.
Around 10:15 tonight, as I was in the drugstore picking up black hair shampoo and red lipstick, my phone rang. The familiar number belonged to that of my friend Michael, with whom The Boy trekked to DC to see a little American history and (most importantly) take in a Springsteen concert. I was accutely aware that this was where the boy would be this weekend, and reminded of it earlier in the evening by a couple of cryptic texts from boy. I answered the call, which had been timed just right, so that I would pick up at the chorus of "Dancing in the Dark". I really, REALLY, wanted to be at that concert. The Boss is one of those things that is very much wrapped up in my experience with the boy. I found it strange that Michael would call me during this song, but listened as he sang along with Bruce, screamed "I love you so much!", and hung up.
After I made it home, I sent Mikey a text, requesting a full recap of the concert when he got a chance. About half an hour later, my phone rang again, again Michael calling. I answered excitedly, "Hey, Baby! How was the show?". I was surprised to hear, not Mikey, but the Boy's voice on the line. "Oh my God, it was incredible. I wish you had been here." Uhhhh, what? I stammered out something that amounted to "why the hell are you calling me." It was at this point that The Boy revealed that it was he, not Mikey who had called during the concert. Well, that would make a lot more sense. The song has significance in our dsysfunctionally passionate relationship. I put up my prickly defensive shield, even as I was beginning to cry. Told the boy I hated him, which is untrue. I then listened as he marveled about the haunting patriotism of our nation's capitol. Not his nation's.
We talked about the "kings" of America, comparing Lincoln to Shakespeare's Henry V, his inaugural address to the St. Crispian's Day speech. We talked about the bittersweetness of Bruce, of his activisim, of his outrage at the current state of affairs in ths country, and of the fact that our generation does not have a voice like that. We talked about Vietnam, and Abbie Hoffman, and Martin Luther King Jr, and the utter disgrace it is for George Bush to be sitting in the White House, running this great country into the ground. We talked about the difference between the 1960s and now, our lack of a united voice of the youth of America. There is no movement. Everyone is in their own ipod-induced self-serving world. He said that now he understood why I was so wrapped up in Hair this summer. Where is our generation's Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, ANYTHING? We want to hear OUR voice - the voice of a young people who are mad as hell. It's not out there. Why? How can we become that voice?
Conversations like this, and like the ones that the boy and I have about art, and acting, and our place in this world are ninety percent of the reason that I fell in love with him. His passion for the things that I find important, and the eloquence with which he expresses himself make me want to spend my life talking with him. I've never had that kind of exchange with another person. Not in the same way. It is what I miss the most, and will miss the most if we do in fact cease to be a part of eachother's lives.
It was at this point that Mikey actually DID get on the phone with me, proclaiming his and the boy's undying love for me. I argued that I knew he loved me, but that I was pretty sure the boy didn't. He said his battery was going dead. The boy got back on the phone. "You know I love you. I love you. I just need to live my life." I replied with, "I am not keeping you from that. Call me tomorrow." He changed from dreamer mode to jackass-who-is-making-me-miserable mode in a split second. "Your messages have been really angry lately." Wow. "No, shit. I am angry. I can be angry. You're making me angry. Call me tomorrow."
"Yeah, uh-huh, ok. I will."
Good God. What the hell am I supposed to do with this kid? And what am I supposed to do with what I feel for him?
"You can't start a fire
sittin' round cryin' over a broken heart
this gun's for hire
even if we're just dancing in the dark."
Around 10:15 tonight, as I was in the drugstore picking up black hair shampoo and red lipstick, my phone rang. The familiar number belonged to that of my friend Michael, with whom The Boy trekked to DC to see a little American history and (most importantly) take in a Springsteen concert. I was accutely aware that this was where the boy would be this weekend, and reminded of it earlier in the evening by a couple of cryptic texts from boy. I answered the call, which had been timed just right, so that I would pick up at the chorus of "Dancing in the Dark". I really, REALLY, wanted to be at that concert. The Boss is one of those things that is very much wrapped up in my experience with the boy. I found it strange that Michael would call me during this song, but listened as he sang along with Bruce, screamed "I love you so much!", and hung up.
