The Moments Imbetween

I was...as happy as I could allow myself to be.
The moment you left, I lost faith in myself, and could not allow you back in even though I desperately wanted to.
Now I had to strive for Sara.
And the things she believed in.
I wanted to post another 25 things on facebook, but I thought that might be overkill...
So I did it here instead.
1. I love lace. Not lots of it, but just tiny lacy details in unexpected places. Maybe a little on my underwear, or my shoes, on a tank top, or on a hairpiece.
2. I am an extremely passionate person. I feel very fully for the things I believe in.
3. On the same token, I am extremely compassionate as well. I find myself feeling sympathy and identifying with those I come into contact. I tend not to forget, but I do forgive.
4. In a little less than two months, I will have been a vegetarian for an entire year.
5. I can usually tell when people are lying, but I don't believe myself and end up falling for it anyways.
6. I like making decisions. It empowers me.
7. I want to have children some day. Not many, maybe one or two, but I have this strange maternal love that needs to be channeled into a small person.
8. I have found myself to be extremely sensual.
9. As my horoscope says, I am both scared of and fascinated by change. I get comfortable with things, but I also like to shake everything up, especially my look.
10. I like to think. Sometimes I will spend a couple hours to an entire day just thinking about everything.
11. Also on the same coin, I sometimes have to escape my brain. The endless thinking can drive me to bad places, so I tend to sleep it off or watch TV or read to drive it off when it becomes too much.
12. I have a strange fascination with the paranormal. Sometimes it gets to be a little to weird and depresses me, but for the most part I think it is cool.
13. I have a dark edge to me. I am kind and sweet, but there is a little bit of darkness lingering underneath.
14. I am extremely affected by other people's emotions. When people are upset or angry, it makes me incredibly uneasy, nervous, and anxious. Sometimes it makes me want to cry.
15. I want to get married someday, but I honestly sometimes don't see how it could ever work. I've never had a successful long term relationship, and no one seems able to stand me for too long. I see that people change every day, and I wonder how anyone could hope to stay together with so much changing. Is it possible to meet someone who changes with you, or can still love you if you change?
16. I love my hair...most of the time. It's a good, reliable, smart color.
17. I lose myself in music. It has so many meanings to me. It has been my constant companion for years, whether I listen to or make it.
18. When I feel bad, or am trying to get over something, or just trying to figure something out, I listen to the same song, over and over and over again. And then a little bit more.
19. Falling Slowly from the movie Once is my most played song on itunes, at 100 plays, and doubtless more on my ipod.
20. Homeless people scare me, but not for the reason you might think. I am afraid they judge me, and that they think I don't appreciate what I have and that I am a selfish person.
21. I am also uncomfortable around older people. The older they are, the harder it is for me to relate to them, or find something to say without feeling stupid. I always got along with people who are younger.
22. I have never smoked. Anything. And I don't really ever want to. I'm not against it, but it does not appeal to me.
23. I like alcohol, but drinking it around other people tends to make me uncomfortable, especially if it's in an unfamiliar environment or with people I don't know.
24. I don't know what I believe spiritually. I tend to ignore that part of me. So I just tend to keep doing what I do without questioning why I do it, because it seems so incredibly complicated to think about.
25. I believe that people are good. I believe in humanity. I believe in a person. The one person I don't believe in is myself.

On the one way train headed to nowhere

Well.
Here I am.
Again, having to think about myself.
And truth be told, I'm doing a horrible job.
I don't drink when I'm thirsty, even though I know I should. I haven't eaten properly in a week. I get in a few square meals, but those added together don't equal much. I stay up late and sleep late. Or I wake early. It's always too early for class, so I usually end up sitting in bed for at least an hour. Thinking about everything. Occasionally crying.
Those tears. I couldn't walk away from those tears. And his face turned down so far, a perfect picture of sadness. I have only seen one person's tears that were just as sad. I suppose my dad's tears would have looked more sad if I had had the courage to look him in the eyes that night when his deepest fears about me were confirmed.
I don't know how to make myself happy. Everyone talk about it like it should be something natural, something attainable. By no means easy, but still attainable. But I've been going this way for so long now I don't know how to stop.
The train keeps chugging and I don't get off.
I tried. I failed. Being there for someone else makes me forget that I don't know how to make myself happy.
I look around and no one else is happy. How can they expect me to be happy? They tell me what I need to do to be happy, but none of them are happy. So why isn't it working? Why should I have faith in them?
I watch my roommate sleep and automatically my maternal instincts kick in (why are those things there???).
I shut the doors to keep in quiet, I put in my headphones, I tiptoe and leave the lights off. All that matters to me is that she gets what she needs. I didn't have to think about Sara anymore.
If she ever knew, she would do like so many others. She would try to hide her needs. She would feel like she shouldn't open up to me because of how I feel, but I really didn't mind. I wanted nothing else but to take care of her. Focus on her. And it didn't hurt me. I was fine.
I was fine.
Why didn't people want me to take care of them? Because they thought I wasn't happy? I was happy. I didn't want to focus on me. I wanted to take care of THEM. That made me happy. What made me not happy was when I failed.
So why don't people just let me take care of them?

