Those parties still make me sick. I’m not sure why I went; I guess it had something to do with a girl. That’s always it though, a girl. Girls this girls that. I thought I’d gotten burned enough times to see it coming from a mile away, but you’d be surprised what a smile that’s just genuine enough can do to you when you’re lonely.
That party was a week after I’d asked her to pony up and make a decision. Was it going to be me, or him? She’d left me a month beforehand for some political science student who got all As at a sub-standard state school. But he was a little taller than I was, and apparently he cared more.
And what could I do but sit there like a jackass and take it? So I didn’t. I asked her to figure out every damn thing and get back to me in a week. No conversations, no talking. It didn’t matter though, the previous Tuesday was my birthday and she apparently thought it was important enough to break our vow of silence.
So she came over and tried to pawn off her copy of the Wilco documentary as a birthday present. We sat in my messy living room and talked for a couple of hours. I told her what was on my mind and she didn’t tell me what was on hers, and at around two in the morning she left. The party was three days later.
When I arrived, I didn’t know that He was going to be there. But he was. All smiles. He high-fived me when I saw him. I’m not a violent person but I had to work hard to stifle the urge to sucker-punch him when his right hand went up in the air. It was hard, but I did it. Then I walked over to my friend to get something real to drink.
After the rum the night was a bit of a blur. I told her how much I cared (like an idiot), I told her how much I hurt (like an idiot), and I told her how much I wanted her back. The only thing I didn’t do was realize how little any of this mattered.
So I walked home, drunk and upset. I left a couple of messages on her phone. I was sucked in at this point, but I didn’t really mind. I thought I had a chance. I thought I could pull it off without screwing it up over and over again.
I guess I’m a little more human than I thought.
Of all types of stress, emotional stress is hardest to ignore. It eats you up inside no matter what you’re doing, and while it’s gaining momentum the only thing that feels right is to think about it just a little more. You can figure it out if you give it just a little more time. But that’s never the case, it’s just a cycle that takes you further and further into the psychosis. Before you know it, the world is bright and the only one losing is you.
Every couple of days you get jerked out of it. Something happens. The real world intervenes and suddenly things aren’t so bad. But they’re worse than when you started. So it feels better, but really it’s not; it’s worse. And this takes you into the next stage. And after enough stages, you feel like there’s not much left to do except run away. But you’re not sure what you’re running from, and it seems like you might want to run to and from the same person. So what do you do?
This is the point at which you should realize she’s not worth it. That there are plenty of girls in the sea who like music and movies, and who like to go on adventures and explore distant worlds. But that doesn’t occur to you. Nor will it, not for three more months.
So you do things. Let’s get some food. Let’s go shopping. Let’s go to the movies. Let’s go to concerts. Smiles can make a fool out of you when you’re so used to seeing a scowl in the mirror.
And that’s what does it. Smiles. Not kisses or hugs or anything else. It’s the smile that can take you from here to Europe. Yeah, I was prepared to buy tickets to Paris. 470 dollars a person for what seemed to me to be a perfect week or two at the end of the year. Paris in December.
Yeah, I’m worth it. Yeah, I found you that apartment. When you didn’t have enough money for the deposit, Yeah, I helped out. When you needed a laptop, I helped you get that. So what, you could take it down there and show him how cool it is? Does he even know I bought it for you?
And now, I haven’t talked to her in a week. She owes me $1700 and change, a pair of my pants, my hoodie, two shirts, my nokia phone plug and my ipod charger. You can have the champagne I got you for your new apartment that we never drank. You probably already had it with Him. It was 40 bucks, but who cares. Not you, and that’s what matters.
So now I have to figure out the details. I have concert tickets for five or six shows that I no longer have anyone to go to with. You have things stored at my house for your move. It’s “picking up stuff” time. So let’s get this over with and let ourselves lapse back into silence.
What I’m most worried about is if I’ve done any permanent damage to myself. I feel so consumed with whatever it is that I’m feeling that it’s difficult for me to be anything but. It’s almost as if I’ve given up on love and happiness and am settling for something less. I’m settling, which I promised myself I would never do.
In fact, it seems as if the only thing that draws me to love anymore is the off chance that, when this shithole does descend into complete chaos, I’ll have someone to laugh to the grave with me. And that’s not a very good reason to love someone.