I didn’t know her name. I didn’t ask and she didn’t give it to me. The only thing I remember for certain is that she had a nose ring, a little black dress and a killer body…
The bed was soaked. I touched the small pool slowly seeping through the mattress with the tips of my fingers and put my hand up to my nose. My face screwed itself into a grimace- piss. Suddenly what she had told me made perfect sense.
“I had a bad dream,” she had mumbled, “I’m really sorry. I’ll clean it up. I promise.”
I kicked off the blanket. Fuck. My phone was dead and I had no idea what time it was. I pinched the bridge of my nose, closed my eyes. After a moment, I opened them again. Billy hadn’t been lying, the place was a mess. But that wasn’t my problem, it was a hotel room. Let the fucking cleaning lady deal with it.
As I dragged myself to the foot of the bed, I realised that one side of my boxers (the one closest to sleeping beauty over there) was sopping wet. Fuck. Tugging at her foot I told her she had to get up. Take a shower. Get the fuck out of there. Muttering something about her mother, she got up and stumbled towards the bathroom. I hadn’t only been drunk, she had a great body. Standing up as slowly as possible, so as not to subject myself to a bout of dizziness, I slipped off my boxers and followed her into the bathroom. She was already in the shower. When I slid back the frosted glass panel she turned to look at me. She had a strange look on her face. I ran my hand through my hair. Tried to smile. It must have worked because she smiled back. Even if a tad reluctantly. Seeing this as my green light, I climbed into the shower.
Pulling my hair back into a pony tail I looked over at her- Black bra, white panties. She was slipping on her little black dress. It was light out and the curtains were thin and so this was my first really good look at her. She wasn’t the prettiest but there was something attractive about her. As if sensing my gaze on her, she turned. She had that look on her face again. This time I didn’t try to smile.
“I’m still around for a bit,” I told her, “so you go on ahead. And oh, I hope you have a little transport money, ‘cos I don’t have any on me.”
She looked at me for a second, shook her head. “Its okay.”
Slipping on her heels and without another word, she left.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Day 29: Slut? Her? No Way!
“She’s a slut you know.”
I looked over my shoulder. Over to where I had left her.
The girl in question was talking to her friend. The tall one with the amazing legs. I felt my face scrunch itself into a weird expression. She didn’t look like a slut.
Catching my eye, she waved. She was smiling. Forcing a smile of my own, I waved back. Unable to maintain my pseudo-happy expression however, I turned back to Sharon.
“Are you sure?”
“You don’t want to be seen talking to her, Lloyd.”
I sighed. “And why not Sharon?”
She took a sip of her Alvaro. Pear.
“For the obvious reason that whoever sees you talking to her will think that you’ve fucked her. You haven’t, have you?”
“No. Why? Is she sick?”
Sharon shrugged.
“She could be.”
I laughed.
“You sound just like Auntie Helen who thinks that every girl apart from her daughters and beloved nieces has AIDS.”
It was Sharon’s turn to laugh.
“She told you that?”
I took a sip of my Krest. No drinking on weeknights I had told myself. I wonder how long that will last.
“Yup. Some night when I was trying to bum cash off of her so I could go out.”
I looked up at the screen. Arsenal was still down 2-1. Standard had scored two goals in the first three minutes. My only hope was that this second half would be a whole lot better than the first.
“So where did you meet your new girlfriend?” Sharon asked me, pulling me back into her favourite past time- gossip.
“Herm’s. And girlfriend? Hardly. But then again, I did drop her home on Saturday night…”
She looked puzzled.
“I thought you were with Bongo on Saturday night.”
“I was.”
I took a sip of my painfully non-alcoholic beverage.
Most of the time anyway.
For the second time that night I asked my cousin for his keys. It was after three. Closer to four.
“Her?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the honey skinned girl in the super short shorts and the high high heels and top that showed off her perfect stomach and canary studded navel.
“Mmm-hmm.”
He raised an eye brow.”
“Two girls in one night, Lloyd? Maybe you should slow down.”
“I didn’t fuck the first one and I’m only dropping this one home.” I blurted out a little defensively.
Sighing, my cousin pulled out his keys and handed them over.
“Fine. But you come right back. Awinyu? No detours.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I assured him, “and thanx.”
Catching her eye, I jerked my head in the direction of the exit. It was time to drop this lil birdy home.
One soda and two Arsenal goals later and it was time to go. Almost everyone was filing out of the bar but I decided to let the crowd first dissipate before I followed suit.
