Tag Archives: relationships

Searching for a way to find a way

It’s been a couple months since I wrote here, and as usual, I came into this feeling like I had a pretty good idea what I wanted to write about. I don’t think it’s going to work out that way though. My life feels pretty ambiguous lately, and I think my scatterbrained thoughts here won’t deny that.

It’s literally been over 3 years now since I was last in a relationship. And if you think that’s absurd, perhaps even more depressing is that I haven’t even been on a date in over 2 years. “You need to put yourself out there more”, people say. Well, duh. Working 8 hours a day, sleeping 7 hours a day, tending to my cats like 1-2 hours a day and grooming my own personal need to recharge and be alone for all other hours unaccounted for doesn’t necessarily leave a lot of time for love, sex, and friendship.

I am alone. And I think I’m okay with that. But I’m not always so certain. I feel like I put so much pressure on myself to feel like I should be giving myself to the universe and… well, in effect I’m trying to induce feelings that I’ve been coming to recognize as unnatural for me.

“What?” You say?

I love being alone. I really fucking do. Sometimes the world tricks me into thinking otherwise, but in the end I always seem to understand my version of happiness as exploring life and exploring myself all by myself. Maybe I used to dream of getting married someday and having children, maybe I used to think you can’t make it in this life without having someone to depend on 100%, and maybe I understand that these things are totally subject to interest me again someday in the future, but right now I just feel like it’s all a hindrance. It’s all keeping me from really knowing myself.

To be honest, I mourn this as well. I regret that I’m wasting my youth and beauty on being isolative. And this regret contributes to how much I isolate myself in other regards. I’m not pursuing hobbies or interests. In truth, I’m literally doing nothing to explore myself. WHAT A WASTE.

This is why I just feel so damned sad all the time. My lack of confidence in myself holds me back from understanding myself better, and my lack of understanding for myself holds me back from pursuing interpersonal relationships. I feel like I missed a pivotal chapter in my life where I should have been embracing things just for the sake of fulfilling myself and my own expectations. I missed a chapter of mistakes and learning and growing as a result. Holding myself back and feeling undeserving has always come natural to me.

So where do I go from here? How do I discover what I am and become who I am supposed to be?  It sounds silly, but for so long I’ve been searching for a way to find a way to be happy.  And if you think that sounds like I spend a lot of time thinking instead of doing, you’d be right.  I need to do away with the rhetoric.  I need to do.

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Absolute Farewell; …

…as in I will never hypothetically speak to you again.  No more letters, no more musings, at least none that I can anticipate being directly meant for you.

I found pictures of you on instagram today.  I’d like to pretend that I wasn’t looking, but I think I really was.  I didn’t *have* to be casually browsing an instagram account that belonged to a location you were sure to hang out at that just so happened to post tons of group photos of it’s clients.  I also didn’t *have* to quickly skim over all the pictures, glancing left and right for any trace of your ever-recognizable face.  But I did.  Ohhhhh did I.

Earlier this year, one of my cats got crazy sick, and I was so certain that she’d taken all of my feelings away from you.  As it turns out, a lot of it was just distraction.  Of course I still think about you, but of course, like any relatively sane human being, I have thought of you less and less.

Anyways, obviously I wouldn’t torture myself with “coincidentally” finding pictures of you online and “accidentally” spotting you out a mile away from me on the streets unless I still had a case of the lingers.  I can only pretend karma’s a bitch for so long before I need to own up!!

But today’s picture findings were different somehow.  Maybe it’s that this time around, I can actually see your face, and not your trashy manhood pics.  Buuuut I’d hate to admit that after all this time, my emotional train wreck of a life has no one to blame but me and my attachment to your junk.  *sigh*

You look gay.

Which is totally, absolutely, splendidly, totally actually fine.  But I didn’t fall in love with a gay man.  I fell in love with a hetero-normative closet case who played video games and worked out.  Which in a weird way, is kind of what made my feelings for you so hardcore.  I’m by no means trapped in the closet or shy about who I am, but I just have this complex of being in a totally heterosexually-defined role play of a relationship.  One where, duh, I play the classy lady who gets pretend knocked up with your kids and spends all day raising hell (I mean a family).

