Review: The Last Day of March

written 3/31

This is going to read a bit like a journal post, which I have never really loved writing, but I feel called to write today.

So many weird, stupid things have happened.

On Sunday night, I went to the dining hall where I used to work and L works now as a manager, which is where we met. Now, he has been avoiding me, but what have I done wrong? I’d been hoping just to run into him. I’d walked around the library he frequents looking for him. I’d gone inside the business college because he’s a business student even though I have no business being there. And I’d sat on a bench with a view of the street corner he may pass. I don’t know if it’s creepy. I’m just frustrated. I don’t want to bombard him with text messages or calls. I just wanted to chance “run into him” and talk. I needed to see him, it was during me mad.

So I went to the dining hall, and I asked Kaleb, who was working there as well, is he working tonight? I knew the answer was yes but I asked anyway. And then I got there and I saw Kaleb and I asked, is he here? And Kaleb teased me but he didn’t get it. He told me just to go to the back and talk to him, but what kind of proposition was that? I didn’t work here anymore. I didn’t have any right just to be walking around, even if a manager had told me to do so. Did Kaleb want me to go tell him to come say hi to me? No, don’t do that! Why, you ask? I don’t know. Just don’t. Oh God, don’t do that.

I was so nervous! My stomach tossed, I couldn’t concentrate. I had a test the next day and I hadn’t studied because I couldn’t concentrate. I kept getting up and moving where I sat and then getting up again and moving again and walking around and hiding myself and looking and looking and looking, and then I saw him, come out and kind of look around, and I wondered if Kaleb had told him I was here and looking for him. But before I could get up, my phone rang, and I couldn’t ignore it. It was my mom and I was low on battery and I had been texting her and I had to let her know I was fine and going to sleep and whatever. So as I talked on the phone to my mother, my eyes were glued to him, and I ended the conversation quickly, but he walked away. I got up and I looked around but I didn’t want anyone else recognizing me either so this was hard. So then I thought that maybe I would wait by the entrance to the dish dropoff, but no, that was too open, I wanted to go back to my old spot, so I went back to my old spot, and I tried to eat, and I couldn’t, and so I felt like throwing up, and eventually, EVENTUALLY, there he was.

We kind of walked up to each other, and I asked if he heard about what happened in Lahore and if all the people he knew were alright, and he said yeah, and he was just rambling about something, and I looked at him, and he was very handsome looking to me, but in my head I was trying to taint him. I tried to think of things that were ugly or I tried to augment certain features but honestly I’m not too fixated on looks when I like a person, so my attempts to trick my own mind didn’t really work.

Of course I was putting him on the spot and he wasn’t sure what to say, and maybe everything I was doing and saying was wrong but I did it anyway, because this is who I am, this is how I am, and I’m stubborn.

Now he won’t reply to my message again, and I said: I know I can’t force you to talk to me…

But do I really? I don’t know anymore what to call it: determination, or creepiness? Let me just crawl into my little hole here you see.

Yesterday was very bad. Terrible. I was telling myself, no this isn’t a day where I can’t get out of bed, no this isn’t my depression, I’m just chilling. I’m just chilling out in my bed for the morning. I’m just chilling, playing on my phone for a bit. I’m just browsing reddit. I’m just lying back down. I am just about to get up in just a second. Right after this, I will get up. Okay, I gotta take a shower.

I did take a shower.

Okay, I gotta go to class.

I didn’t go to class.

I didn’t really leave the room until the evening, in the darkness, I went outside for no reason other than to go outside, and walk around, and I didn’t feel any better.

I sent a message to Aaron that I wanted to kill myself and I know I put him in a bad position, but I did it anyway. I do whatever I want. I’m not rational. I don’t really think. I wish for all my fantasies about Aaron to go away now. I don’t want to be with him or sleep with him or talk to him. And just like this, as I type these words, I do feel it slipping away. A door closed on a person, a decision made. And I’m glad.

At the same time I feel he’s not the only person or thing I’m closing the door on. With so many friends and relationships I am drawing back. I am sinking into myself. I feel like the one things that could brighten me up is L. I want back L. I made a mistake.

Today I am out and about but it’s not like that means I am doing any better. I still feel so disoriented.