I felt a hand slip into one of mine. Turning, I found lil miss birdy staring up at me. A slightly irritated look on her face.
“Where have you been?” her tone mirrored he expression perfectly.
“I’ve been right here. I told you I would be inside didn’t I?”
She shook her head. Her tresses of hair shaking with it.
“No. You told me you would be right back.”
I scratched my head, something I tend to do when I’m being a little more than a little less than sincere.
“Sorry.”
She stared at me for a few beats without saying anything. I’m guessing to gauge whether I was really sorry or if I was just jerking her chain. I don’t mean to brag but I have to say, I’m a pretty good actor.
“Okay…now come on, I want you to meet my friend. She was asking about you. She thinks you’re cute.”
“Really?”
Maybe there was a light at the end of this tunnel after all.
“Yeah, but don’t get your hopes up. I told her that you were strictly off limits.
My face fell but I did my best to cover it up.
Asking myself what I had gotten myself into, I reluctantly let myself be dragged away.
I looked over my shoulder. Over to where I had left her.
The girl in question was talking to her friend. The tall one with the amazing legs. I felt my face scrunch itself into a weird expression. She didn’t look like a slut.
Catching my eye, she waved. She was smiling. Forcing a smile of my own, I waved back. Unable to maintain my pseudo-happy expression however, I turned back to Sharon.
“Are you sure?”
“You don’t want to be seen talking to her, Lloyd.”
I sighed. “And why not Sharon?”
She took a sip of her Alvaro. Pear.
“For the obvious reason that whoever sees you talking to her will think that you’ve fucked her. You haven’t, have you?”
“No. Why? Is she sick?”
Sharon shrugged.
“She could be.”
I laughed.
“You sound just like Auntie Helen who thinks that every girl apart from her daughters and beloved nieces has AIDS.”
It was Sharon’s turn to laugh.
“She told you that?”
I took a sip of my Krest. No drinking on weeknights I had told myself. I wonder how long that will last.
“Yup. Some night when I was trying to bum cash off of her so I could go out.”
I looked up at the screen. Arsenal was still down 2-1. Standard had scored two goals in the first three minutes. My only hope was that this second half would be a whole lot better than the first.
“So where did you meet your new girlfriend?” Sharon asked me, pulling me back into her favourite past time- gossip.
“Herm’s. And girlfriend? Hardly. But then again, I did drop her home on Saturday night…”
She looked puzzled.
“I thought you were with Bongo on Saturday night.”
“I was.”
I took a sip of my painfully non-alcoholic beverage.
Most of the time anyway.
For the second time that night I asked my cousin for his keys. It was after three. Closer to four.
“Her?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the honey skinned girl in the super short shorts and the high high heels and top that showed off her perfect stomach and canary studded navel.
“Mmm-hmm.”
He raised an eye brow.”
“Two girls in one night, Lloyd? Maybe you should slow down.”
“I didn’t fuck the first one and I’m only dropping this one home.” I blurted out a little defensively.
Sighing, my cousin pulled out his keys and handed them over.
“Fine. But you come right back. Awinyu? No detours.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I assured him, “and thanx.”
Catching her eye, I jerked my head in the direction of the exit. It was time to drop this lil birdy home.
One soda and two Arsenal goals later and it was time to go. Almost everyone was filing out of the bar but I decided to let the crowd first dissipate before I followed suit.
I felt a hand slip into one of mine. Turning, I found lil miss birdy staring up at me. A slightly irritated look on her face.
“Where have you been?” her tone mirrored he expression perfectly.
“I’ve been right here. I told you I would be inside didn’t I?”
She shook her head. Her tresses of hair shaking with it.
“No. You told me you would be right back.”
I scratched my head, something I tend to do when I’m being a little more than a little less than sincere.
“Sorry.”
She stared at me for a few beats without saying anything. I’m guessing to gauge whether I was really sorry or if I was just jerking her chain. I don’t mean to brag but I have to say, I’m a pretty good actor.
“Okay…now come on, I want you to meet my friend. She was asking about you. She thinks you’re cute.”
“Really?”
Maybe there was a light at the end of this tunnel after all.
“Yeah, but don’t get your hopes up. I told her that you were strictly off limits.
My face fell but I did my best to cover it up.
Asking myself what I had gotten myself into, I reluctantly let myself be dragged away.
Day 27: Dancing with the DeViL with Two Left Feet
"Distractions are a blessing. Especially the pretty ones."-Day 21
I came in her mouth. It didn’t take very long. Beer has a tendency to do that to me. It caught both of us off guard.
