Keep trying

I miss him! Months since my last post and my tune is still the same.

I always miss him. He was my best friend. He was my good feeling. He made everything better.

I texted him today. Just a hi. Nothing crazy. Not that I missed him. Or that I was thinking about him. Just a hi.

Do I expect a response? Not really. It would be nice.

I hate not having him in my world. It’s like this void that I try to ignore all the time.

But sometimes…. something catches… the thought of his amazing smile… and it’s like everything around me stops. And I have to stop. Catch myself.

I wonder if he misses me where ever he is. If he thought about me. If there are times where he experiences the same catch in his world. If he’s standing at the edge of a rooftop bar in Venice Beach, looks out at the ocean, and wonders about me too.

I loved him. I know that. Why didn’t I just tell him that?

I miss him all the time. So occassionally I text him. Because I can’t give up. He means way too much.

I have way too many “he”‘s and “him”‘s in my posts. But here’s the deal. This one here in this one. The he in Cali. He is the only he that really matters.

The rest are past that I sometimes need to come here and talk about to air out hurt.

The guy in Cali is the only one who matters to me. If only he knew…

And the truth is…

I miss you! I miss you all the time!
My life just hasn’t been the same since you left. You made me feel so sincerely and ridulciously happy all the time.

He may be my ghost, but you… you are the person that I miss so much that it hurts. I wish you’d haunt me!! I wish your voice was still in my head because it made me better.

I wish I could have leapt across the country to be with you. It was so what I wanted to do more than anything. To drink wine in our pajamas. And Cali was my dream. You would have been this amazing bonus.

I was a coward. I was afraid of failing. And I was afraid that you found me far more flawless and appealing from 3000 miles away.

The moment you saw a flaw in me, you disappeared. So maybe my fear wasn’t so unfounded.

It wasn’t all you though. I was scared. It didn’t know what I would do if you weren’t there anymore.

I miss you. So much that it hurts. And my life just hasn’t been the same without you.

One olive branch at a time…

I miss him. So much sometimes. He was my best friend. He was there during this time where I had no one else to talk to honestly. He made me smile and laugh. Even from miles away.

So yea! I miss him!!

And every once in a while, I send him a text. Saying hi. Sometimes I say I miss him.

And sometimes I get no response. Great. Awesome. He hates my guts and doesn’t plan on acknowledging me.

But sometimes he responds. And even if the responses are somewhat frosty, at least… he responded.

And I keep trying.

I remember

I sat next to his hospital bed, holding his hand in mine. Looking it over and thinking about bringing him hand lotion the next day. I could help his dry hands heal at least.

“I want to invent something.” He said.

Squeezing his hand, I ask, “What would you invent?”

“I don’t know. Something. Something that would take care of you for the rest of your life.”

I smile and look from his hand to him. “Oh yea? What about you?”

He smiles at me. “Something to take care of us for the rest of our lives.”

When you start to question…..

I’m not the most forgiving person in the world. (understatement.)

Something said in such a subtle way can catch in my brain and replay for days.

And they start to sound like pot shots.

Not everyone is my friend.

I know this.

As cheerful and friendly I try to be to get along with people, just because I get along with someone doesn’t make them my friend.

I’m not the most forgiving person in the world. I never forget anything.

Looking back…

I remember sitting in that shrink’s office 4 years ago. Looking at the ceiling and the walls. Holding a box of tissues between my hands. I had been crying for weeks. Not eating and crying.

He had asked me what I wanted to talk about. And all I could think was, ‘Where do I start?’

Do I talk about the accident? Or do I go back further? Do I talk about…. everything?

I went into necessary amounts of detail because I’ve been trained that everyone is on a need to know bases. And at the end of that session, I was handed a journal. The idea of the journal was to write everything I was feeling, thinking, and seeing down. So that it wouldn’t dwell in me. That by putting all that somewhere, I’d be ok.

The journal turned into this blog. And it took me a year after seeing that shrink to really start to write things down about my feelings towards the accident, the boy, and…. well, everything! Because he put me through hell. All that had to go somewhere.

I think about that journal and I think about how that was suppose to help me. In a way, coming here and airing out the memories and what I’m feeling now… it does help. It doesn’t entirely fix me. But it helps.

What happened… everything that happened… I can’t just get over that. It’s not something you simply get over.