On Fuckboys

I’m kind of in that mood where I don’t really know what to do with myself besides retreat into a depressed state. I sent a message to my ex (call him M) yesterday asking if he wanted to talk to me and I got no reply. That was really painful. I feel tempted to send something else but what is there worthwhile to say? I feel abandoned by someone I put my trust in. Things were precarious but did it have to end like this? Maybe a lot of the time while we were together, I wasn’t sure how much I liked him, or if I even wanted to be in a relationship, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care.

I did care about you, sir. And what a painful gesture you have made to not return the feeling: Silence. I always want to give people the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it means something else. That’s what it was with Bo. It was something else. It was never that he didn’t care. Maybe something else is going on. Maybe that’s why he didn’t reply. It’s not that he just absolutely, totally doesn’t care, even though all signs point that. I just want it to be different. I suppose it’s to the point where I’m willing to meet with him and get him to lie to me about the extent to which he cares to make myself believe it and make myself feel happy.

I’m in this whole new world of different people–3 years ago all my world was Bo. Now there’s people who don’t think deeply, and people who act two dimensional, and cardboard people, paper people in their paper towns, and fuckboys. Let’s think about that one for a moment. How to deal with fuckboys? I think I may have liked one…

It’s a fascinating term that has popped up and I worry about it’s implications. Is some male behavior simply too problematic for anything to weigh it out? They become a fuckboy an any merits they have are useless? I guess the definition of a fuckboy is that he doesn’t have any merits.

I haven’t yet met anyone who follows absolutely all the characteristics of a fuckboy that is generally outlined in female conversations BUT I don’t doubt they exist.

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Really was the best definition I could find. Sorry.

Is there an equivalent in the opposite sex? I’m sure there is, and I can think of a few terms for her that people use, but really (and I worry saying this because it paints a stereotypical picture of males, and I worry lately about how we are portraying males) there are some tendencies that you seem to find only in a male, very notorious ones at that. These tendencies don’t exist in females, or if they do, they’re not as dangerous. Yes, some fuckboy behavior is just plain dangerous. There’s exceptions to all of that.

Sometimes I think maybe that behavior in females is just hiding something else, but then, why can’t it be hiding something in a male either? Why does he have to be JUST a fuckboy? Maybe he acts like a fuckboy,  but he’s really  just insecure and needs some compassion. Or not. Who knows? I try to stay neutral but the dynamics of our patriarchical society makes me think that even boys without insecurities act like fuckboys because they think that behavior is okay and acceptable. News Flash: It’s not. But is it really the fault of the male, or the fault of the society he has been raised in? I don’t think the answer is one or the other. It’s a mix of both. Behaviors can be controlled. Everyone has the power to stop and think rationally about whether or not they are following the golden rule (Treat others as YOU would want to be treated). But society sometimes screws with these thought processes because for so long, there were no mores or incentives to stop a bad behavior. Maybe that makes the term “fuckboy” okay. The emergence of this term as commonplace slang means that even males know what a “fuckboy” is, and they know it’s a negative thing, and no one wants to be a fuckboy.

The thing is, although I did state earlier that I don’t know if I’ve met a true fuckboy with every single one of those shitty characteristics, easily I can call all the men I’ve liked fuckboys. Maybe that’s because they’re in the past, and they’re in the past for a reason, and the reason is that it didn’t work out because we hurt each other and didn’t like each other. So of course that a derogatory term I want to use. But maybe it’s not. There’s lots of guys that suck but aren’t necessarily fuckboys. Also, since I talk about Bo all the time because I am so terrible and pathetic, I thought I should let you know, Reader, whether or not Bo is a fuckboy.

BO IS A FUCKBOY. A FUCKING FUCK FUCKBOI IF I EVER. ok but he is not that bad he is also kind and sweet, and he’s not a player or anything, but sometimes how much he cared vs how much he was in it for the V. This is where I wonder about the insecurities part. Bo is not a textbook fuckboy. He never was and not is, he was just acting like one.

When I dated Bo for the first time, when I fell head over heels in love with him, he was great. He was what every girl wants. And no one could have figured it out back then either. He was reclusive and lied a lot and seemed pretty shit. But I found him out.