Grabbing the disposable cup that lay on its side on the floor of the car, she spat into it. Then cracking a window, she threw it out.
Neither of us had any condoms and so I had had to do with the next best thing: getting sucked off in the backseat of my cousin's car.
I had known her for all of 21 hours.
Regress (to Sth); To return to an earlier or less advanced form or state.
I came in her mouth. It didn’t take very long. Beer has a tendency to do that to me. It caught both of us off guard.
Grabbing the disposable cup that lay on its side on the floor of the car, she spat into it. Then cracking a window, she threw it out.
Neither of us had any condoms and so I had had to do with the next best thing: getting sucked off in the backseat of my cousin's car.
I had known her for all of 21 hours.
Regress (to Sth); To return to an earlier or less advanced form or state.
- Regression; The process of regressing. e.g regression to an earlier stage of emotional development.
I remember writing once, that, "It's funny how we always become the things we most despise. "I’ve traveled down that road before, got lost along it. and i can tell you, its not the best of feelings...I don’t want to do it again. And yet with each passing moment, with every minute that passes, I feel myself being sucked back it.
"You cant change who you are..."
Maybe they were right all along. Maybe this is just who I am...
The tents came down today. And with them my self respect. I did a lot of things I’m not proud of this weekend. Hurt a lot of people. Took advantage of others.
She called me a playa. Told me that I had hurt her. And yet I STILL managed to get her into the backseat of that car. and after what was done was done, we went back inside and I completely ignored her. Pretended as if nothing had happened. Made sure i put as much space between her and myself as i could. And THEN proceeded to make moves with someone else completely.
My frame of mind at the time? Just because she sucked me off doesn’t mean i owe her anything. I'm single. I'm free. So what if I enjoy myself at the expense of someone else? And its not like she's an angel. She's made quite a name for herself. Did i tell you about the one where she gave some random guy head from underneath the table?
And so I worked the room. Including the gorgeous one with the infectious smile whose name i didn’t quite get and who came out of nowhere and started shaking that shit like it was going out town.I enjoyed myself. I really did. It would be hard for me to say that I didn’t.But as i sit here i cant help but wonder, at what cost? Is being "distracted" really worth destroying all the progress I have made?"Who says it was progress?" some people might ask. (and ronnie, dear boy, you know i'm talking about you)
"As far as I'M concerned, THIS, what i'm seeing right NOW is progress. Get your head right bruh."
And yet its not. Progress was being able to fall in love. Progress was being able to care about someone else besides myself. Progress was being willing to sacrifice anything and everything to hold onto that love...not this...this is not progress. This is driving backwards into a concrete wall. And who in their right mind drives backwards into a concrete wall? And so, with that in mind, hold on bub, because i intend to turn this bitch back around. and this time...i'm going to get it right.
Day 21: Welcome to the order of the tortured artist
I woke up this morning longing for you.Why this particular morning? I really couldnt tell you. All i know is that as i lay there, the sun pouring in through the paper thin curtains, every fibre in my body craved for you. Craved to touch you, craved to taste you, craved to smell you, (sigh) craved to love you...And then came the knock on the door accompanied by a voice calling my name and in that instant, it all disappeared.
Distractions.We all need them. without them i think we would all run mad. I know thats whats keeping me from going insane. from pulling my hair out. From staying in bed all day. Distractions are a blessing. Especially the pretty ones. But that being said, sometimes i loathe them. Not often but often enough. They keep me from feeling...from feeling real...from feeling anything at all. and yet its when i'm feeling down, when i'm feeling shaken, when i'm feeling overwhelmed that i do my best writing. When things become so much that i need to bleed it out. From heart...to wrist...to pen.
"Depressed is when you write best." someone once told me. and they were right. and so, unwittingly, i came up with a system. Everytime i wanted to write something worth while, something worth reading, i would closet myself away. strip myself bare, debase myself, go hunting for shadows, captured and caged slivers of darkness; picking at scabs, slitting open old wounds, ripping off plasters and letting myself bleed...
Welcome to the order of the tortured artist.
Why torture yourself? I think, as i stare out the window. the curtains are so thin that theres no need to open them. They waver, like a mirage, at the slightest hint of a breeze. I can hear the wind rustle through the trees and watch as a single leaf, old, past its prime, is torn from its mother, from the nest of its brothers and drifts lazily, alone, to the ground.The sound of CNN; business news, can be heard from the following room. The scrape of plates as the table is set for breakfast.