It’s messed, I know.  It’s probably something I need to work on!  I guess I just really appreciate the stereotypical roles in a relationship, even though I will never be in a stereotypical relationship.  At least not in this decade!!

AAAANYWAYS, societal expectations and gender confusion aside, I’m just not that into you anymore.  At least not based off of how you look.  (Holy crap this makes me sound like an asshole).  But honestly, I’m proud of you for it.

You look happy.  You look out.  I had a hard time accepting that you weren’t truly happy in our relationship, but my gosh was it ever obvious looking back.  I’m glad that you have friends you can relate your life experiences and problems to, and can (seemingly) express yourself in a way that is so odd for me to see now that it’s obvious it would have never happened in my la la land machine.

I’ll probably always be a little jaded that my first love, (and a love so fine at that), never worked out, but I feel a little bit released from you finally.  I feel less like there’s something I need to prove of myself should we ever accidentally bump into each other.  I’m looking for a big ol’ earthy potato, and you’re looking for fruity little boysenberries.  We don’t even share a flipping garden anymore, God bless.

So even though you clearly never sought my permission to begin with, I give you permission to live your life.  And I’ll try and give myself that same courtesy at long last!

I fucking love what you were for me, and it’s probably best I never see you again  ;)

I keep good company.

I’ve spent a lot of the past 2 years worrying about how alone I am, and how alone I fear I will forever be.  It has debilitated me, it has depressed me, and it has isolated me.

A couple months ago, one of my precious cats starting behaving differently, and fell ill a few weeks ago.  And then a few days ago, her sister decided to try and pass a piece of rubber she ate months earlier and needed emergency surgery.

Between the two of them being out of commission, I feel more isolated than ever.  And my responsibilities and stress have increased ten fold!  And I’d just like to put into words the ways I’ve misunderstood my life over the past couple years.

1)  For as long as I have lived, I have relied on nostalgia to reawaken happy feelings and warm memories within me.  I become revitalized and happy and capable of making new memories to satiate future nostalgia cravings.

2)  For as long as I’ve been single, I have considered myself to be “alone”.

3)  For as long as I’ve been single, I have avoided embracing any happy memories, and instead have focused on constantly feeling as though everything I did would be more thoroughly enjoyed in the company of another.

I got cats because I was lonely.  And I haven’t been appreciating them for their intended value, or their ultimate role in my life since I brought them into my home.

I am in a relationship with my cats.

Since they have become sick, I have been feeling nostalgia.  I have been thinking of last spring when I replayed Twilight Princess and stopped to take videos of my cats curiously observing the t.v. screen or going places they shouldn’t and sassing me when I tell them to scram.  Not to mention the sounds they make that sound eerily like the Twilight Realm monsters.

I have been thinking of last summer when we played Animal Crossing for weeks on end.  When they would bat at my 3DS cord or take naps on or around me and immobilize my arms by resting their little faces on them.

I have been thinking of last fall when I binged on “Avatar: The Last Airbender” and “Digimon” on Netflix.  I remember having one kitty come running every time I kicked the covers over my feet so she could burrow deep down into the warmth of my blankets.  And I remember having the other kitty do anything and everything to escape whenever I tried to hoard her in our blankey nest.

I remember playing Paper Mario 64, GC, and Wii versions in a row just before Christmas.  I remember my Wii breaking about halfway through the GC version, so I had to go play it on the gamecube in my room.  I remember letting the girls into my room, normally a kitty-free zone, because I was lonely without them and felt bad knowing they were sitting at the door waiting for me to come out.

I remember playing Wind Waker HD and taking breaks to make tea.  And of course I remember my cats urgently running to supervise me, as they must know I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to tea!

My life is so incredibly mundane.  But I’m sharing that with two special little fur babies.  They are the company I seek.  They are the one’s who have sat by me, chirped with me, played at my feet (and with my feet!), and ultimately been the one’s to share all of my nostalgia with as of late.

I keep the best company.  I can’t wait for my babies to feel better so we can play more video games, take more videos, and make new and happy memories.

I don’t need a boyfriend.  I honestly don’t even want one.

Next on my to do list?  Force feed my brain Pokémon on Netflix while baking cookies with my cats.