When I attempted to restart the relationship in December of 2014, he was truly a fuckboy from planet fuckhead. The love of my life did show up occasionally, but mostly I was treated so badly and let myself believe it was okay, that I deserved it and I had done something wrong. He’s the man, I’m the woman, and I’m a broken woman at that. I was intimidated by him and I told him that sometimes but nothing ever happened to make me feel differently afterward.

So, I’m not really in love with Bo still, I’m frustrated that Bo is now acting like a fuckboy and I wonder what happened to the good in him, and I can’t fathom that it could have just disappeared. And then I see him with this new girl being all happy, and I think, hey, that’s my Bo! You don’t get to have him! I found that part of him first! Or maybe it’s that I think of significant others like a project. Something I must improve. Bo has become shitty, I must fix that. My ex, M, really is a textbook fuckboy, but I give him the excuse that he just hasn’t had enough experience yet with women and I must be that experience and I can turn him into something better, I must fix that. Codependency, anyone?

This post has been very freeing and wonderful to write and I think I just learned a lot. Perhaps the high of my week.  I really just need to slut it up for a while, maybe, and if so, I promise, Reader, that my sexcapades will be thoroughly relayed.

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Hide, Mittens. Hide fast. 

 

 

 

 

Post Tantrum Writing from the Heart

I just fucked up a lot and I’m not sure what to do. I threw a huge tantrum and screamed.

I wish I could make this post about what I’ve done this week with my time off in a dangerous low income community, working with young people that inspire me and a really cool group of college students. I will admit that I did some writing in a journal over the week. But otherwise, I am melting into my own depression.

My boyfriend turned out to be a real fuckboy fuckerhead. The friday before I left, I told him not to consider us in a relationship anymore. But he was drunk. I thought maybe he’d reach out to me over the week, but that didn’t happen. I feel like I’ve been treated like something so worthless despite the fact that I put my energy into it. Was I perfect? No. Did I do some things that were wrong? Yeah. Do I deserve this? I don’t think so.

Back to the square where I don’t want to be in another relationship because it’s too stressful to hide from my family anyway. There’s no point in dreaming. The only person worth dreaming about, in my distorted mind, then becomes the only person I ever loved, Bo.

And then I broke and checked online and yes he is very much happy and in a relationship and I don’t care what people say about it looking different online, this kid is happy. These people are happy. I am not.

Sometimes I imagine these scenes where I’m sitting in a hospital room, and in the bed lies my Bo, hooked up to an EKG, and I pull off the cords. How is it fair for me to live so miserable with no escape or hope for improvement or to be in a happy relationship like that? Why is my life so miserable and his is not? How come, once upon a time, and still deep down, I just want his happiness, but all I feel is a dark desire for him to not live a prosperous life? You can say that’s typical ex relationship thinking, but it’s not typical, and it’s not simple, it’s complicated, because I love this person. It has been years and I am not over this person. I dream of this person like it were yesterday. My heart aches for this person. My heart aches for the kinds of things he says to the other girl. My heart aches for the way he loves her instead of me, and how everything that happened means so little. My mind convinces me that everything is my fault. This ended badly because of me—my depression, my culture, my behavior, my society that shouldn’t have clashed with his. 

I know I am living a more aware life. I have seen so many amazing things and I care about so much more than he and this other girl ever will it what seems to be their inconsequential lives in their small town Christian environment, un-exposed to the types of things I am exposed to. I refuse to believe there is under any circumstance a chance that they are as aware of the world as I am. But then again, who cares? They’re happy, I’m not. I’m suicidal, they’re alive. I scream at my mother and my sisters when all they are trying to do is help me and they don’t even worry about those kinds of things.

I really want to kill myself right now.

I feel like ice cream on the pavement.

I miss Bo so much because the last memory I have of being truly happy was when I was with him. It sucks, because I have had some great experiences since then. I’ve climbed a mountain. I’ve hiked miles of backcountry. I’ve helped a lot of people see their potential. I’ve played and made friends and laughed. I’ve been loved by an amazing family. I’ve worked hard at a job I really enjoyed. I’ve experienced culture and food and a sense of collective self. I’ve gone exploring and sat outside and gone to concerts and played with dogs and meowed a lot. 

But I’ve also stood by the river thinking of jumping in, I’ve also laid in the snow and let my body freeze, I’ve also yelled and hit and hurt others, I’ve also had panic episodes and seizures, I’ve also been in the hospital, I’ve also been faced by hate and been unable to understand who I am as a Muslim, as a woman, as a non-white, as a bisexual. I’ve spent nights just crying the whole time and days without eating or showering. I’ve felt bitterness deep in my soul I can’t overcome.

