Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The things I wish I could tell you.

1. I was only twenty-five. I had never lived with someone. I had never talked about marriage and meant that it was actually a serious possibility, that I was ready for a step like that. I had never dealt with someone sacrificing so much for me, for the relationship. I had never been married. I had never been that committed. I hadn't learned the lessons that you had. I didn't have your perspective, your experience. I was young and invincible and opposed to listening to the wisdom of my elders, especially those whom I was in a serious relationship with. Yes, I was a pain in the ass. Yes, I was overly confident.

But I was twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven. I was a baby compared to you, both in age as well as life experiences. And you expected me to function at your level, with your history and your lessons learned.

2. I am not a bad person. I did the best that I could with the resources that I had.

3. I never wanted you to be unhappy. Even now, in the wake of everything that's happened, all I wish for you is happiness in life. Fulfillment. Confidence. Satisfaction, personally and professionally. I want you to find someone who makes you feel alive, who makes you feel the way you've dreamed of, the way you keep searching for in your relationships.

4. You are a good person. I want you to know that, too. I want you to know that I believe in you, the person inside of you, who is always willing to help when and where needed, always willing to put aside personal differences in order to do the right thing. I know you feel like that person is long gone, but I disagree.

5. I wish you would stop blaming everyone else. Even if you eventually acknowledge that you are, to some degree, also to blame, it's always too little, too late. The world is not out to get you. You are not perfect. You cannot escape blame. You do contribute to problems. I wish that I could make you see how much pain and heartache you might avoid if you just accepted this. "I'm sorry, but..." is not an apology. An apology does not place blame on the party to whom you are apologizing.

6. You made me laugh. Side-splitting, heart attack laughter - at myself, at you, at everyone. That's an amazing gift. Please hold onto it and use it liberally. Everyone needs a little bit of laughter.

7. You sweep your emotions under a rug. You say you've dealt with things, that you've moved past your low points in life, but I don't agree. There's no shame in needing help. There's no shame in admitting that things are more difficult to deal with than you'd originally anticipated.

8. You see the world in black and white. You expect everyone else to react in the same manner as you, to have the same emotions as you, to see things from the same perspective as you do. The world is written in shades of grey. You have to accept this. Things cannot always run according to your timeline, your ideals. You have to give and take.

9. If you don't understand why it breaks someone's heart to no longer have a dog, a particular dog, be part of their daily existence, then you will never understand human emotion. And if you do understand that, and you're lying when you say you don't, I ask why you'd lie about it.

10. You were my best friend. I trusted you like I've never trusted someone before. I felt unconditional love for you, and I felt that you loved me unconditionally in return. Even if it wasn't meant to last, thank you for that. It gives me faith I never thought I'd have.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Moments of clarity.

I've been trying to figure out why I have a small population of mosquitos in my new bedroom since I moved in on Saturday.

I've also been trying to figure out why the room won't frapping cool down when I know for a fact that a) the a/c is blowing cold air, and b) the room is not very big.

This morning, as I was getting ready for work, I happened to look at the top of the window.

Which had slid down, leaving 4-5 inches of space letting in said small population of mosquitos, and presumably keeping the a/c from effectively cooling the entire room (as opposed to the space directly around my head, which rests right under the window when I sleep).

Hopefully this means that shit will work better tonight.

Unfortunately, I doubt it's going to solve the problem of taking forever to fall asleep, and then waking up every 2 hours all night long. I am exhausted, I am heartbreakingly sad, and I just want my old life back. I miss him. I miss us. I wish it could be different.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

I moved, and then it sucked.

Title pretty much sums it up.

My heart is in pieces. My head hurts. My whole body aches. I keep bursting into tears at random moments.

I miss him so much.

They tell me this gets easier. I hope they're right.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Optimism never gets you anywhere.

The ex - "have you seen sex and the city 2 yet?"

Me - "um, no" (thinking hey, maybe he's trying not to be a dick and is going to offer to take me - oh, how stupid I can be...)

Him - "I won't say anything then"

Me - "Um, yeah, I haven't exactly had time to see it. Why, did you see it or something?"

Him - "oh yeah"

Me - "um, seriously?"

Him - "Yeah, with N (his "friend" who he met through another female "friend" via a certain business reviewing website, and chatted with both online frequently and discussed rather intimate details of our relationship with - just to set the stage here) - it was her dying wish as a New Yorker since she moves soon"

Me - silence

Him - "did i tell you she got mugged last week?"

