Saturday, May 31, 2008

Let's throw off our contentment and beg for something more.

I don't remember the last time I wrote so prolifically.
Three posts in two weeks?
There must definitely be some kind of emotional turmoil in my life to entice me to write in my online blog more than once a month.

I love driving fast.
I'm a relatively safe driver, but damn, do I love speed.
There's no therapy like driving late at night, with my windows rolled down and my ipod crooning (or thumping) melodies (and beats).

I love baking.
I'm not a fan of sweets at all, but to watch someone's face when they take the first bite of my cookies/brownies/bread/cake?
There's no therapy like getting wrapped up in the deliciously cozy smell of chocolate chip cookies that come straight out of my oven.

I love running.
I'm not a fast runner, but I love pavement, dirt, track moving underneath me.
There's no therapy like running myself blind-- running until I can't feel the rest of my limbs; running until my physical self is as numb as the inside of me.

I hate writing.
It makes me doubt myself; I check, and re-check.
I edit and second-guess.
I publish and erase.
Yet, out of all of my self discovered therapies, it's the most cathartic.

There's something terribly beautiful and stunningly terrifying in opening a new Word document on my computer.
The glaring white and blinking bar signifies the chance, the opportunity, the potential...
Of a story, of a journal entry, of a raging rant.
The glaring white and blinking bar signifies the possible chance of failure, the missed opportunity, the wasted potential.

Missed opportunity.
Wasted potential.

The story of my life.


Addictions are funny things.
The head knows how wrong it is, how unhealthy it is.
The body knows all that too, but it lusts, and craves and pines for that one substance; that one activity; that one person.
And the physical attraction is so strong that the head gets persuaded.
Matter over mind.
Addictions are destructive.
I know this.

The secret binge eating, compulsive heaving, bulimia filled days of yore...
I miss you.
The emaciated, skeletal, silhouette of me thanks to anorexia nervosa...
I miss you too.

Those were addictions.
Those were problems.
They almost physically killed me.

Yet, here I am four years later.

Reflecting back on the days where my head was constantly hanging out in the toilet (or conversely, was spinning from lack of food) I realize that every time I projectile regurgitated I was trying to get rid of parts of me.
Mission accomplished.
I'll never find those pieces of me ever again.
Destruction, indeed.


He's dually, my therapy and my addiction.
I need to get my fix, and then I need therapy.
Or I need therapy from not getting my fix.

Make sense?

It does to me.

I don't want it to end.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

I've been tryin' to get down to the heart of the matter--

It's like a rock has been sitting in the middle of my chest for two years.
A frozen rock, that's been specially tailored to withstand difficult situations, denial and bitterness.
I'm thawing.
And I'm scared.
The ice kind of seeped into my heart (try as I might to protect it) and I can see the cracks from the pressure.
It's not broken, but it sure as hell isn't whole.

For two years I've been completely blasé with my own emotions.
For someone so completely enamored and obsessed with love, it's kind of paradox.
I guess when it comes to love, I'm a hopeless romantic.
Optimistic; in that stupid way.
Except--when it comes to me.
Then I'm just hopeless.

I thought my heart would feel lighter after I told him.
Instead, it's just heavier because I feel like I just added another burden to his already full, over-worked shoulders.

I like to think, that for the most part I'm a pretty selfless person.
Conversely, when I'm in love, I become the most terribly selfish person.

It would be a lie if I said I didn't want anything from him.
In my head, I know exactly what it is that I want from him, what I want from this, what I want to learn.
I just can't verbalize it.

I want to be his girl.
Not his girlfriend.
Just his girl.
I want to be the one that he wants to share good news, funny jokes, hard times with.
I want to be the one that he thinks about until he finds someone better.
As terribly fatalistic as that sounds, that's all I really want.
At least for now.
Subconsciously I already know that I can't ask him for more than that.
Selfishly though, I want that from him, even knowing that he can't give it to me.