Love as leverage

I’m sorry that I brought love into our relationship.  And I’m not being sarcastic or self-pitying.  I am truly sorry I made love a factor in your being with me.

I remember when you first said “I love you” to me.  I could tell that it wasn’t something you meant or wanted to say.  I never let myself believe it or think it out loud though, because I knew there would be too much regret on my behalf if I had.

We were spending the weekend at your house, and very late at night we decided we were ready to take our relationship to the next step.  We were intimate, or at least moving along swiftly towards breaking that boundary.  And that’s when I doubted myself and made the biggest mistake of my life.  I told you that I’m not sure we should continue if we do not love each other.  You would have been my first, and having love tied to that was important to me.

I remember that you were very off-put.  A little startled that I’d interrupted what we were doing to bring up such a dangerous subject.  You jokingly said you “lub” me, or you “luff” me, but my innocence was prudent.  I know that you reluctantly said you “love” me just so you could be with me in that moment.  You knew it, I knew it, but we never talked about it.  I am sorry for that.  I should have either went for it or stood firm.  I shouldn’t have been coy and encouraged you to say those three words before I would participate in something I initiated in the first place.

I seduced you that night.  I seduced you into your bed, into my heart, and into my fantasy.  And ultimately I’m paying the price because of it.

I know you never loved me.  It was so silly of me to build such a mountain from your morsel.

In the end though, I do hope you know and accept that I truly loved you.  Because all of my nonsense aside, you too had the power to spare me this painful reality.  This truth I’ve come to live by where love is used as leverage, and unrequited thusly.

FIN.

I’m not really sure what this is going to be about; I’m not really sure how I feel.  But I need to write.  It’s been a long week.

I decided, after a year of putting it off, to start watching season 5 of Breaking Bad.  This was after the finale, so I could watch all 16 episodes marathon-style.  Breaking Bad has for whatever reason become something I strongly identify my relationship to my ex with.  It was a show we watched together.  It was a story he brought into my life.  I was so bitter to it without him.

I taped the first 8 episodes for us to watch together last summer.  We were broken up, but I hadn’t anticipated him moving on so quickly.  I thought we would keep in touch, and I would come back to the city after we had some space and watch it together.  And we did.  5 episodes or so.  I couldn’t really tell, because we weren’t watching the show so much as it was playing in the background as we’d brought our own struggles to light.  He left for good and I gave up on it.  I deleted all the episodes.  Thank heavens for Netflix.

Maybe it’s silly that I get so emotional over something like this, but I feel like this show had seen us through everything.  It didn’t seem fair to me that a television show was granted a finale–a conclusion–and I wasn’t.  I didn’t get closure.  And in a way?  I identified with Walter White.  Not in the sense that I’m a drug kingpin or lust for murder, but I identify with his sense of loneliness and defeat.

I feel so self-destructive.  I feel like I have inadvertently gone out of my way to destroy everything in my life.  And for what?  I don’t even have the motive.  I don’t have any money, or any sense of thrill in taking the risk.  I’m not breaking bad.  I’m not bad or good.  I’m just alone.  I feel like my life has come to a cataclysmic halt and there’s nobody left for me, so I sit in my cabin in New Hampshire and slowly rot to death.

Now that I am finally finished the show, I am at a loss.  I don’t even know what to feel.  I mostly just want to know what my ex feels, in regards to the last season obviously, but really just life in general.

So farewell Breaking Bad.  You will always be a part of my misery.  And in a weird way, I’m grateful for it.  I’m now going to dissolve into nothingness and adopt your conclusion as my own.

Come what may, these fears do stay.

I am afraid.  In a sense I have always been afraid–of where I will end up in life, of whether or not I will be alone, of what I kind of person I will become.  But my biggest fear in life lately has been learning to accomodate myself in your absence.  It’s a nightmare.

As time exceeds old limits of our last encounter, I grow wearier every day.  I miss you, and long to tell you so.  It’s a challenge to crawl into bed at night and feel anything but empty.  I still cry for you.

I never understand what admitting these kind of things ever does for me.  I never know how to deny you.  I feel like I am forever holding onto you when I am someone you let go of a long time ago now.  You don’t even try and keep in touch on a friend basis anymore, and so I am happy that you don’t feel as burdened and consumed as I do.  I am glad you are making something of your life.

