Isn’t that always how it goes? It’s those very words that make me as guarded and closed-off as I am, immediately believing that anything going well has the ability to disappear as soon as someone recognizes it as being real or having potential.
I hate that I only write when I’m sad about things. Don’t get me wrong, it makes for a much more interesting read (no one asked you…), but it’s sort of depressing that something that I love to do so much is fueled so strongly by emotions that could keep me sleeping for a week at a time.
One thing I’ve always sort of known about myself but am getting more acquainted with as this year has progressed is the fact that I’m a very extreme girl. I love hard, and hurt harder. I never seem to have any days or moments in my life when things are reasonable. Either I’m over the moon because the stars seem to be aligning, or I’m under my covers because they’ve suddenly gone dark. Excited or miserable. The only thing in between is on my way up or on my way down, and all of the above, the happiest included, I always seem to have doubts.
And little miss positive has something to say. Why shouldn’t I have doubts? For someone who continuously puts herself out there, respectfully reserved in the beginning and pried open by this minute’s pretty face, genuine to a fault and receptive to advances, how is it possible that I’m left to this journal? How is it that I make it to a point where I have someone asking me to consider no one else, putting me up on this pedestal, making me start to believe that it’s even possible again after all of the nasty shit I’ve been through, and then as soon as I start to trust or even consider trusting, it’s all gone?
And the odd part is that I think I’ve gotten so much better at all of it. I’m conscious of not being “too” anything in the beginning. I am responsive, not initiative, and I don’t negotiate with terrorists. If I see a red flag, I don’t even give someone else the time of day. But what happened to me recently is I backed off of the whole idea of finding someone else. I just did my thing, and as the saying goes, it came to me when I least expected it. A little skeptical at first for so many reasons, but when you start interacting with someone who embodies endless amounts of qualities that you’d love in a partner and is able to communicate intellectually and with passion, what else is left but to think that perhaps it’s as good as it seems?
And it was for a little while – flattery, maturity, chemistry, and above all, the hope that this new beginning would be the end of a million more new useless beginnings. But then it became really clear to me that this was what I’m almost convinced all romantic interactions inevitably are: a distraction. For someone that was particularly down on himself about not being where he wanted to be in life was the perfect person to be attracted to me – someone who has been there, done that, and succeeded. I represented the end goal, and he used everything I could give him to make him feel better about all of the things he couldn’t give himself. Until he could. And then he did. And now he’s gone.
It’s really bizarre thinking about a person who, a week ago, was asking you not to love anyone else, when today you don’t even know who he is.
And I said, “constantly in the darkness, where’s that at?
If you want me, I’ll be in the bar”
The Four Eleven 