After I made it home, I sent Mikey a text, requesting a full recap of the concert when he got a chance. About half an hour later, my phone rang again, again Michael calling. I answered excitedly, "Hey, Baby! How was the show?". I was surprised to hear, not Mikey, but the Boy's voice on the line. "Oh my God, it was incredible. I wish you had been here." Uhhhh, what? I stammered out something that amounted to "why the hell are you calling me." It was at this point that The Boy revealed that it was he, not Mikey who had called during the concert. Well, that would make a lot more sense. The song has significance in our dsysfunctionally passionate relationship. I put up my prickly defensive shield, even as I was beginning to cry. Told the boy I hated him, which is untrue. I then listened as he marveled about the haunting patriotism of our nation's capitol. Not his nation's.
We talked about the "kings" of America, comparing Lincoln to Shakespeare's Henry V, his inaugural address to the St. Crispian's Day speech. We talked about the bittersweetness of Bruce, of his activisim, of his outrage at the current state of affairs in ths country, and of the fact that our generation does not have a voice like that. We talked about Vietnam, and Abbie Hoffman, and Martin Luther King Jr, and the utter disgrace it is for George Bush to be sitting in the White House, running this great country into the ground. We talked about the difference between the 1960s and now, our lack of a united voice of the youth of America. There is no movement. Everyone is in their own ipod-induced self-serving world. He said that now he understood why I was so wrapped up in Hair this summer. Where is our generation's Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, ANYTHING? We want to hear OUR voice - the voice of a young people who are mad as hell. It's not out there. Why? How can we become that voice?
Conversations like this, and like the ones that the boy and I have about art, and acting, and our place in this world are ninety percent of the reason that I fell in love with him. His passion for the things that I find important, and the eloquence with which he expresses himself make me want to spend my life talking with him. I've never had that kind of exchange with another person. Not in the same way. It is what I miss the most, and will miss the most if we do in fact cease to be a part of eachother's lives.
It was at this point that Mikey actually DID get on the phone with me, proclaiming his and the boy's undying love for me. I argued that I knew he loved me, but that I was pretty sure the boy didn't. He said his battery was going dead. The boy got back on the phone. "You know I love you. I love you. I just need to live my life." I replied with, "I am not keeping you from that. Call me tomorrow." He changed from dreamer mode to jackass-who-is-making-me-miserable mode in a split second. "Your messages have been really angry lately." Wow. "No, shit. I am angry. I can be angry. You're making me angry. Call me tomorrow."
"Yeah, uh-huh, ok. I will."
Good God. What the hell am I supposed to do with this kid? And what am I supposed to do with what I feel for him?
"You can't start a fire
sittin' round cryin' over a broken heart
this gun's for hire
even if we're just dancing in the dark."
Thursday, November 8, 2007
I Guess I'll Drown in My Own Tears
today i learned that "real" people:
a. don't cry on the 6 train
b. look at you like you're crazy if you do.
unfortunately, having been repeatedly kicked in the heart/pride/hope departments for the better part of a year now has left me unable to fight the rising lump in my throat and welling of eyes while on mass transit. i find that it is highly unadvisable to weep in the workplace (now that the workplace is not the theatre, where i can safely weep away), and therefore have trained myself to hold it back. i just can't quite make it all the way home.
yesterday, as i fitted a very happy bride into her beautiful gown, her flower girl looked up at me and asked, "are you married?" i laughed bitterly, and replied "nope, not even close." i thought i had evaded further probing. i thought wrong. as the child began to ask me more and more questions about my romantic life (HAH!), i felt myself turning ten shades of red and wanting to scream. how do you explain to a six year old that you're pretty sure you're going to be alone forever? "listen kid, i'm apparently not worth the effort. let me give you a little advice - never let your guard down." i figured this wouldn't go over well, so i made a hasty exit, lest i drip mascara on a spanish silk gown.
this morning, we had a bridal client who was in her late 40's or early 50's. i don't know if it was her first wedding or not, but it depressed the shit out of me. she kept saying that she wanted to bring her mother back to see her favorites. her mother is in her nineties. i don't want my mother to be in her nineties when i get married. i mean, my parents are smokers. at the rate i'm going, who's to say they'll make it to my nuptuals.
i don't know y'all. i'm pretty sure the pursuit of happiness isn't supposed to be this...i don't know...sad.
