Saturday, September 19, 2009
I spent five months being incredibly careful and deliberate about not having any sort of contact with E. Mostly? To get over him... and partially to test myself and my feelings for him. In those five months, I learned a lot of things: about him, about us, about me. Maybe, I even learned a lot more about us in that five month span that I ever did in the year and a half that we were pseudo together.
The most important thing I learned was that I was never in love with him (which is really a lot less heart breaking than it sounds). I loved him (and I still do) and cared about him enough to put up with shit that I wouldn't ever stand for with anybody else. I don't think I have ever in my life made up that many excuses for one person; which I suppose is proof that I cared about him more than I was ever willing to admit. I also realized that there was no way that I could possibly have fallen in love with him. After all, what did I really have to fall in love with? A warm body, and comforting arms? I didn't have much to go on besides that. Our pseudo "relationship" never really made it past his bedroom walls, and that's not really a relationship at all. It was definitely a skewed version of something that echoed a "normal" relationship. Except, we never "dated" and did "normal people" things. Everything about us was backwards from the beginning.
I guess I'm old fashioned that way, I need to be wooed to fall in love. Huh. What a concept.
I also discovered how much I hate secrecy and lies. I really tend to consider myself an honest person. Blunt, in fact. Conceivably, even a little rude and tactless. So you can imagine how I felt about keeping something that was such an integral part of my life for a year and a half publicly nonexistent. In short, I hated hiding. There's not much more to say about that.
For the most part though, most of the things I learned, were about myself. Essentially, about how ridiculous I can be. When I am convinced that I am completely in control of a situation, I am loathe to let it go. I cling onto the delusion that if I control everything, absolutely EVERYTHING than there is little to no chance of my own feelings getting hurt.
I basically had it my way the whole time we were together. I decided when I wanted to see him, how long I wanted to see him for and when it ended. I never asked him what he wanted, or even stopped to think that maybe what he wanted was completely different from what I desired. I just made all these decisions on my own and he basically just went along with them.
You're only a victim if you let yourself become one.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Neat happy little endings all wrapped up in 300 pages or less? That would be nice. Except that's not how real life works.
Then there's the fact that if I were to realistically pick a parallel to a character in one of those novels, I'd be the fat, funny friend. Not because I choose to be the fat, funny friend--but because when you have girlfriends like mine: that look the way they do and act the way they act, I'm almost automatically delegated to that role. I don't see myself that way; even if everyone else around me does. Unlike bubblegum feel good novels though, being the fat, funny friend in reality is a way shittier job. At least in the fictional world, the fat, funny friend merely has to be the occasional comic relief and provide profound insights for the protagonist so that the story can move forward. In real life? The fat, funny friend has to put up with girlfriends that are constantly choosing to be in unhealthy relationships that result in broken hearts, empty bottles of wine and tequila and the degrading feeling of being passed over in a bar or club, almost every time we go out. So that last part is a little selfish, but it's no picnic dealing with emotionally draining break ups and fights, and carrying your girlfriends home when they're piss drunk--so don't you think that I deserve at least that last one?
Luckily for me, I have never felt any sort of inferiority complex over the lack of male attention (i.e. the attention lavished and practically flung at my girlfriends' faces) that I get. I know a lot of that is my fault though. I can't pinpoint exactly when it started, but I know that I walk around with an intimidating "Do Not Touch. I will fuck you up. Possibly FOREVER" stamped on my forehead whenever we go out. Except now, I'm realizing that maybe being so unapproachable kind of sucks in the bitter end for me. Every single one of my close girlfriends is in some kind of relationship right now--some are in healthy, functional, envy-inducing ones, while others are in complicated, mostly dysfunctional and headache-inducing ones. I think maybe this is the first time in my life ever, that I've had an inferiority complex over the complete deficiency in male attention. Maybe it's because I'm so unsure about my future and my completely unstable state of... well, state of being; but this is just icing on top of the cupcake. I not only regularly feel like I failed at life (see: lack of job, motivation, direction), now I feel like I'm failing at being lovable too. Basically, I don't feel like I'm doing anything right.
To be completely honest, I know that even if the guy of my dreams were to drop from the heavens into my lap-- I'd probably run the other direction. Why? Because I'm not willing to bring any of my insecurities into any type of relationship with me. I've got way too much emotional baggage and trust and abandonment issues already. I haven't felt this insecure since my freshman year of high school, and I don't want to bring that drama inducing state of mind into a legitimate adult relationship.