This Kind of LIfe

All weekend I was miserable.
Because of a boy.
I could see, in my mind's eye, my heart, exploding into a million pieces. Only...the explosion was free of flames, smoke, and sparks. It was just blown. I could see all the little pink fleshy pieces flying towards me. All shreds of a former love, killing me, leaving a somewhat unacceptable skeleton of remnants in my chest.
More was going on...my chest felt pressure, not unlike that of a huge weight laying upon it. I also felt as if my chest lay on a pike, the shaft not embedded in my chest, but torturing me slowly. I wished more than anything that it would gut me through, push and spear me, like an animal in a trap. But it allowed me no such courtesy. It tortured me, through and through.
That weekend I recognized that if all was well, I would have been happy, I would have been fine. I would have been thrilled. But instead people saw me at my worst. I tried to be happy. I laughed and played when I could. But nothing helped. I would find myself thinking of him. And it was increased by people addressing me, feeling sorry for me, saying they were sorry I felt so bad, and didn't like to see me so sad. They asked me if I was okay. What could I tell them? I wasn't okay. Far from it. I was torn asunder. So sometimes I lied. Because addressing the truth was harder than doing that. Addressing the truth meant bringing out my emotions once again. And that brought tears.
I spent most of the weekend sleeping. Sleep was free from sadness and thought. I could sleep and forget where I was. Waking up disoriented was the best part. Until I remembered where I was and that I no longer had the heart of another. I even went downstairs, climbed in my sleeping bag, cried, and pretended to sleep. I could hear people around me asking questions...I ignored them. I could not bring myself to face them, and so I drifted in and out of consciousness, trying to will my emotions and my pain away.
The night I came back I did something crazy.
I lied to my roommate, told her I was going somewhere else, because I knew she would try to stop me. I couldn't afford to let that happen. I searched the labs and concluded he wasn't there. So I went to his house. Thankfully, his roommate wasn't there. I begged, pleaded. Well, that came after the mature talking. Somewhere in my brain I thought he might take me back. But he didn't. He said that he was afraid of hurting me, and that he was afraid of falling into the same habits. I wanted to respect his wishes, but I couldn't. That's when the begging and crying began. I didn't mean to. I had told myself before going over I wouldn't. Crying made me look weak. Crying made me not fun. Crying drove him away. I asked to spend the night. He said no. I kissed him, expecting for some reaction, but received barely any. And the final question: I asked him if he wanted me.
He said no.
Those images reverberated in my head. The word no bouncing around like a kid in a jungle gym, literally repelling off the walls of my brain. No. I got out of the car as fast as I could, called my mother and went home. I needed something. Some kind of love. Some kind of indication that I wasn't worthless.
I will never forget the events that transpired between us. Most of it was good. Most of it made me love him. Which is why I feel the pain of change. The longing to be with him.
But when can it no longer be rational? Life is not a romance novel, or a romantic film. So when can I justify stopping waiting for the man I still love?
I suppose as soon as I fall out of love.
Which I have no idea how long that will take. I hope quickly, but that hope is somewhat false. Love is a tricky business.
I took a long walk with my dad in the snowy ravine. There were ice crystals everywhere as we crunched through the snow. He held my hand tight, just like I was little. And for that moment in time, I was not annoyed. I clung to that moment, even as I cried for what I had lost. He reassured me, but not to the point of complete false hope. He assured me this kind of thing would happen time and time again, and some day I might break the heart. He reminded me of John, a boy I never gave a chance. Even at his alleged "falling" for me. He had found a wife and a happy ending. So surely couldn't I? Someone who could accept my big heart and my big dreams?
I can't forget what he said. That he tried to open up and felt it got him nowhere. That I let other people's problems become my problems. Which, I guess the latter I know to be true. But I can't help it. At all. But the first part? I felt horrible about. Why did I let my stupid self and stupid heart and stupid insecurities get in the way? It was good that we talked, but I still left heartbroken again. This was a situation I had no control over and it made me scared, confused, sad and out of control. I liked being in control. I needed some grasp of that.
Do I need help?
Probably.
Will I get it?
I hope so.
It's all a matter of trusting myself.
Trust.
He said he felt we had lost a lot of trust in the relationship.
Another arrow to the heart.
I loved him so much, I didn't know what to do. This was something I didn't feel I let go.
But was this like an emotional butterfly? Clutching such a small and beautiful thing killed it? Or like water? Trying to grasp it did not keep it from slipping through my finger tips?
Maybe the best was to let it go. Which was what I was going to try to do. There was a point at which he wanted me, and even though that was over, I should cherish the time I had. I wished I could.
I may not be emotionally capable to, just like he was not emotionally stable enough to tolerate me.
I felt like if he still wanted to be with me, we could work it out. But he said no. Why did he lose faith?
I know that this is bad, but this relationship was a self esteem booster for me. It was a constant source of ego lifts. And sharing. I always loved to share the little things with him, because I knew he would listen.
I've not only lost a boyfriend, I feel as if I lost a best friend.
And that cat. I loved that cat, Chewy. And I loved his roommate. Both of whom I'm not sure if I would ever see again.
Every detail comes swimming back to me, every small moment we shared. Everything that happened, from the love fern dying, to the shutting doors, to the lamp, to the music, to the hugging, to cuddling, to the kissing...to everything. I wish I could keep it.
But I can't.
I suppose this post is long enough now.
Swimming aimlessly, in search of an aim.