Everything has become a fight for me. Everyone has the potential to be my enemy. I am living in trauma, and instead of being open to healing, I allow another traumatic event to happen and wash over me without much moving forward. I occasionally tell myself I am strong and I can do this. I have been pushed around a lot. Let me be pushed around again. I can overcome. Other times I am weak and want to let everything hurt me. I will never heal. I don’t have any real control over my own mind, my own brain, I wish I could switch it out.

This medicine I’m taking is clearly not doing anything for me. I’ll see a therapist in a couple days. I don’t plan on hurting myself but it really sucks to be alive.

Late Night Fear Musings

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Tonight I was feeling a bit frustrated because I felt that I needed to talk to someone, and the person I had hoped to talk to (my significant other) was too tired and did not reply to my message. But then I got confused as to why this frustrated me because why did I need someone to talk to again? When in the past have I been in this situation? Certainly not recently. 

My deepest thoughts, feelings, and worries are exchanged in conversation with only myself, and although it may not be the best situation, that’s how it’s been, so why was I feeling like it was such an unpleasant thing? And besides, that’s what this space is for, anyway. (Hence, here I am, typing away.)

I think once again I am missing Bo and the way I was able to tell him everything. I hate how much I think about him now that I am in a new relationship, but I don’t have much other standards, and I think often about the feeling of being in love. I came to a point where I tried to stop thinking about our relationship as something so negative and destructive and to cherish our good times. I am not sure if that is what I am doing right now or if it is unhealthy for the certain behaviors to be replaying in my mind. Perhaps it is not bad if I am wanting those things, but in another person, and I am hoping those things will happen, but am I? Yeah, sometimes I imagine my new significant other being there for me like Bo was, but sometimes I do just imagine Bo. I think of messaging him for something, anything, I think of what I would do if he told me he missed me, etc. I don’t have an answer to what would happen in those instances and I know the chance of it is so low anyway. It is scary to be missing him again when I am in a position where his role can be replaced. These thoughts make me scared and they make me want to cry.

I think I am curious of the idea of falling in love with someone again, or if I am capable of being loved to that extent again, and as badly as I was burned in the past, I crave it so badly. As much as it would be bad for me, I crave it. As much as it wouldn’t work with my future, I crave it. As unhealthy as it would be for me in my current state, I still fucking crave the feeling of being romantically in love and obsessed with another human being. I would love to be in love, and I am far too vulnerable for my own good. But then again, I have contradictions in my mind that say no, I definitely don’t want to ever be in love with this person at all. Then moreso arrives the dread of me realizing I may be the only side in this relationship thinking these thoughts and that maybe he does not care for me as much as I care for him, and that is truly terrifying. It is such a risky position to be in a relationship, which makes it feel even more scary and unstable when you’re not sure if your feelings are matched.

I wonder if I ever really recovered from my codependency. My therapist in the beginning had given me that word and the resulting information and book that came with it. I guess I never really read the whole thing through. Maybe it’s time to.

The curiosity swells in me if Bo is in a relationship or not. But I know I cannot know. I feel tempted all the time and pulled to check social media and find out. But it becomes a non option. I’m proud of myself for that resistance, especially since there was a time I was so tied to it I felt I had no control over my online stalking habits. 

It is windy outside tonight and I live in a shitty apartment, so I can feel the breeze just a bit coming from the window despite the fact that it’s shut and I’ve put tape and silly putty and grocery bags all around the side—basically everything but actual caulk.

I feel tired which is a good thing, but it is still much later than I wish to be awake. The reason I blame this on is that I have slept very well in the past two nights, and honestly there is no way my body would have allowed me a third. It knows me too well, and I’ve been conditioned to torture myself. I wonder if I will ever break out of this cycle or if I even want to. Am I happy? I guess you can say I’m relatively content with how shit is going, and I don’t really want to fuck with it.