So why am I even thinking about something that seems so banal and trivial, when compared to all the other more important things that don't seem to be resulting in good news?
I'm okay with being alone. But being lonely is something else entirely. With all of my closest girlfriends attached to a male significant other, I can't help but feel like the sixteenth wheel all the time.
Is it okay if I'm sick of being the fat, funny friend?
I won't even ask to be the seriously flawed, glamorous protagonist.
I would must rather just be loved for myself, thanks.
My life is not a novel, or a TV sitcom (or even remotely interesting to blog about lately), so here's to trying to live like a true un-romantic, and embracing pragmatism.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
People closest to me can attest to the fact that normally, no matter where I am (bed, couch, floor, bathtub), and no matter how much sleep I've already had (i.e. falling right back into a near comatose like slumber after taking a six hour "nap")--it never takes me longer than 15 minutes maximum to find sleep.
Lately though, I can't seem to fall asleep (or stay asleep). Solution? I tend to busy myself until I'm too weary to keep my eyes open. So when I collapse into bed, sleep claims me pretty fast.
Tonight, sleep seems to be alluding me; and I find myself sitting here blogging about nothing in particular and craving a cigarette so bad I had to force myself to brush my teeth again to take my mind off of it.
Change is kind of a tricky little thing--sometimes, it happens so fast that there's barely even a second to realize it's happening. Other times (times like these) change seems so long in coming that life feels a little bit like a tape that's being played in slow motion.
Recently, no matter how actively I try to fast forward and speed up my tape, it doesn't really matter. I never even imagined how empty my entire being would feel, every time I open my empty gmail account.
Earlier tonight, I probably spent no less than three hours straight combing the internet for possible jobs. Countless open Mozilla tabs, cover letter tweakings and resume attachings later-- I found myself feeling trapped. While there are thousands of other words that thesaurus.com is telling me to use for the word "trapped", there just is no right word to explain the emotional turmoil roiling up inside of me. I got up, walked outside bare foot onto my front porch and desperately wished for the 800th time this month that I wasn't living at home so I could have a cigarette.
In that second, when I felt my chest closing in, and my breathing become weird and labored I thought of just one person I wanted to call. Three months ago, I can gaurantee you I would have done it. But this time I just swallowed the bitter pill of self loathing and wallowing self hate and pretended to be okay when my mom asked if I had indigestion from dinner.
I need so much, but I have no clue how to ask.
Also, it might help if I could figure out exactly what it is that I need.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Less than two minutes after I handed the lady my name card (my middle name spelled phonetically: Me-young), I walked across the stage without ever really looking at the person who's hand I was shaking, because honestly--I could care less. The whole process took less than ten minutes--the actual act of "walking" was probably about three. The only thing I could really think about during the hour and a half ceremony was how much I wanted a roast beef sandwich (mostly due to the fact that dinner the night before had been skipped, as well as breakfast and lunch the day of, in a futile effort to look a cm or two thinner for countless graduation photos).
So... I commenced right? I graduated? I'm free from the shackles of a four year undergraduate university?
I have never felt so directionless and lost in my life.
Everyone (at least those of the Asian American culture) knows that after high school is college. But what's after college? No one tells you about that terrifying and paralyzing place.
I have a plan. I do. I know who I am and ultimately, what I want to do and be. Right now though, it sure as hell feels like I'm a hopelessly useless heap of waste.
I have three years of my life packed away into nine boxes just sitting on the floor of my room and I cannot find even an ounce of motivation to try and unpack those three years. Because it'll feel like I failed. I never imagined that after four years of college I'd end up living at home again-- feeling unsure and feckless; jobless and (almost) hopeless.
I'm not afraid of a lot of things. But I'm scared shitless of not knowing. I don't know what I'm "supposed" to be doing, or what I should be doing, or what I will be doing a year, six months, a week from now.That thought scares me so much that I can't sleep at night, I've lost three pounds, and I'm never hungry (and if you know me at all, you know that there's not a lot of things I love doing more than eating and sleeping).The dictionary.com definition of the word commence is: to begin.
I'll let you know when that beginning actually begins.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I kept telling myself that as long as I controlled the damage, I would be okay. That I would come out of it and be completely and totally untouched.