i'm also pretty sure that i kick ass. thus my confusion.
all is not lost - i am keeping up with the marathon training. it will be a year from last sunday, if i make it to the goal. although, it will be diffcult to qualify for next year, it seems that 2009 is a better bet. baby steps. i'm beginning to realize that there is much that i have to learn. i also find myself in need of "stuff" to actually get this going. like, a smaller ipod (a shuffle would be ideal), a new pair of running shoes (mine are broken down, and no doubt contributing to the pain in my joints), appropriate cold-weather running attire, and ideally, a trainer. who am i kidding? i don't know what the fuck i'm doing, and even though i'm reading up on the subject, i'm one hundred percent sure that i'm not eating enough or doing the correct cross-training. but i'm not sure what to eat or do otherwise. maybe i should jog down to the barnes and noble and try to figure this shit out. i'd love a running buddy. one that will not judge me for my sorry state. it's not that sorry. i actually do pretty well on the treadmill. outdoors is harder, but more fulfilling.
i think i might (fingers crossed) get to go home for christmas. i'm trying to stretch that possibility out for as long of a visit as is humanly possible.
i need to nurture my craft. my job is sucking the artist's soul out of me. i need to be writing. i need to be singing. i need to be dancing. and i need - repeat - NEED to be acting. i feel like a shell.
i miss my partner in crime, away on her texan jew-truck adventure. i miss my friends in the city, whom i never see anymore. i miss the boy, although the prodigal did make a return on tuesday night. it seems to have only been a momentary lapse. while i see that he is gaining some clarity about the relationships in his life and the way that he treats those who care about him (which is good), i don't see that he's pulling his head out of his ass about the prospect of losing me (which is bad). i'm having one of those major head/heart battles about it at the moment. all of this contributes to the subterranean crying spells.
balls.
a. don't cry on the 6 train
b. look at you like you're crazy if you do.
unfortunately, having been repeatedly kicked in the heart/pride/hope departments for the better part of a year now has left me unable to fight the rising lump in my throat and welling of eyes while on mass transit. i find that it is highly unadvisable to weep in the workplace (now that the workplace is not the theatre, where i can safely weep away), and therefore have trained myself to hold it back. i just can't quite make it all the way home.
yesterday, as i fitted a very happy bride into her beautiful gown, her flower girl looked up at me and asked, "are you married?" i laughed bitterly, and replied "nope, not even close." i thought i had evaded further probing. i thought wrong. as the child began to ask me more and more questions about my romantic life (HAH!), i felt myself turning ten shades of red and wanting to scream. how do you explain to a six year old that you're pretty sure you're going to be alone forever? "listen kid, i'm apparently not worth the effort. let me give you a little advice - never let your guard down." i figured this wouldn't go over well, so i made a hasty exit, lest i drip mascara on a spanish silk gown.
this morning, we had a bridal client who was in her late 40's or early 50's. i don't know if it was her first wedding or not, but it depressed the shit out of me. she kept saying that she wanted to bring her mother back to see her favorites. her mother is in her nineties. i don't want my mother to be in her nineties when i get married. i mean, my parents are smokers. at the rate i'm going, who's to say they'll make it to my nuptuals.
i don't know y'all. i'm pretty sure the pursuit of happiness isn't supposed to be this...i don't know...sad.
i'm also pretty sure that i kick ass. thus my confusion.
all is not lost - i am keeping up with the marathon training. it will be a year from last sunday, if i make it to the goal. although, it will be diffcult to qualify for next year, it seems that 2009 is a better bet. baby steps. i'm beginning to realize that there is much that i have to learn. i also find myself in need of "stuff" to actually get this going. like, a smaller ipod (a shuffle would be ideal), a new pair of running shoes (mine are broken down, and no doubt contributing to the pain in my joints), appropriate cold-weather running attire, and ideally, a trainer. who am i kidding? i don't know what the fuck i'm doing, and even though i'm reading up on the subject, i'm one hundred percent sure that i'm not eating enough or doing the correct cross-training. but i'm not sure what to eat or do otherwise. maybe i should jog down to the barnes and noble and try to figure this shit out. i'd love a running buddy. one that will not judge me for my sorry state. it's not that sorry. i actually do pretty well on the treadmill. outdoors is harder, but more fulfilling.
