*****************Update 8/29/2015**************
One week to the day since I wrote this. It's funny, how time works. How pieces fall into place, how images that were once so out of focus take their form, words that were so foreign suddenly make sense. Not all of it- not by a long shot; enough of it though, so that I am able to finally pick myself up, brush myself off, turn around and walk away with my chin held high.
I figured out the word I had been searching for as to what happened to me. Such a simple word really, yet so encompassing as to how I felt- that made me react the way I reacted to you.... "Overwhelmed." Completely overwhelmed, if I want to be specific. Utterly and completely overwhelmed by feelings and desires that I didn't think I would ever allow myself to feel again- that hit so hard and so fast that I couldn't fathom what was happening to me. Circumstances being what they were with us, I did the only thing that made sense to me, and the only thing I know how to do really well. I ran. And you know what else I realized? You let me. You 100% let me without a single argumentative word against it. Not one shred of you tried to stop it. Not one ounce of you did anything to try and keep me from running away, even though I know you knew what I was doing. Do I fault you for it? Not entirely. I was a mess, and I've never really told you my story. Why would you want to deal with that when you could just go find someone else?
It is and was painfully obvious that you were not at all as invested emotionally in me as I was in you. Not at all. You have your reasons, I know, but I had held out hope that , like me, something of those walls had cracked and fallen, and that some emotion of the same caliber as mine had slipped through. Again back to that stupid, filthy word - Hope. How I cling to it and its empty promises. How I loathe it.
However, I've come to realize that what I'm clinging to now is ridiculous and even worse than what I had run from in the first place. Hoping that you would want to talk to me, to see me, to hold me, to fuck me... It would never be as it was, and what I thought it was never really was to begin with. It was illusion. And it would definitely never be anything more. It is a dead end that would lead to nowhere, because regardless of the words that come out of your mouth, your heart was never in it. Perhaps it was in the beginning and perhaps it once again is my fault that it left, but however the reasoning- it wasn't there. Why would I want to allow myself to be involved in something so completely one-sided that would only tear me apart even more than I already am? I need to salvage whatever heart and (I hate to say it) hope is left within this broken mind and soul of mine and try and protect it, and maybe even eventually rebuild it- not shatter it until there is absolutely nothing left but the darkness that is within me. It is so very dark.
So though it still hurts, it is a hurt I will recover from. My flesh has been torn and I've lost a lot of blood, but the blood congeals and scabs over. Eventually the scabs will fall off. The scars will remain. They will remind me of my fallacies and to be more careful in the future. The Phoenix has arisen once more.
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Original Post 8/22/2015:
Why can't I stop thinking about you? Why - the fuck- can't I stop thinking about you? Seriously, you are the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning, and the last thing I dwell upon before finally falling asleep at night. Still.
I thought this would have been plenty of time to have gotten over all of this by now. I should have moved on by now. I should have gotten past this bullshit part. I haven't even known you long enough for it to have affected me this much for this long. Yet, here we are. Well, here I am.
It might be one thing if it was just the sex I kept thinking about. That would at least make sense. Believe me, there's a lot I think of in that area.. However that's not where my thoughts tend to dwell. It's the little things I miss. The small moments and memories about you that my mind focuses on that I keep going back to over and over again. The way you would drum on my arm or leg; how animated you can get when talking about music or movies; that night we were laying in bed and you caught a case of the giggles and couldn't stop laughing for like ten minutes; the way I could see you struggle not to lecture me on my eating habits; spending the day perusing books at the second hand stores; just sitting on the couch watching goofy YouTube videos; your eyes just looking at me or the feel of your hand in mine or on my leg; and now sitting on the swings and you quietly asking me if I was okay.
When you came over last week all I wanted to do was jump on you, wrap myself around you, and not let go. Instead, I spent most of the time half-focused on how I was holding myself, what I was saying, where I was sitting, etc.. I had promised you that it would be a strictly platonic visit, and I didn't want to do anything that might give the impression that I had called you over with intentions to try and weasel my way back into your arms. Gods, how I would have loved to ... but I had made a promise and I was determined to keep it. So, I made sure to try and keep my body language neutral, to not sit in ways that might expose me, and I just about panicked when you sat on the couch, and cleared off the chair so I could sit away from you. During our little walk I was very much aware of the proximity of your arm next to mine. You know I love your arms. (I think of them often, too...) I wound up talking of things I shouldn't have, and then felt awkward about it. I tried to stop, but I think you had caught the bitterness of it all in my voice and tried to spin a positive on it for me.
I hate that I feel this way. I hate that I can't stop thinking about you. I hate that I know it's not even remotely the same for you. It makes me hate you so much sometimes. Of course it's not you I hate but the whole fucked up situation and myself for screwing it up so badly. It makes me so angry, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it anymore.
Sometimes I want to reach out and tell you. What would really be the point though? What difference would it make? Most likely nothing other than making me feel more like a pathetic idiot. It won't change anything. It won't put things back the way they were. It won't bring you back to me. So I'll throw it out onto the internet instead. Let's make my humiliation completely public. It's okay. I don't plan on posting this one to Facebook, so the chances of people reading it are pretty few, and the chance that it will be you is pretty impossible, so I'm not worried about it.
I'm just pissed. And hurting. And I want it to go away and it's not and I really don't know what the fuck to do about that anymore. It's not even getting better. So, I reside in limbo until something changes. And I seethe. And I hope. I hate that dirty little four letter word. It's almost as bad and filthy and mythological as that "L" word.