In retrospect, our non-relationship was on my terms, start to finish. I made all of the bad decisions, I chose to keep going back there, I knew full well the consequences and what I didn't mean to him. So I honestly can't ever say I hate him, or blame him. He was completely fair and honest. He didn't lead me on, and he let me make my own decisions. Although conversely, I could hate him for not making the decision to say no to me every time I made those choices, but how could he possibly say no? He's a hot blooded male. I get it.
There's really no such thing as preemptive emotional damage control.
Good to know.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
The only thing is, is that no one deserves to wake up alone. I truly hope he finds someone to wake up next to.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
But let's be honest.
I really miss him.
I can't believe that it's been well over a month since I've not only talked to him, but since I've seen him and touched him and loved him.
At this point, it seems like the past year and a half of my life didn't really happen at all.
And here's the thing: it doesn't really matter that I've deleted his telephone number, or avoided AIM like the plague for 40+ days, or even that I've methodically considered de-friending him on facebook (myspace, etc.). I'm not trying to erase him from my life; I'm not even really trying to hide from him.
I'm just trying to be smart--and being smart is perhaps the easiest way for me to stay strong; to stay away from the ever sweetening temptation of running back into his bed (and back into dysfunction).
If there's one thing I regret about this whole situation though, is that I haven't cried over it. I don't know if it's because I'm physically incapable of crying, or if my body is trying to protect me from myself or what, but it's like the pain and the heart ache that I should be feeling but am repressing-- is lodging itself in the pit of my stomach. It's this solid mass of black funk that I keep pretending isn't there-- and as each day passes without a tear in sight, the cancerous little mass seems to grow heavier.
I know that if I did cry, my friends would be there to hand me tissues and glasses of wine, no questions asked. For some reason though, I can't shake the feeling that this non-break up is ridiculous and that if I cried over it, I would really be attesting to the fact that I am a moron. Maybe that's another reason why the past year and a half seems so unreal to me right now. My not crying is like me being in denial-- I don't want to face the facts that it's over. So by reasoning that it never even started, how can it be over? Therefore, if something was never started-- there's absolutely nothing to cry over.
Girls do have a twisted sense of logic when it comes to matters of the heart. We talk ourselves into believing words that haven't been said (and probably won't ever be said). We trick ourselves into thinking that certain actions and occasional moments of tenderness are promises for futures we don't dare talk about (but shamelessly dream about). We dupe ourselves into believing in this unhealthy mindset-- we don't expect or hope for anything (when really, we want everything): we make ourselves believe that we don't need anything (even though we need so much more) but love.
The majority of the time though, love just isn't enough. Real life, functional relationships are about compromise, and hard work, and honesty. There is no sneaking around; no feeling like you are a potential burden on the other person's shoulders; and there is no giving without receiving.
So at the end of the day; at the end of my day--my head knows that the cons outweigh the pros ten fold. And yet, every time I read something, or watch something or hear something that I know that he would enjoy, or find amusing, or like-- I think of him. No matter how hard my head tramps down everything my heart is trying to say, little moments of weakness escape. I want nothing more than to talk to him, and be with him. When I lay in bed at night, right before I fall asleep; I have to fight urges to get up and start driving on auto pilot to him.
But I know.
I know that I deserve better.
So I'm done.
Because he gave me no other choice than to be done.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Five years ago, I locked myself in a place where the sun didn't shine, and there wasn't any music playing. My world stopped turning because my heart was breaking. Blame it on naivety and being young but I felt like my whole existence hinged on one person. When that boy broke my heart, I could not imagine living my life without him, let alone imagine what tomorrow and the day after that was going to be like.
And here I am, five years later. I didn't even believe that I could make it to tomorrow, the day after it ended. But I'm here, five years after the fact-- older, stronger, a little jaded and a little less whole. I made it.
So here I am, five years later--carefully and silently nursing another broken heart. Carefully, because I'm not quite sure just how broken it is; silently because I'm old enough to know that heart break is something you deal with on your own terms when you become an adult.
The sun is still shining, the music is still playing and the world hasn't stopped turning.
I smile every time I walk outside and the sunlight hits my face. I sing along, at the top of my lungs to all of the songs I love. And because I didn't let my world revolve around one boy, it hasn't stopped spinning.
And five years from now, I'll be here-- a little older, a lot stronger, a lot more jaded, and even less whole. But I'll make it.
Life goes on.