Why torture myslef? I repeat, slipping on my slippers.
because it makes for some pretty good reading.
I smile but its small, ironic.
But not only that,the smile disappears,
I dont want to forget.
I dont want to forget apples or vanilla body spray or cherry flavoured chapstick. Or sensual massages in the sitting room or getting drunk off ours asses and making out in public.
I dont want to forget the first time she said she loved me and i didnt know what to say or sleeping on her floor because it was alot more comfortable than sleeping on her nightmare of a bed.
I dont want to forget chasing her around the living room, completely unaware of how naked we were or making love right after showering defeating the whole purpose of showering in the first place.
I want to remember the good times: new years eve, my birthday, the day we first met...AND the not so ggod times: January 3rd, valentines day and every fight, every argument, everytime i made her cry and everytime she made me want to die.
even if its torture...even if it hurts. and not because i'm presumptuous enough to consider myself some sort of artist. (although one day i hope that i will be able to) but because they are a part of me. They are my scars. they are my legacy. but most of all...they make me...me.
Distractions.We all need them. without them i think we would all run mad. I know thats whats keeping me from going insane. from pulling my hair out. From staying in bed all day. Distractions are a blessing. Especially the pretty ones. But that being said, sometimes i loathe them. Not often but often enough. They keep me from feeling...from feeling real...from feeling anything at all. and yet its when i'm feeling down, when i'm feeling shaken, when i'm feeling overwhelmed that i do my best writing. When things become so much that i need to bleed it out. From heart...to wrist...to pen.
"Depressed is when you write best." someone once told me. and they were right. and so, unwittingly, i came up with a system. Everytime i wanted to write something worth while, something worth reading, i would closet myself away. strip myself bare, debase myself, go hunting for shadows, captured and caged slivers of darkness; picking at scabs, slitting open old wounds, ripping off plasters and letting myself bleed...
Welcome to the order of the tortured artist.
Why torture yourself? I think, as i stare out the window. the curtains are so thin that theres no need to open them. They waver, like a mirage, at the slightest hint of a breeze. I can hear the wind rustle through the trees and watch as a single leaf, old, past its prime, is torn from its mother, from the nest of its brothers and drifts lazily, alone, to the ground.The sound of CNN; business news, can be heard from the following room. The scrape of plates as the table is set for breakfast.
Why torture myslef? I repeat, slipping on my slippers.
because it makes for some pretty good reading.
I smile but its small, ironic.
But not only that,the smile disappears,
I dont want to forget.
I dont want to forget apples or vanilla body spray or cherry flavoured chapstick. Or sensual massages in the sitting room or getting drunk off ours asses and making out in public.
I dont want to forget the first time she said she loved me and i didnt know what to say or sleeping on her floor because it was alot more comfortable than sleeping on her nightmare of a bed.
I dont want to forget chasing her around the living room, completely unaware of how naked we were or making love right after showering defeating the whole purpose of showering in the first place.
I want to remember the good times: new years eve, my birthday, the day we first met...AND the not so ggod times: January 3rd, valentines day and every fight, every argument, everytime i made her cry and everytime she made me want to die.
even if its torture...even if it hurts. and not because i'm presumptuous enough to consider myself some sort of artist. (although one day i hope that i will be able to) but because they are a part of me. They are my scars. they are my legacy. but most of all...they make me...me.
Day 19: Weddings, Swagger & Facebook
It seems to me like everyone is getting married. Or talking about getting married. Or talking about THINKING about getting married. It really makes no difference to me. Ive heard the word marriage so many times these past few months that in my mind its right up there with "swagger" & "facebook" for the award for most used word of the year.
I mean, have you looked around you recently? Its like the wedding ring has suddenly become the must have accessory of the season. & i have to admit, its making me a little nauseous. A little green in the face. A little sick to the stomach too. & not only with disgust but with a little envy as well.
You see, it wasnt too long ago when i thought i had found the person i would like to settle down with. Build a home with. Have kids & grow old with. But as it has often been said throughout history, things just didnt turn out to be as simple as i would have liked them to be.
& so now i pout. Wavering between whether i should do something about it or whether i should just let sleeping dogs lie. Say sayonara, goodbye. Better luck next time. Trying to decide whether the effort & the pounds & the piles & the mounds of heartache are worth the outcome. Or if the outcome will even be the one i so desperately desire.