Me - thinking that he is fully aware of the fact that we have barely spoken in 11 days - "uh. no." silence.

Him - looks at me like I'm an asshole

Me - doesn't fucking care.

I packed my first box tonight (well, I packed 9 in total, but whatever, we're talking about the first). It broke my heart all over again. I wrote a rent check for the new apartment tonight. First time I've written a check to someone else in nearly 2 years. It broke my heart some more.

Then, as a real slap in the face, as I was about to leave the apartment to get a bottle of wine so I could have a glass and a break to reward my packing efforts, I was literally greeted by a Census worker coming to survey us in person, so I got to explain all about the fact that yes, I lived here on April 1, but I'm about to move out.

I'm so done. So.Done.

Monday, May 24, 2010


I never want to forget the way that I felt when...

I stood at the front of a boat and stared up at a blanket of stars in the warm Austin night air, music playing, beer in my hand.

The rush of water around me as I sat in the creek at the Greenbelt at what is now known as Mystery's Hole in the late Sunday afternoon sun, dogs gamboling around me, new and old friends talking, and life stopping just for a moment.

The deep satisfaction that comes from manual labor - ripping out carpet, nails, staples, and drywall.

The pain of knocking your shin on a boat railing or stabbing your heel on a carpet tack, because blood and bruises remind me that I am out there and living.

Laughing so hard that I almost cry.

I've come undone.

Two years ago, nearly to the month, I was sitting on a barstool in Lefty's bar at the Austin airport. I'd left Austin two months earlier and moved to New York, and this had been my first visit back. I was about to board a plan bound for New York once again.

I had a glass of wine in front of me, my cell phone pressed to my ear, and tears streaming down my cheeks. I would have given anything to be able to run away from the barstool, the airport, and my return flight.

Subsequent visits became easier. I still loved and missed Austin, but the pull of staying lessened and eventually disappeared. New York, and my boyfriend, became my real life, and Austin became a once upon a time.

And then, two years later, life imploded.

I was single for the first time since I was 25. I was a month from turning 28. My relationship - my co-habitating relationship - was over, and I didn't know what to do. Something told me to go home. And so, dipping into savings, I booked a ticket.

Between that day and the day of my trip, I started to pick up the pieces. I found a new place to live. I went through Denial, Anger, Bargaining, and Acceptance on a daily basis. I tried to reassemble my life into some recognizable form.

Last Friday, I flew to Austin.

And now, two years later, I am sitting on that same barstool at Lefty's. I am a different person now. And once again, I am drinking a glass of white wine. My cell phone is not pressed to my ear, because I know that if it were, tears would be streaming down my face.

I want to stay Home.

In a few minutes, I'll board the plane bound for New York. I'll stare silently out of the window as my mind works furiously to generate fantasy after far-fetched fantasy of ways I'd get to stay in Austin forever.

Eventually, this feeling will start to fade. I refuse to ignore it, to bury it completely this time around.

It's time to start thinking about going home for good.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

All by myself.

Part of breaking off a live-in relationship is the phenomenon of learning to be alone again.

I was elite-level at being alone once upon a time. I lived by myself throughout college, and for the first three years after I graduated. I loved it. I loved not having to apologize for leaving the pasta pot in the sink for two days because work went crazy and I didn't have the time or energy to deal with washing a few dishes. I loved that I had 100% control over the remote. I loved that I never had to shut the bathroom door.

Then, I started a gradual descent into roommate-ville. First, it was in the true sense of a roommate - yes, there was another person present, but not someone with any sort of obligation to hang out with you. Then, suddenly, I was living with the person with whom I was in a relationship, and those obligations started to exist, and this bizarre built in social life, 90% of which took place at home, was born.

Right now, I am apartment/cat-sitting for friends of mine, which means that it's just me and 30 lbs of cat (there are two of them) in a one-bedroom apartment.

I have 400 square feet all to myself, and I'm not quite sure what to do with it. For the first 24 hours, I've been huddled on the couch, almost unsure what to do with the rest of the place - it's just more space than I've had all to myself in more than three years.

But I could totally get used to it, even if there is no way in hell I could ever afford it in this city.

It's me, a TV, a kitchen, and a couch. I'm not being literal, but those are the things that factor in to the majority of my time spent here.

And I love it. And I realize how much I've missed being independent, being my own person, relying on myself to create my life - not relying on someone else to be a built in, easy life.

And with that, I am going to clean up from working out, get dressed, and find something to do outside of this apartment, by myself. Because I think I can be great at that again.