I want to walk away from this--whether it's tomorrow, two weeks, another year from now, knowing that I was important to him.
I want to know that at least, I gave him something worth remembering; even if we never have a title.
Selfishly, I want to be remembered as someone who was important in his life for a period of time.
I just want to know, that at the end of the day, I have the option of falling asleep next to him.
Most of the time, I probably won't even do that, but I want to know that it's possible, that sometimes he wants me there too.
I just need to know that I'm it for him
At least right now.
Just until he finds the right girl.
When he does, then I would bow out.
As difficult as it'll be, it'll be easier then, than now when I have no reason to leave.

There's no solution, because there's no real problem.
I never had a problem with how we were in the first place.
With the exception of last night's talk and this past weekend's weird funk, I've been happy and content with who we are, and what we are, and what kind of relationship we have.
I can still be happy with that.

I feel like that might be my only option.
Riding this out until I'm unhappy with who we are, what we are and the kind of relationship we don't have.
Because that way, at least I'll know that I haven't wasted a year of my life and my emotions for it to end in this dumb, anti-climatic way.

I need to figure things out before the cracks turn into holes.

Sunday, May 25, 2008

And slowly, we all fade.

I've realized that profound and enlightening moments often come in the weirdest places, at the strangest times.

In response to something that I'd said, someone said,
"Damn Jenn, just because you're emotionally detached doesn't mean the rest of us don't have feelings!"

Well shit.

I know that they were joking and were just saying that in passing, but I kind of just sat there stunned for a minute.
And pretty much...
That puts the last year and a half or so of my life into perspective.

When DID I become so emotionally detached?
So emotionally detached, that having two non-relationships at one time doesn't bother my conscience at all?
When did it become okay for me to be with someone, without actually being in love with them?
When did I become so callous and unfeeling?

When did passion become a front for strength?

I think I try so hard to be strong, and be independent that I forget that it's okay to be weak sometimes.
I trick myself into thinking that I can take care of myself, and that my heart is grid-iron strong.
That nothing can melt the icy fortress and that I'm incapable of falling in love again.

Lately, falling asleep next to him has gotten really hard again.
I don't know why but I think it's because I've realized that it needs to end.
I know how unhealthy this is for me.
I'm NOT an ice-princess.
I write about love, and relationships and romance all the time.
So how can I possibly have tricked myself into thinking that my heart was an icy fortress?

In the beginning, I always went to him because I wanted the reassurance that I could leave at anytime if I chose to.
I thought that if I went to him, I would never have to deal with the experience of waking up and not finding him there.

I wanted that for me.

I wanted to make sure that if anyone was going to be doing any leaving, that it would be me.
That one day, when I finally decided that I was done, I'd wake up, and walk out of his life while he was still in bed sleeping.

Fatalism much?

A year has passed and I still haven't left.
And it's not like I don't have the chance to go.
I do.
Every single time I go over there, I can get up and leave.
I can decide to end it forever and just go.
So why haven't I?

It wasn't supposed to last this long, or even get to this point.
It should have been a quick affair; an infatuation; something forgettable.
But now, I feel like after a year it's turned into its own monster.

If I was going to leave... I would have already left.

So what now?
Do I keep pretending that I don't feel anything for him?
Because even though I keep telling myself, and everyone around me that I don't like him, and that I don't feel for him, but I know that at the end of the day, I wait around for his text, his IM...

I wait for him.

And that, more than anything, tells me everything that I don't want to say.

At the end of the day, I wish he was close enough to me so that I could go home to him and crawl into his arms.
No words, no explanations.
And contrary to popular belief, I don't need a title to be happy.
I just need to know that I'm that girl in his life.
The one girl that he wants, right now.
That's all I ever really want from a guy.
Not promises of eternal love or unrealistic grand gestures.
I just need for someone to always welcome me into their arms at the end of the day.
That's the only thing that matters.

I don't think that's a lot to ask for, but I can't even bring myself to ask him for that.
Because I think a part of me is so positive that he'll say that he's not ready, that he cannot possibly give me that.
So I keep on pretending.
Pretending that I'm strong.
And detached.

I keep on pretending that being with him isn't destroying every single thing I know about myself.