Everyone is pushing me very hard to do an intensive outpatient program (IOP). I have run out of any good reasons not to do it. All I have left is that I just don’t want to, and even that is a shitty thing to say, because it implies I am fine with being depressed. Am I? I go back and forth on this and it’s scary to think about how complacent you get. Am I afraid that if I become happier I won’t have these deep, contemplative thoughts anymore? (I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit though). I have never known myself as anyone who is anything but sad for most of my short life, which is the real danger of adolescent depression, I think. You forget what it’s like to be happy. No, I am not fine with being depressed, but I still don’t want to do it. I just don’t. What more do you want from me? Fuck off. Please.

____

Image by The Man Machine on Flickr CC. 

Depression Update: I am not calm.

I am disappointed that I am not ravishingly, optimistically filled with happiness and satisfaction. I am upset that I continue to be enveloped by stress and anger at the world around me and at the incidence of my own existence. I am sick to my stomach of how unimproved I feel. I feel guilt hanging over me and constant worry and anxiety controlling me. I feel pessimistic that I will ever live a life I am content with.

And I have a headache, a bad one, and I am irritable. I want to shred everyone to pieces and scream at every small inconvenience and I can’t handle even the smallest mishap or mistake whether it’s by my own hand or not. I feel angry that I feel sick to my stomach and I feel angry that I am depressed and I feel the weight of Atlas’s burden on me, even though I know it’s not. Nothing in the universe can be so painful as being a human being.

This is unsettling and I’m not sure how to calm myself down anymore, but I am very aware that I am not calm. I seem to be fighting it, but I assure I don’t want to feel this way.

I am not calm. I am not fucking calm.

Back to ER on Wednesday Night

[Written last night 02/19]

I’ve had a lot of stress to deal with and I’ve dealt with it badly.

I sat in my sheets counting sheep so sadly.

I fear being in a relationship. People say we’re in it for self interest but my biggest interest is not hurting someone else. Or maybe it is motivated by me—the guilt I don’t want to feel which is like living in hells.

I feel like I don’t deserve love and I don’t deserve to be cared about, despite how much I craved it? That I am made to be alone and that is how I will survive this. So often I’ll sit and I’ll dare myself to quit. But then I think of you and how we kiss, and then I think of him and how we’d kiss, and I know he’s not him but I’m in love with the past. I’m never letting go, that’s what this is about. Nonetheless, I still feel like I care so much more. Do you think of me, I asked? Does he think of me as his whore? Is he in it for the sex—and does that even really matter? Are our motivations the same, and if so, where is my shame?

Speaking of the past, academically, we’ve been asked to explore it. But I look at my hometown and I know I abhor it. I came home today, and as we drove around, I felt annoyed. This place is filled with failure, with people who don’t care. I feel frustrated at their fakeness. I feel destroyed by my weakness. I hate this place—this is a grief hole to me. Why take me down this path? I guess I just wanna get an A.

Often we’ll look at our global problems and feel small. Our emotions and our feelings are minuscule in comparison to the earthquake in Haiti, so maybe, it doesn’t really matter. I see so much hate and it hurts me inside. Why celebrate the death of those you disagreed with but never knew? Scalia was different, but he had a family too. The elections give me a headache, a heartache, in fact, it’s another earthquake, or are we taking it too seriously? Obviously, the truth is we don’t know what to do. But I don’t want to listen anymore to the bullshit that’s going on, at least I think I don’t. Yet my dad is so fascinating by what’s going wrong. At dinner tonight, I tried so hard to change the topic. But those are his interests so who am I to stop it?

I’ve had a lot of stress to deal with and I’ve dealt with it badly.

I sat in my sheets counting sheep so sadly. And that was what I was doing when I texted my friend. 

They gave me that white bracelet and I became a bar code, an item on the grocery list. They say I’m safe now but why did I feel so much more afraid? I didn’t know if I should have gone and that made me feel pissed. 

The first nurse’s name was Grace and she was nice to me. The tech’s name was Keeli and I can bitch about her. I knew her type and her type thought she was superior, the best nurse on the floor, the one who knew much more, who related much better, and was noble to the core. I only asked to make one call and nothing else? Was I in jail? I felt so trapped. I looked at Grace and she just said “well, honey, I think Keeli is probably right…” because she’s just a small woman who was influenced by her shit. “Keeli, you’re so nice, you’re so good,” I heard her say. “You know, I’m just trying, because if I were here, I would be terrified!” Great, because you are half the reason I’m petrified. Grace came to check on me in the beginning but eventually she left me alone, because that was what Keeli would do. All night I suffered and I cried and I was wrapped in a little ball in some purple night gown I’d been forced to wear. “I would never be mean to anyone,” I heard Keeli say with a bit of vocal fry. It made me so angry and all night I’d wanted to die. I didn’t want to give a urine test and she said “well, they have to check if you’re pregnant.” And she said that over and over again but it must have been a troll. Because if Keeli were so smart, she’d have seen I’m on birth control.  All night Keeli talked about the patients that were there. I heard her talk about me and she was judging me and I was scared.