i think i might (fingers crossed) get to go home for christmas. i'm trying to stretch that possibility out for as long of a visit as is humanly possible.
i need to nurture my craft. my job is sucking the artist's soul out of me. i need to be writing. i need to be singing. i need to be dancing. and i need - repeat - NEED to be acting. i feel like a shell.
i miss my partner in crime, away on her texan jew-truck adventure. i miss my friends in the city, whom i never see anymore. i miss the boy, although the prodigal did make a return on tuesday night. it seems to have only been a momentary lapse. while i see that he is gaining some clarity about the relationships in his life and the way that he treats those who care about him (which is good), i don't see that he's pulling his head out of his ass about the prospect of losing me (which is bad). i'm having one of those major head/heart battles about it at the moment. all of this contributes to the subterranean crying spells.
balls.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Let the games begin...
Today was Halloween. Halloween was once my favorite holiday. This was the most depressing halloween of my life. I didn't dress up, for the first time ever. I didn't get ridiculously drunk and parade about in a skimpy outfit. I didn't do anything. I avoided the playhouse halloween party because I didn't want to deal with any kind of awkward situation with the boy or the other girl. Mostly the other girl. I don't have any problem interacting with the boy, and if I had been there, I could have easily kept that under control. There's just something about being in the same physical space as that girl that makes me so uncomfortable I become physically ill. Panic sets in. I can't even step foot in the playhouse unless I've verified that I won't be running into her. It's absurd.
It's depressing for more than just the obvious reasons. Last night, while on yet another marathon phone-call with the boy (yep, we're back to that stage), we got around to the subject of the holidays. And, for the first time ever, I'm dreading them. Let's get something straight, here. I'm jolly. I love Thanksgiving, and Christmas. I love the decorations, and the music and the family and the food, and just...all of it. Maybe that makes me a huge tool. The boy finds it comical, because he is grinchy. But, as we started talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas, and our respective families routines for these holidays, and I began to cry, he softened up about it. You see, it has become increasingly difficult for me to fight off tears at the thought of the approaching holiday season. The reason is very simple. I'm not going to be able to go home this year, unless some sort of a financial miracle occurs. Every single time I think of the fact that I won't be back in Arkansas with my family on Christmas morning, I want to jump off a bridge. Really. That's the kind of hurt that it creates.
I just don't think it's in the cards.
Thanksgiving will hopefully be ok. I haven't actually been home for that one in the last three years. This will be the fourth. So far, I'm planning on trying my hand at Thanksgiving dinner for the first time.
It's something.
The new job is soul-sucking. Seriously. I am already becoming resentful of the effects I can see it having on my artistic career, and of it's role in my holiday demise.
Boo. Happy Halloween.
It's depressing for more than just the obvious reasons. Last night, while on yet another marathon phone-call with the boy (yep, we're back to that stage), we got around to the subject of the holidays. And, for the first time ever, I'm dreading them. Let's get something straight, here. I'm jolly. I love Thanksgiving, and Christmas. I love the decorations, and the music and the family and the food, and just...all of it. Maybe that makes me a huge tool. The boy finds it comical, because he is grinchy. But, as we started talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas, and our respective families routines for these holidays, and I began to cry, he softened up about it. You see, it has become increasingly difficult for me to fight off tears at the thought of the approaching holiday season. The reason is very simple. I'm not going to be able to go home this year, unless some sort of a financial miracle occurs. Every single time I think of the fact that I won't be back in Arkansas with my family on Christmas morning, I want to jump off a bridge. Really. That's the kind of hurt that it creates.
I just don't think it's in the cards.
Thanksgiving will hopefully be ok. I haven't actually been home for that one in the last three years. This will be the fourth. So far, I'm planning on trying my hand at Thanksgiving dinner for the first time.
It's something.
The new job is soul-sucking. Seriously. I am already becoming resentful of the effects I can see it having on my artistic career, and of it's role in my holiday demise.