It’s not like my life doesn’t look any differently than the last time we met.  I know that I am growing too, inspite of everything.  But it is a stinted growth.  It is growth that is inhibited by fears of leaving the viability of us behind me.  Even after all that has happened, I am still afraid to leave you behind.

You would maybe find this quandary of mine to be funny.  Sad maybe.  Unneccessary.  But I don’t mind.  I am obliged to consider your place in my heart every day, and it is a task I have never relented.  I once considered you to be a reflection of myself–a soul that found answers where I could not, and fell limp where I stood taut.  That has never changed.

I have not forgotten our intricate dynamic.  The way we were never with a stranger in the company of one another.  You were a leader and a bit of an egoist–you shared yourself and I indulged.  It was as if I were designed to love your every whim and make it into my own.  To follow your direction but herald new meaning and breathe life into independant thoughts and shared memories.

And so as it currently stands, it is my understanding that I was born into this world to be that person for you.  I am here to be your other–and if you don’t feel the same for yourself, it has happened on my behalf anyways.

So I am still waiting for you.  I am afraid that I will wait for you for forever.

Winnie the Pooh

“Valentine’s is serious times”

So today was Valentine’s Day.  Though by the time I’m finished posting this, it will likely be the 15th.  Whatever.

So today was Valentine’s Day.  It’s been a long day.  And not because of the day.  It wasn’t a Hallmark-inspired depression.  Being alive just happened to be an inconveniece for other reasons.

This morning started off like a good day.  I got up super early, before even the sun rose.  I did all my dishes and got to enjoy a peaceful morning playing video games.  Around 10 I decided to make pancakes and use up my leftover chocolate chips.  A Valentine’s Day treat–or maybe just an I-finally-get-a-day-off-work treat.  And it just overwhelmed me, the familiarity of it all.  From the moment I pulled my electric frying pan out from under the oven, listening to the background tune of my video game still melodically humming about, I just couldn’t regret my choices this morning any more.

I used to cuddle up next to him in the mornings.  He would play Zelda and I would watch diligently and snuggle him or kiss his shoulder or cheek whenever he kicked ass.  The morning sun would not have wrapped around the living room windows yet, so the blinds would be opened and the room would be serenaded in that dewy morning glory light of spring that all but vanishes come summer.  I would look up into his eyes and ask him if he wanted pancakes, to which his response was always a wide-eyed, silly-faced grin of a yes.

And it was when I pulled out the frying pan and I heard the music playing in the background that I was taken back to those days.  The days he would groan and whine and say he’s hungry and can’t wait for me to be finished.  The days our bellies would be filled and we’d play Zelda in our underwear and I would cook and clean for the man I loved.

And then I was called into work on my day off.  Only rather than feeling pleasantly plump and settled into my boyfriends arms, I felt bloated and painfully nostalgic and had little ambition to go in.  Oh well.

Life didn’t really hurt until this evening though.  I was trying to go to bed early, and I had the “likes” playlist on youtube going as I busied myself with my night time chores.  At some point, this song came on–

It’s a compilation of Fry’s holophoner symphonies he plays throughout the show “Futurama”.  My ex and I were reminiscing about the episode where Fry gives up his hands to the devil in order to acquire the devil’s robotic hands so he can play Leela a beautiful song, only as it turns out, Leela has gone deaf and cannot hear his performance.  The last 22 seconds of this video destroy me.  Just absolutely bring me to my knees in tears.  Leela trades her deaf ears away for the devil’s ears, but Fry trades back the devil’s hands so Leela wouldn’t have to give the devil her hand [in marriage], and so this is the best Fry can manage to play for Leela now that she can hear.

There’s something about those 22 seconds that seem to be a summation of my entire year last year.  There’s a feeling of resignation that is evoked, despite all the beautiful memories that live within me every day.  I feel as though my memories play like a holophoner–something I see intimately amidst the sounds of my heart.  And I just can’t bear to remember that this was a video I “liked” the very day he and I recalled it together.  I can’t control myself when I hear those short 22 seconds reflect on our short 5 months together.

Both our love and this song seem to have lasted a lifetime in their moment, and yet every second, hour, and day since is burdened with the memory as though it happened only yesterday.