I cried all night and I was shaken to the core. They thought I was asleep but really I was in shock—I couldn’t move anymore. Everyone else was so nice, the CNPs and the psych team. They tried to help me out but in the end, I was living a war. There was Scott, he was a resident, and so kind to me. But in the end I didn’t take it, I was mean. The last thing Scott said to me was “come back when you want to stop feeling this way.” Scott broke my heart.

I’ve come home now and I still feel so terrible. There’s so much shit I can’t handle. A relationship I don’t know if I want. Schoolwork I don’t want to be taught. I don’t eat well or sleep well, but the last thing I want is even more therapy. Thank you, for staying with me, Reader. I’ve written this all so oddly and maybe that’s because I wish this was a story and not real.

I have a lot of stress to deal with and I deal with it badly.

I sit in my sheets counting sheep so sadly.

Belated Birthday Post

Odd or significant things always happen around my birthday. I will make a list of 10 things, because lists are great.

  1. 7236280952_b569727cd1_o.jpgI quit my job.
  2. I finally met with my therapist again.
  3. I had meager sex. Sex is always a big deal for me.
  4. I began a relationship with a person. So I’m dating someone? I don’t know.
  5. I realized I still have feelings for my ex.
  6. My ex texted me.
  7. This kid I had a huge crush on finally texted me.
  8. I slept through an exciting event I registered for months ago.
  9. I really, for real bullshitted two essays in ways I haven’t bullshitted essays in ages.
  10. I turned 21.

 

It was good to meet with my therapist again and it went better than I thought.  have to take better care of myself. I quit my job–perhaps a mutual separation is a better word–and this is a bit of a closing on a part of my life. I really enjoyed that job and I go back and forth on whether I have good justifications for my actions.

This guy…I wrote about him before. We had a terrible date night, I gave him another chance, and I guess things are okay now. However, I’m not sure I want to be in a relationship. In fact, I know that I don’t. Oops. How did it become “official?” I asked “so are we in a relationship?” He replied with “yes.” I said “are you sure?” He replied with “yes.” That was it.

So, I am unsure and I don’t know if I want to do this and I don’t know which action to take would be most fair. I’m not going to end it so soon; I don’t want to make any drastic moves.

Besides, he hasn’t been able to retain an erection, and I feel terribly about it. Of course the first thing a woman’s mind jumps to is “am I ugly? what am I doing wrong?” In reality, he just has some performance anxiety and I just want him to know with all of my heart that I truly am not judging him, am happy just to lay next to him, and I don’t mind waiting and have complete faith it will happen. So then I think, how rude it would be to leave him before we REALLY even have sex? At the same time, how obnoxious of me to think such a thought? What do I believe I will do in such a scenario? He’ll ejaculate, I’ll lean forward, kiss him on the cheek, and say “I don’t think this is working out,” and that’s the end? Certainly not.

No, I don’t know for sure if I want to be in this relationship or if it’s a great thing. My depression hasn’t scared him off yet although he’s aware it exists. I have no desire to make drastic decisions. I’m sure I will have to make some mental choice to stay or not but I will take some time and I want to consider his feelings. Over and over I am told in treatment to be a bit selfish, and that to recover I must be a bit selfish, and that’s okay. I don’t want to be cold hearted though. If he wants it, maybe I should let that influence me more than the doctors insist it shouldn’t.

Because honestly? Much of my reservations lie in the fact that I want to experience more things. Go on dates with guys. Sleep with Aaron again (who I noted, actually texted me!! I thought those hopes were gone in the dust, but half an hour before my birthday, I got a hello message. I was surprised and told him so and it’s probably a bad idea to go out with him but we have so much in common and damn he is beautiful) or have another one night stand, or meet people on Tinder, or actually have a relationship, sexual or non, romantic or not, with a woman, which I crave a lot. In negative terms, I keep thinking that I am here, wanting to leave a good relationship I have barely tested the waters in, just to slut it up.