Boo. Happy Halloween.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Workin' Girl
Today I got not one, but two jobs. One I interviewed for this morning, and was offered on the spot. One I interviewed for almost a month ago, was offered the same day, and then revoked as the person I was to be replacing decided not to leave. Right after I got the offer from today's interview, the older offer called me back, and literally BEGGED me to come work for them. The one I got today was a part-time retail gig, that paid ten bucks an hour. The one from a month ago was a full-time bridal consulting job, that pays upwards of forty grand a year.
Guess which one I took.
I have this phobia about job interviews. Not because I'm afraid I won't get the job. On the contrary, I've gotten every job I've ever interviewed for (excluding acting, of course). I'm actually afraid of getting a job I really don't want. I feel like my track record is such that if I interview, I'll get it, and then I'll be stuck in some shit job that I have no desire to do. Today's double offers are just an example of that. I must say, selling out and putting dreams on hold aside, this certainly is a load off my mind. I'm looking forward to being single, being self sufficient, and living my life on my terms. (read: getting shit paid the eff off.) Thank you, employment gods. You have certainly smiled upon me. Stay tuned for details as the working begins...
I'm wine drunk, and a little stoned, and this might just be a tad incoherent. My apologies.
Guess which one I took.
I have this phobia about job interviews. Not because I'm afraid I won't get the job. On the contrary, I've gotten every job I've ever interviewed for (excluding acting, of course). I'm actually afraid of getting a job I really don't want. I feel like my track record is such that if I interview, I'll get it, and then I'll be stuck in some shit job that I have no desire to do. Today's double offers are just an example of that. I must say, selling out and putting dreams on hold aside, this certainly is a load off my mind. I'm looking forward to being single, being self sufficient, and living my life on my terms. (read: getting shit paid the eff off.) Thank you, employment gods. You have certainly smiled upon me. Stay tuned for details as the working begins...
I'm wine drunk, and a little stoned, and this might just be a tad incoherent. My apologies.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
On again, off again...again.
Ah, it never ends. The "Laura and the Boy" saga drags on and on, to the point of exhaustion. So, here I am, after about a month of "on again", I find myself slapped in the face (or rather, kicked in the gut) with "off again."
Let me back up.
I realize that I have left you, my dear readers, a bit out of the loop of late. Sorry. I got myself into this mindset of "don't talk about your depression so much" during the last phase "off", and didn't want to jinx anything during this most recent phase of "on". Plus, things being as complicated as they are, I didn't really know how or what to write about it. I'll spare you the play-by-play on how the last cycle went down, and try to focus on this one. Because in all honesty, I think that this is the big one.
I am here, alone in my bed once again, and wondering how this has happened to me again. I woke up sunday morning beside the man that I love. I went to sleep sunday night having been cut loose, and with that gut-kick still stinging.
You see, this time, the boy and I tried to approach things a bit more casually. We found during the last period of "off" that we missed each other terribly. And so it began again. Only this time, we didn't want to try to make it the all or nothing, crazy little thing called love, fairytale perfect relationship that we attempted (and actually succeeded with for a time) this summer. This time, there were to be no demands or expectations placed on eachother. There was an overall attitude of "see you when I see you", which translated to pretty much every second from the end of his classes on fridays until he headed back to the playhouse on monday morning. And it seemed to kinda sorta be working for us for awhile, for the first few weeks, at least.
And then, this weekend, things started to turn a bit...icky. Casual weekend thing became dealing with serious feelings thing. The boy began to panic, leaving me scared out of my wits and with that familiar sinking feeling. Something was coming. Something bad.
The problem, for him, is this: casual doesn't work when it's with me. No, that's not because I'm a nagging hag. In his words, it's because I "don't deserve anything less than one hundred percent." And guess what? He doesn't have it to give. Never has. Not to me. Not to anyone.
Now, I've gone through all of the possible ways that I can blame myself for this. Why aren't I worth it? How come I'm not enough for him to change? What did I do wrong?
I actually asked him those questions. And the answers that I got - I am worth it. I am more than enough. I haven't done anything wrong. He's just not there. He's not at peace with himself. He doesn't know how to be happy with himself. And no amount of the happiness that he feels when he's with me is going to make up for the lack of a solid foundation in him.