But I learn to live with it every day.

And I try not to get frightened of every guy that seems interesting enough to get to know.

I do get frightened. But I TRY not to.

Siren

I just needed to talk to him today. Even if it was bad and disruptive, I needed him today. I couldn’t help myself.

I wish things were different sometimes.

I think about how he rescued the letter from Housing. How he said he found there on a desk. And when he put it in hands, I remember staring at it, feeling relief, and holding it to my chest… as he explained to me that he had found it.

How did it stray so far from it’s intended course of me?

I can’t help but wonder that the reason he ran was because he felt threatened by the boy in the letter.

And was he really falling for me?

And was he so daft that he couldn’t see that I was falling for him. And that the boy in the letter should have felt threatened by him.

Gwen Stacy

My favorite comic book hero is Spiderman. Always has been.

But now that I’m older and wiser, I know why I love him.
Spiderman, he’s been through some shit. I mean, serious shit.

He loses his parents, his uncle, and his first love.

And somehow, with all that loss and pain, he is Spiderman.

 

I get it now.

“Or… you could just be who you are. Why can’t that be good enough?”

So my fear at this point is that I will never get over the hurt he caused me. That this will stay with me and effect every relationship I try to have. God! It already has with, at least, one! Nevermind any underlining effects it’s had on the others.

I will like a guy and be interested in him, even go hang out with him. But there is something that just makes me suddenly scared and take five steps back. The idea of letting someone in is so frightening to me now.

I never used to be like this. I never used to be scared of meeting guys.

I want to get over that. So badly!! Because I’ve met some pretty awesome guys so far and I’d like to give one of them a shot! (That is if they are willing to give me a shot.)

And I don’t want to be somewhere with the new guy I love and see *that* guy and feel the urge to kick him over. New love should trump all the pain and hurt. I’m worried I’m not there yet.

But I haven’t found new love yet. So my fears could be completely unfounded.

So why am I taking five steps back every time?

I would like to find a guy who is kinda dorky like me. Who is funny and keep up with me in conversation. Someone who is smart and passionate about something.

I always thought that I would like someone who could code like me, so that I had someone who understood what I go through on a day to day bases. But maybe that doesn’t need to be the case.

Someone who is nice to their family and friends. Someone who likes animals, so I can trust him around mine.

Someone who would be nice to me and look out for me, even though I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. 😉

Someone who won’t try to change me and support me in my decisions.

Someone who is an amazing kisser and know what he is doing because I probably don’t.

I guess that’s my wishlist of what I’m looking for. Let’s see if this guy stands up to these standards. And hopefully I won’t take five steps back like an idiot if he does.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

The hardest part of a fall is getting back up again.
God knows that if you’d had a significant fall, all you want to do it sit on the ground and never ever experience that again.

I’ve been sitting on the ground for 3 years it feels like. I tell myself that I’m trying. I tell my friends and family that I’m trying.

But am I really?

 

After we had broken up (over 9 months after the accident), he would be like a ghost.

Late at night, when I’d get into my car, I’d look in the rear view mirror and think that I see him sitting in my back seat. Looking at me.

Of course, I’d turn around and look. Nothing would be there. Or I’d close my eyes and look again.
He’s alive and somewhat well (that douche). As well as can be expected probably.

But still… he was my ghost.

And I’d see him in everything…

Every book. Every song. Every movie. In a crowd. And apparently in the back seat of my car.

How strange is it to be haunted by someone that is still alive?

 

I was with him 2 years shy of a decade, so it wasn’t hard for our songs to always be around somehow. Or for something to remind me of him. So much of him was a part of me. I’d like to think that I was that much a part of him too.

Maybe he was seeing my ghost.

 

(But whatever! He’s a douche.)

 

As time progressed, it wouldn’t happen as much. I wouldn’t hear him in a song. Or see him in a book.

I don’t always see him in my rear view mirror anymore.

 

When I see someone else have a great fall, god I feel bad. Immediately.

Because I, of all people, understand how hard it is to recover. To get up.
But I guess the ghost in the rear view mirror stops appearing so much after a while. While there are the occasionally days where the idea of this loss is crushing, those days become much fewer and far between.

 

 

Am I really trying to get up though…? 3 years later…

That’s a story for another night, I guess.