My new boyfriend (I hate this word for some reason) has the same birthday as me. This is real significance if you believe in cosmic fate. He is of the same religions and nationality. I could pull it off with him in the long run. What if this is the end for me and I don’t experience all those other things? Wouldn’t I regret it? But Young Artist, I say to myself, you’re so freaking young. Why are you thinking so far ahead? Then I get into a spiral that I myself despise.

I didn’t really do anything significant on my birthday, especially not drinking wise. Looking back I feel kind of mad because I missed half off tattoos and free drinks. But I do want to say that it wasn’t a terrible birthday, because I felt remembered and loved byy my family, both biological and non. By friends who sent me such sweet, encouraging text messages and co workers who remembered what I had mentioned weeks ago. When I re-created a Facebook my senior year of high school, I kept my birthday private. I always thought anyone who really cares can text me. That was also a contradiction in my head because a lot of people forget anyway and who really cares about me? No one does. But I did get many messages from people who love me without having had my birthday announced on social networks, and that made me feel so entirely warm and happy inside. I’ve been able to look back at my old self and tell her to stop being so stupid. People do love you. They remember you. It made me feel as though my life is worth living.

My ex even texted me happy birthday. This is huge. It comes only moments after writing my last post about the text I wanted to send him. I assumed I would message him again sometime. I thought I would wait until summer. I haven’t checked his social networks or anything like that (I am so proud of this). I still haven’t even though I had some very, very tempting moments this past week. That was when I realized I still liked and missed him even though I was in a relationship with someone else. This is a painful thought that made me feel like killing myself. How can I ever be in any healthy relationship ever? Bo ruins everything for me. Miles and miles away, he ruins it. And I will never recover.

My train of thought was going in several directions in the past second, Reader. What I am saying is that in these spats, I am always the bigger person. I am always the person who gives in the ‘hello’ first. Sure, this time I didn’t think we would get back together but I still assumed I would message him again in the summertime. A catch up. An apology. It would be me, because he certainly wasn’t thinking of me. But I was wrong. He sent me a happy birthday message. “I’m sorry,” I wanted to scream. What I said wasn’t real. All I want is happiness for you and we will keep our distance but I don’t hate you, I never have, never will, and I’m sorry if I ever hurt you by saying that, I just really hope life is going well and you’re happy.

Instead I said “Thank you, Bo. This really made my morning. Have a good day.” It was a perfect reply. Once again, I am proud of myself.

He said the same for me on my birthday, I reminded him I don’t have great birthdays, and that to remember I am always here for him if he needs anything ever, so my message got across. And he knows. Of course he knows! Who am I to think he ever believed that shit I spout out during a panic attack or to have so little faith that he’d forget I am there for him if he ever needs me, although I know he will never actually take advantage of it. Once again I forget the kind of person he is and I am lucky to have spent the brief time I spent with him and to have had him as my first love. It is painful, very much. There is no doubt I am curious if he is still with that girlfriend but I will not do anything to check. Part of me hopes he’s not and the same part reasonably thinks he’s not, because I don’t have faith that girl could put up with some of his shit or that he could put up with hers, and another part of me wants to be mad at myself for thinking that way and only hopes he’s happy. I know there’s a wonderful woman out there for him.

I feel very much at peace that he sent me that simple happy birthday message. He has no idea how much it means to me and I won’t necessarily be able to tell him that ever but the feeling of graciousness exists and I suppose that’s enough.

Nothing else on that list is worth writing about. I’m equally proud and ashamed of my bullshitted essays. Another story in the books for the grandkids at what a terrible mess of an academic I was.

I can’t believe I made it through another year. It is melancholy. The thought “21 is a good year to die” passes through my head often. But I won’t linger on it. Thanks for sticking through this one with me, Reader.

 

texts I didnt Send

Hi B,

I know it’s been a while, and the last time I talked to you I said I hated you. Just wanted to say I don’t hate you, sorry that this is kind of out of nowhere or random. I just wanted you to know if you ever need anything, ever, I’m here for you, I’m always available for you, that offer still and always will stand.

That’s all.