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.