I mean, lets be honest here, when it comes to such things, there are no such things as garauntees. Especially in this case where there are such things as family pressure & an ex boyfriend &, i love her to death but her quite unnerving tendency to never tell you whats really going on. & i only mention this now because the last time we were together, a week ago actually, (wow, why does it feel so much longer than that?) i had the distinct feeling there was something she wasnt telling me. I suppose i could just come right out & ask her but for some reason that seems base. Like i would be prying when i really have no right to be. But at the same time i know that if i wait for HER to say something i'll be waiting a pretty long time...but wait, maybe theres another option. Maybe i'm wrong. Maybe there is no secret shes keeping. Maybe there is no missing puzzle piece. Maybe i'm making this way more complicated than it really needs to be. So many maybe's. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But then...maybe not.
Much good stirring up the cauldron has done me. Now i have to try & fall asleep with all these maybe's & conspiracies & "what hasnt she told me's?" swirling around my head. My only hope is that the rain will do something to nullify their effect.
I mean, have you looked around you recently? Its like the wedding ring has suddenly become the must have accessory of the season. & i have to admit, its making me a little nauseous. A little green in the face. A little sick to the stomach too. & not only with disgust but with a little envy as well.
You see, it wasnt too long ago when i thought i had found the person i would like to settle down with. Build a home with. Have kids & grow old with. But as it has often been said throughout history, things just didnt turn out to be as simple as i would have liked them to be.
& so now i pout. Wavering between whether i should do something about it or whether i should just let sleeping dogs lie. Say sayonara, goodbye. Better luck next time. Trying to decide whether the effort & the pounds & the piles & the mounds of heartache are worth the outcome. Or if the outcome will even be the one i so desperately desire.
I mean, lets be honest here, when it comes to such things, there are no such things as garauntees. Especially in this case where there are such things as family pressure & an ex boyfriend &, i love her to death but her quite unnerving tendency to never tell you whats really going on. & i only mention this now because the last time we were together, a week ago actually, (wow, why does it feel so much longer than that?) i had the distinct feeling there was something she wasnt telling me. I suppose i could just come right out & ask her but for some reason that seems base. Like i would be prying when i really have no right to be. But at the same time i know that if i wait for HER to say something i'll be waiting a pretty long time...but wait, maybe theres another option. Maybe i'm wrong. Maybe there is no secret shes keeping. Maybe there is no missing puzzle piece. Maybe i'm making this way more complicated than it really needs to be. So many maybe's. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But then...maybe not.
Much good stirring up the cauldron has done me. Now i have to try & fall asleep with all these maybe's & conspiracies & "what hasnt she told me's?" swirling around my head. My only hope is that the rain will do something to nullify their effect.
& to that effect,
goodnight.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Day 17: Homecoming Song for the Weary of Heart
Once again I'm bus bound. Destination? It doesnt matter. All that matters is that its away from here.Its barely nine in the morning but the sun is already high and its pretty obvious that the day is going to be a hot one.The chair i'm sitting in is an old one. the kind you sink into. It almost feels as if its saying, "Come here and let me give you a hug."Its a pretty nice feeling. A great feeling actually. Have things become so bad that i need to illicit affection from a chair?
I read my book again last night. The unpublished, quite finished piece of literature that has been sitting at the bottom of the proverbial drawer for quite sometime now. It hit me like a hammer. The memories recorded in it assaulting my senses with the ferociousness bordering frightening. Frightening because of the clarity it brought. Of who I was, who i became and who I am now. And all of the steps, big and small, that came in between.
I didnt finish reading it until it was after three. After climbing out of the shower and drying myself down, i remember staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and i looked exhausted. And i was. More emotionally than anything else. The book had drained me.
And so with bloodshot eyes and a back breaking from a heavy heart (thank you Mr. Wentz) I fell into bed and fell asleep.
It feels good to be home. To be in a place that I can call my own. My room, my bed, my table, my chair. Ive missed being able to closet myself in the privacy of my own space. Not having to worry about if the music is too loud or if I'm in the way. I finally have some peace. and THAT feels good. And for some reason, it makes me feel hopeful. Not only having my space but having people i know that love me around me. within shouting distance. I admit, it can be stifling at times and I needed the reprieve. But being back...has put a smile on my face. a smile that has seldom been real for quite some time. Partly, because it is home but mostly because the angst of the past two weeks is now 350 km away.