I understand all of those things. I agree with his decision. I do think I deserve it all. I am worth it. He's right. And recognizing that is the most painful thing of all. Knowing that he must be alone to work all of these things out sucks the air right out of my lungs. I'm scared to death. I've never felt anything like what I feel for him before. I've never been so absolutely in love. Ok, I'm young. It doesn't matter. I know what I feel. I have been able to give of myself to him in ways that I may never be able to again. And right now, I'm absolutely terrified that on this journey of self-discovery, he will find that he doesn't want to love me anymore. I want nothing more than for him to be ok, for him to be happy and at peace, but I don't know what the price of that happiness will be. I don't want to lose him. Not because my self-worth or identity is wrapped up in him - as it is most certainly not - but because I can't fathom my life feeling at ease without him as a part of it. The loss of this incredible person, whose friendship brought me out of one of the darkest points in my life, would be staggering. I don't know exactly what to do or what to feel right now. It feels like a death. Yes, I want him to be the best possible version of himself. And yes, I want him to be that with me.
And what if he learns that he doesn't want me at all? What in the name of God do I do then?
And so it goes. On and on. Off and (sigh) off.
Let me back up.
I realize that I have left you, my dear readers, a bit out of the loop of late. Sorry. I got myself into this mindset of "don't talk about your depression so much" during the last phase "off", and didn't want to jinx anything during this most recent phase of "on". Plus, things being as complicated as they are, I didn't really know how or what to write about it. I'll spare you the play-by-play on how the last cycle went down, and try to focus on this one. Because in all honesty, I think that this is the big one.
I am here, alone in my bed once again, and wondering how this has happened to me again. I woke up sunday morning beside the man that I love. I went to sleep sunday night having been cut loose, and with that gut-kick still stinging.
You see, this time, the boy and I tried to approach things a bit more casually. We found during the last period of "off" that we missed each other terribly. And so it began again. Only this time, we didn't want to try to make it the all or nothing, crazy little thing called love, fairytale perfect relationship that we attempted (and actually succeeded with for a time) this summer. This time, there were to be no demands or expectations placed on eachother. There was an overall attitude of "see you when I see you", which translated to pretty much every second from the end of his classes on fridays until he headed back to the playhouse on monday morning. And it seemed to kinda sorta be working for us for awhile, for the first few weeks, at least.
And then, this weekend, things started to turn a bit...icky. Casual weekend thing became dealing with serious feelings thing. The boy began to panic, leaving me scared out of my wits and with that familiar sinking feeling. Something was coming. Something bad.
The problem, for him, is this: casual doesn't work when it's with me. No, that's not because I'm a nagging hag. In his words, it's because I "don't deserve anything less than one hundred percent." And guess what? He doesn't have it to give. Never has. Not to me. Not to anyone.
Now, I've gone through all of the possible ways that I can blame myself for this. Why aren't I worth it? How come I'm not enough for him to change? What did I do wrong?
I actually asked him those questions. And the answers that I got - I am worth it. I am more than enough. I haven't done anything wrong. He's just not there. He's not at peace with himself. He doesn't know how to be happy with himself. And no amount of the happiness that he feels when he's with me is going to make up for the lack of a solid foundation in him.
I understand all of those things. I agree with his decision. I do think I deserve it all. I am worth it. He's right. And recognizing that is the most painful thing of all. Knowing that he must be alone to work all of these things out sucks the air right out of my lungs. I'm scared to death. I've never felt anything like what I feel for him before. I've never been so absolutely in love. Ok, I'm young. It doesn't matter. I know what I feel. I have been able to give of myself to him in ways that I may never be able to again. And right now, I'm absolutely terrified that on this journey of self-discovery, he will find that he doesn't want to love me anymore. I want nothing more than for him to be ok, for him to be happy and at peace, but I don't know what the price of that happiness will be. I don't want to lose him. Not because my self-worth or identity is wrapped up in him - as it is most certainly not - but because I can't fathom my life feeling at ease without him as a part of it. The loss of this incredible person, whose friendship brought me out of one of the darkest points in my life, would be staggering. I don't know exactly what to do or what to feel right now. It feels like a death. Yes, I want him to be the best possible version of himself. And yes, I want him to be that with me.
And what if he learns that he doesn't want me at all? What in the name of God do I do then?
And so it goes. On and on. Off and (sigh) off.
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