So it’s official.
I’m superbly fucked up. Irreversibly and undeniably fucked up. But perhaps I should back up a bit. There is a story to tell.
0 Comments
Something is different about me now. Something has changed. Somebody else looks back at me in the mirror, and she is both a stranger and a sister. It is refreshing as hell.
I am sitting cross legged on the bathroom floor, feeling the cold tile against my backside. Key West unfurls, in all its Technicolor tropic splendor, somewhere beyond this lavish hotel suite but I do not notice. I am panicking.
I am taking a speech communications class at my college this summer, and today we were expected to share a personal story detailing some transformative moment of our lives.
If we were assigned any other topic, I would have been perfectly okay with this project. Talking about myself makes me want to jump off of a bridge. If we had been told to step before the class and share to the group as a whole, I would have been so much more comfortable. Sharing shit one on one also makes me want to jump off of a bridge. So naturally, the project called for us to share deeply personal issues with a single class mate as the rest of the class observed. Fun times! I just reentered the Land of Single Ladies and Relationship Rejects after some time in a rather shady relationship. I took the necessary time to heal, and reorient, and jumped straight into the fun part: looking around like a puppy in a world full of bacon. As is usually the case with me, my eyes would follow anything tall, dark haired, and breathing, and I have to say. There were some very decent looking guys running around my neck of the woods. (God bless whoever created the muscle shirt. Good gracious, these boys in the gym...) However, I quickly came to find that none of these new connections had any of that gooey, magical substance to them, the feeling that pulled me into the last guy. The conversations felt lackluster, and after about ten minutes of talking to Mr. Ripped Arms, I was actually bored. Let me show you something.
Take an egg in your hand. Its beautifully matte shell, which glistens slightly in sunlight, is not flawless but it feels perfectly smooth in your fingertips, like a palm-sized lopsided bubble. Now take the egg and throw it (with gusto) against a wall. You should now have a nice messy splat, perhaps with a few broken shards on the floor. This is very close to what my heart looked like post break up. As a result of this mess, my newly jaded Freudian ego has decided to take a vow of complete celibacy this summer. It seemed like the perfect solution to all my problems. Abstaining from dating would allow me to focus on reorienting, on reconnecting to who I was pre-ex boyfriend. It would give me an opportunity to learn more about myself, to release those inhibitions and finally do all the things I wanted to, like write music (like, with actual notes! And a staff!), or join a theatre troupe. And most importantly, being on my own would allow me the time necessary to heal. It has been a month. Boy was this a stupid idea. I’ve been two people for the last week.
One version of me (we’ll call her Ms. Logic) has been preparing to break up with my friend/ex-boyfriend with all of the intensity and attention to detail of a general preparing for war. The other (the slightly less intelligent, Ms. Sentimentality) has been brooding, and listening to 80’s love ballads on repeat. I knew it had to happen (please consult my other published works). He was more toxic to me than a radioactive sewer. But when the time finally came to say what needed to be said… I clammed. Twice. Damnit. It has been a bizarre, harrowing, and long semester. My life was hijacked by a geek in Skull Candy headphones at the term’s start, and on this, the last day of my first semester of college, I am taking a stand. I am taking my life back.
Tell me something.
Is it terribly wrong to fall for a guy who runs in your ex’s circle… less than a month after you broke up with said ex? ‘Cause from this side of an abusive relationship, I’m not really sure. I am at a crossroads.
At some point in your life, several points probably, you will face a situation that forces you to leave behind everything you know, everything that has ever held meaning to you. Or as Tracy Chapman put it, “We gotta make a decision. Leave tonight or live and die this way.” This is where I find myself tonight, looking down one well worn path paved with familial discord, hurt, and bad memories, and a second path, paved with the unknown. Both are dark, but one shines with at least a little brightness at the path’s end. Everything is pointing toward leaving my life and family behind me in the dust. |
Archives
August 2017
Categories |