Good bye storm clouds...hello sunshine
I read my book again last night. The unpublished, quite finished piece of literature that has been sitting at the bottom of the proverbial drawer for quite sometime now. It hit me like a hammer. The memories recorded in it assaulting my senses with the ferociousness bordering frightening. Frightening because of the clarity it brought. Of who I was, who i became and who I am now. And all of the steps, big and small, that came in between.
I didnt finish reading it until it was after three. After climbing out of the shower and drying myself down, i remember staring at myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and i looked exhausted. And i was. More emotionally than anything else. The book had drained me.
And so with bloodshot eyes and a back breaking from a heavy heart (thank you Mr. Wentz) I fell into bed and fell asleep.
It feels good to be home. To be in a place that I can call my own. My room, my bed, my table, my chair. Ive missed being able to closet myself in the privacy of my own space. Not having to worry about if the music is too loud or if I'm in the way. I finally have some peace. and THAT feels good. And for some reason, it makes me feel hopeful. Not only having my space but having people i know that love me around me. within shouting distance. I admit, it can be stifling at times and I needed the reprieve. But being back...has put a smile on my face. a smile that has seldom been real for quite some time. Partly, because it is home but mostly because the angst of the past two weeks is now 350 km away.
Good bye storm clouds...hello sunshine
If Apologies Were Edible, This Would be a Banquet/ To Whom it May Concern II
I wish it had never come to this. To writing you this letter. It could have easily been avoided but seeing you that night; blue top, blue jeans (Yes, i do remember) something took a hold of me. Part alcohol, part lonliness, part you were looking so pretty. And thats why i told you we needed to talk.
With my arms around your waist, i said some things. some things that i probably shouldnt have. some things that were a little more than less than true. And for that i'm sorry. More than i can adequately express and more than you will probably ever believe. But I am. And not only for that but for sunday morning as well. For getting you out of bed, making you travel across town and for walking your heart right into a trap.
I dont have any excuses for what i did. It was wrong. More than that, it was heartless. Knowing everything that i do. Knowing how you feel. Knowing how it feels to have your heart broken and knowing that that was all that I could offer you.
I dont expect you to forgive me. I dont deserve to be forgiven. but i do hope that with time, your heart will mend and that as the fault lines become less visible, that you'll be able to forgive me.
With my arms around your waist, i said some things. some things that i probably shouldnt have. some things that were a little more than less than true. And for that i'm sorry. More than i can adequately express and more than you will probably ever believe. But I am. And not only for that but for sunday morning as well. For getting you out of bed, making you travel across town and for walking your heart right into a trap.
I dont have any excuses for what i did. It was wrong. More than that, it was heartless. Knowing everything that i do. Knowing how you feel. Knowing how it feels to have your heart broken and knowing that that was all that I could offer you.
I dont expect you to forgive me. I dont deserve to be forgiven. but i do hope that with time, your heart will mend and that as the fault lines become less visible, that you'll be able to forgive me.
I am truly sorry,
Lloyd
Monday, September 28, 2009
Day 14: This Valium Makes Me Feel Like I'm on This Song
I'm feeling rather melancholy today. Ever since i saw her actually.
She looked amazing. Almost like a dream i could touch. Sitting down next to her i remember asking myself, had she always been this beautiful. But all in all, seeing her wasnt the same. Too much had happened. Too many things had been said. Too many things had NOT been said...too many miles had come between us.
Seeing her was bitter sweet. Sweet pain. My heart needed it but couldnt take it at the same time.
Add that on top of what had happened that morning with she who shall not be named & i was in pretty bad shape. But as always, i put on my best face. Buried everything deep down in a multi-combination safe. It wasnt until after she had left, after i got back home, after i popped a couple of those valiums that it all began to catch up with me. It was progressive. Starting with a trickle, flowing into a stream & then roaring into a water fall.
I popped a couple more, thinking being doped up would probably help. Mixed in a little weed, a little liquor as well, but it only made things worse.
My cousin said i should talk about it. Offered me a willing ear. I love him for that. Especially with the friction that has been between us. He also said i needed to talk to she who shall not be named. Apologise for what i did- fucking with her brain. No, it was worse than that, i fucked with her heart. I dredged up all those feelings she had worked so hard to bury, gave her false hope & hung her with it. I feel terrible about it. Hell, thats one hell of an understatement, its eating me alive. & the funny thing is, a year ago i wouldnt have blinked twice. Wouldnt have felt anything at all. & thats what your love did for me Sandra. & yes, i just used your name & for the next few lines, i'm talking to you.
