Tuesday, February 10, 2009

I'm done, I'm done, said I'm so done.

Sleeping with Ghosts album cover

I know I deserve better, after all...

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.
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