After a day or so of not being in the worst of moods, it makes sense that it would all crash down. Make me pay. However, maybe (maybe), it’s a step in the direction I need or am supposed to take. Even though there is nothing I’d rather do less.
I was reading Ricky Martin’s biography, ‘Me.’ (By the way, I know which things are supposed to be underlined and such, but I can’t the blog to publish it for some reason—computer illiterance [new word], not grammatical.) It’s taking me forever to get through. I don’t like reading biographies. By their very nature, they are self-absorbed, which gets on my nerves. I’m the only one in the world that’s allowed to be self-absorbed, remember? If other people are thinking about themselves, then they aren’t thinking about me, and that’s really not okay. This follow passage from page 82, triggered having to admit to myself something that I’ve been shoving, intentionally, from my consciousness for months and months:
“I learned that it is very easy to lose yourself in the pain. Pain comes, it seduces you, it plays with you, and you identify with it to the point that you start to believe this is how life is. When you feel that heaviness in your heart, most of the time the parameters of pain and relief become blurry, and it is very east to stay stuck in what you already know, pain. We lose our memory and forget the peaceful moments when everything was light and gravity was an ally. It’s okay to feel hurt—it’s human. It’s important to feel, but you cannot cling to sadness, distress, or bitterness for too long, because they will inevitably destroy you.”
How long have I been saying I feel destroy (though not in that exact word)? Sadly, he doesn’t say how he coped with that or give advice beyond that you have to fight. I love you, Ricky, but I really need a little more advice than that. I’ve been fighting. I’m exhausted from fighting. I ready to stop fighting.
Somehow, this triggered what I’ve been dreading saying out loud. I’ve never even said it to myself out loud, just pushed it from my mind when it comes up. I have to meet with HWMNBN and have a conversation. Not fully sure what all needs to be said, but I need to face him before I run into him somewhere else. I need to face him so that the terror I have of seeing him elsewhere doesn’t continue to suffocate me. At some point, I have to go places where he might be. And I don’t want to do that randomly and have it happen by surprise before I’ve clarified a couple things first.
There, I admit that I have to do this. While I hate knowing things I have to do and not simply doing them that instant (I want to get it done with, don’t want to dread it any longer), I also know I’m not ready yet. I need to be a little more stable to so, I don’t want to meet with him and be a blabbering, sobbing idiot. I need to see him when I feel stronger, when I can have my walls up against him somewhat, and where I don’t feel like a pile of shit in his presence. If it’s impossible to get there before seeing him, so be it, but I need to try before I bring that on myself. Maybe knowing it is probably coming will help me get ready to face it.
A couple hours after admitting this to myself, I got a text from the first man I loved (not the fucking asshole who was my first boyfriend, but the first man I loved, the second boyfriend)—the one who kissed me this summer, that rather magical night on his sidewalk with crickets singing, blah, blah, blah—the one who told me it was a mistake the next day and that he can’t be in a relationship. Yeah, that one. He texted me to ask if I knew a certain guy (which turned out to be this gorgeous guy who stood me up about a month ago), and if I had any thoughts on if he was ok or not, that they’d been flirting, blah, blah, blah. He’s asked me about guys in the past, and it wasn’t a big deal, but that was when HWMNBN and I were together, and before our last interaction this summer. Typically, I would have just answered and been nice. He picked the wrong day. I let him know that I knew that he wasn’t trying to be mean, but that it hurts me now when he asks me about other men—that I’m rather tired of being reminded that I’m not good enough for the two men I’ve loved. While, my love for him is nothing compared to HWMNBN, part of me will always love him. He responded very nicely, apologized and said he would never ask me such things again. That he wasn’t thinking. Great, glad our kiss, that night, and that my feelings are so forgettable. However, while I was glad I said what I did, it was one more twist of the already throbbing wound with the knife imbedded.
The final cut came on the way home as I listened to the radio. They were talking about the court case that was ended yesterday, where the father of marine was suing the Westbro Baptist Chruch, or something to that effect. It was determined that their actions as his son’s funeral (he died in service) are protected under our constitutional rights. While I actually agree that they are (although, if their words were racists in effect, I would bet the court would have decided differently). They played a clip of the woman signing at the funeral. “Brokeback Mountain made God angry; soldiers died and when to Hell.” (Not one ounce of that is God, and I know that.) It crushed what was left of my spirit that was actually functioning at that moment.
Black Coffee Tables
1 year ago