You made me human again. Gave me back my soul. & the truth is, without you i feel lost. I dont want to go back to being that person again & as short of a time it has been, i already feel myself being pulled back in. you were my anchor. and thats one of the things that is making letting you go so damn hard.
to be quite honest, i dont know how to switch gears after saying all of that. the release has been nice. and i do think it has helped. of course i havnt said everything thats on mind, that would take a pretty long time. but for the time being, i think i'll be just fine.
"Right side of my brain" by the dream
She looked amazing. Almost like a dream i could touch. Sitting down next to her i remember asking myself, had she always been this beautiful. But all in all, seeing her wasnt the same. Too much had happened. Too many things had been said. Too many things had NOT been said...too many miles had come between us.
Seeing her was bitter sweet. Sweet pain. My heart needed it but couldnt take it at the same time.
Add that on top of what had happened that morning with she who shall not be named & i was in pretty bad shape. But as always, i put on my best face. Buried everything deep down in a multi-combination safe. It wasnt until after she had left, after i got back home, after i popped a couple of those valiums that it all began to catch up with me. It was progressive. Starting with a trickle, flowing into a stream & then roaring into a water fall.
I popped a couple more, thinking being doped up would probably help. Mixed in a little weed, a little liquor as well, but it only made things worse.
My cousin said i should talk about it. Offered me a willing ear. I love him for that. Especially with the friction that has been between us. He also said i needed to talk to she who shall not be named. Apologise for what i did- fucking with her brain. No, it was worse than that, i fucked with her heart. I dredged up all those feelings she had worked so hard to bury, gave her false hope & hung her with it. I feel terrible about it. Hell, thats one hell of an understatement, its eating me alive. & the funny thing is, a year ago i wouldnt have blinked twice. Wouldnt have felt anything at all. & thats what your love did for me Sandra. & yes, i just used your name & for the next few lines, i'm talking to you.
You made me human again. Gave me back my soul. & the truth is, without you i feel lost. I dont want to go back to being that person again & as short of a time it has been, i already feel myself being pulled back in. you were my anchor. and thats one of the things that is making letting you go so damn hard.
to be quite honest, i dont know how to switch gears after saying all of that. the release has been nice. and i do think it has helped. of course i havnt said everything thats on mind, that would take a pretty long time. but for the time being, i think i'll be just fine.
"Right side of my brain" by the dream
Day 10: Follow Your Heart. Even Unto the Ends of the Earth
I sent her a message today. A pretty long one. And no, it wasn’t rash like the last one. In all honesty, it had been two months in the making. What finally tipped the scales in its favour, however, was waking up one morning with the realization that as fun as being single may seem, that wasn’t what I wanted. She was.
It took me almost an hour to write. To phrase properly. To make sure I said what I meant and I didn’t leave anything important out. Up to now, I still don’t know if I got it right.
But once I had sent it, once I had said my piece, I threw my phone under the nearest cushion and dove for cover. Because quite frankly, if I she was going to send a reply right there and right then, I didn’t want to read it. Not there and not then. Not when I had just taken out my heart, placed it in a box and mailed it to her…again.
I needn’t have been worried. She didn’t reply right there and then. In fact, she didn’t reply at all. That doesn’t have me worried though. I know she’s thinking about what I said. And I don’t blame her. I did lay it on pretty thick.
I told her that I still love her. That it doesn’t matter how many girls I meet or hit on or flirt with, she’s the only girl I want. That if an when she’s ready, if circumstances allow and if she still feels something, I will be waiting…I will be there.
I meant every single word of it. And even though the mere thought of how much I care about her scares me half way to hell, at the same time its so exhilarating it hurts.
Do I know for certain if she’ll reciprocate? No, of course not. But to me she’s worth the effort. She worth the wait. She’s worth the a thousand pounds of angst and anxiety that almost always comes with a love as complicated as ours has turned out to be.
I love her. And I’m done looking for ways to distract myself in an attempt to forget or change that. I’m going to be patient and I’m going to put in the time. And that, I have just realized, is my next step
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Day 1: Get the Eff Outta Bed, Depression is Not at All Sexy
I erased every trace of her from my phone today. Numbers, texts, pictures, videos, songs…songs? Songs did you say? Yeah, you know, like the ones that remind me of her?