Seeing the Forest for the Trees

So...
He doesn't love me.
What do I do now?
I'm sometimes down on myself for this type of thing. I think, if only I'd been better, if only I'd worked harder, if only I was the right person for him. I know that you shouldn't do that. But I do.
I even ventured to believe that I was worth absolutely nothing.
The hardest it hits is when I feel like I'm a good person and it's doing nothing for me.
Why do I think this?
Well, for starters, he broke my heart. Into a million tiny pieces. And ground it up into the carpet. That is what it felt like. I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't be happy for 15 minutes in 24 hours. I kept thinking about it.
I think, why do I have a big heart? Why do I care so much for other people? When it just hurts me SO MUCH?
I don't realize what's right in front of me.
People.
People I've comforted, people I've listened to cry, people I've checked in on periodically, people I've worked with, and just people. All these people cared that I was sad.
And yes, after they comforted me, I was still sad. Extremely sad.
But I had a better grip on life than I had at the same level of sadness a year ago. It warmed my heart that people responded to me. I know there are other people who don't get the same kind of attention.
So I feel a little more justified in keeping my big heart around.
Even if it causes me to fall and stumble sometimes, even if it causes a little hurt.
Because some good comes of it, even if I don't recognize it, consumed in my own pain.
I stay afloat.

Pinky Hugs and Little Kisses

Sometimes I get crazy.
The beauty of this is, he never leaves when I get crazy, he never questions or doubts me, he holds me safe in his arms.
I know by the little things he does that he loves me.
Like when we fall asleep together, and I rouse, he wakes. And in that small moment that he wakes, he pull me in tight for one small moment. Almost as if unconsciously, loving me silently in his mind.
Even though it annoys me, the way he says things to me, explains and points things out, takes the time to share his interests with me, so I can see what he sees.
When we wake in eachother's arms, I turn and he is there meeting me with a kiss, that is soft and sweet.
In the moments we are driving in his car, he instinctively reaches out and puts his hand on my thigh, as if to make sure I'm still there.
His facebook status updates that I am know are for me, but always ask so he will clarify, as he says he feels warm again and wants to make the right decisions for me and misses me and dreams about me all the time.
If something upsets me he is there to change it, fix it, and make himself better for me.
The thoughtfulness of taking me out some place where I can eat. The warmth of my name on menus.
When he bites his lip because he fears he's done something wrong.
The texts in the morning waking me, telling me he misses me.
Telling me he loves me.
Not drinking at the party or taking advantage of me while I'm unawares and holding my head in his chest, as I am sick, protecting me.
Picking me up and throwing me down on the bed as if he's missed me in the small moments we've been apart.
In the car driving, he has to shift but our pinkies are intertwined and keeps me safe.
Sweet little kisses everywhere, all over me, as if he is afraid of breaking me, being gentle and sweet.
This is how I know. And I count the moments between pinky hugs and little kisses.