Even missed calls and dialled numbers…I got rid of it all. Its not the first time and the last time was absolute hell: I couldn’t eat, rarely left the house, even got a smidgen suicidal. Of course she never knew that. Never will. Not unless she reads this anyway. & before any of you get all slack in the jaw I think I should express that the suicidal thing was a culmination of things. The broken heart just the icing on the cake (Yeah, I know, the analogy sucks but you’ll get over it and I’m sure you get what I mean anyways).
This time, however, I don’t intend to let it get that far. I will not let my measure of self preservation prove to be more self destructive than self serving. Not this time. Because this time around my intention is not to completely crush her from my mind but merely to reduce on her playing time.
“But are such extremes really necessary?” You might ask. Well, I really couldn’t tell you. “My ass.” you might probably add. “You know they’re not. They didn’t work then. Why should they work now?”
One half an hour phone call later and I feel a little foolish. Maybe I was a little too hasty. Maybe I should have thought things out a little bit more. And I’m not only talking about carving her out of my phone. I’m also talking about what came before that. That dreaded text message. The one I sent her slightly drunk and highly susceptible. The one where I basically told her that I not only didn’t want her to come and see me but that I did not want to see her…ever.
That’s not what I meant but it is how it sounded. And once examined in the harsh glare of sobriety and headache inducing sunshine, I realised, “Oh, fuck. What did I juss do?” and so I told myself I would call her. Explain myself. That although I had not intended to say that, I had intended to tell her something like it. Or if not that then at least the rationale behind my thinking. And so I did. I told her that I had realised that during the course of our entire relationship, everything I had done had been to make her happy. To give her what she wanted. To make her feel comfortable. To put her at ease. Without any regard for what I wanted or what I felt or for what I needed. and that even now, with us clearly in the gutter (We’re calling it “keeping it casual”) I’m still doing it. And to tell you the truth, that wouldn’t be such a problem; trying to give her what she wants right now, which happens to be space with a capital “S”, if it wasn’t making me so fucking miserable.
I told her I just couldn’t do it anymore. That right now, what I needed was to care less about her and more about me. And you know what the best part about it was?she told me that she understood. And so although the conversation was not really half an hour but more like twenty-two minutes (but in this case, does eight minutes really make much of a difference?) by the end of it I felt placated and ready to take the next step. Now, if only I knew what that was…
Even missed calls and dialled numbers…I got rid of it all. Its not the first time and the last time was absolute hell: I couldn’t eat, rarely left the house, even got a smidgen suicidal. Of course she never knew that. Never will. Not unless she reads this anyway. & before any of you get all slack in the jaw I think I should express that the suicidal thing was a culmination of things. The broken heart just the icing on the cake (Yeah, I know, the analogy sucks but you’ll get over it and I’m sure you get what I mean anyways).
This time, however, I don’t intend to let it get that far. I will not let my measure of self preservation prove to be more self destructive than self serving. Not this time. Because this time around my intention is not to completely crush her from my mind but merely to reduce on her playing time.
“But are such extremes really necessary?” You might ask. Well, I really couldn’t tell you. “My ass.” you might probably add. “You know they’re not. They didn’t work then. Why should they work now?”
One half an hour phone call later and I feel a little foolish. Maybe I was a little too hasty. Maybe I should have thought things out a little bit more. And I’m not only talking about carving her out of my phone. I’m also talking about what came before that. That dreaded text message. The one I sent her slightly drunk and highly susceptible. The one where I basically told her that I not only didn’t want her to come and see me but that I did not want to see her…ever.
That’s not what I meant but it is how it sounded. And once examined in the harsh glare of sobriety and headache inducing sunshine, I realised, “Oh, fuck. What did I juss do?” and so I told myself I would call her. Explain myself. That although I had not intended to say that, I had intended to tell her something like it. Or if not that then at least the rationale behind my thinking. And so I did. I told her that I had realised that during the course of our entire relationship, everything I had done had been to make her happy. To give her what she wanted. To make her feel comfortable. To put her at ease. Without any regard for what I wanted or what I felt or for what I needed. and that even now, with us clearly in the gutter (We’re calling it “keeping it casual”) I’m still doing it. And to tell you the truth, that wouldn’t be such a problem; trying to give her what she wants right now, which happens to be space with a capital “S”, if it wasn’t making me so fucking miserable.
I told her I just couldn’t do it anymore. That right now, what I needed was to care less about her and more about me. And you know what the best part about it was?she told me that she understood. And so although the conversation was not really half an hour but more like twenty-two minutes (but in this case, does eight minutes really make much of a difference?) by the end of it I felt placated and ready to take the next step. Now, if only I knew what that was…
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