Cobbler of Words: May 2012

Hey everyone! I hope ya'll missed me. Things have been crazy with school and such. So I wrote this post last night, kind of like a post- Madenning Young Love Monday. Hope you enjoy it, it's not the happiest post, but it's honest. One of the most honest writings I've done in a while.

The idea of falling in love frightens me, but at the same time, it is the one thing that I want the most. To fall in love is to give over to your heart, to give up all control and emotions, to just feel, to let your heart take control over everything.

It is this lack of control, the handing over of control that scares me the most. To just let go of everything. I fear not being able to think what I want. I have this notion that if I fall in love I lose my own thoughts, dreams, feelings, words. That I will no longer be “I” but “we” – not a singular pronoun, but a collective one. Will I lose my agency if I fall in love? How much of my “independence” will I lose?

They say that if it’s the right one then this doesn’t happen. They, another plural pronoun, this time including my mom. But this is what also frightens me about love. What if I fall in love with the wrong person?

My mom would say then it isn’t real love if it’s not the right person. And for years I lived off these words. Every time I was with a guy I thought I loved or even one that I just really wanted it to work out with, I’d tell myself, convince myself that he was the one, the right guy. But things would never work, and I’d always get my heart broken. Can you only fall in love once? And what if your “right guy” is different than what your family thinks? Or even society? Then what?

When I was with Brandon, I convinced myself, year after year, that he was the one. I told myself that it was meant to be because he brought me out of my depression, we had our story. And I felt instant happiness when I was with him. (But now I wonder if it was happiness or just attraction.) Year after year, fight after fight, tear after tear, I’d tell myself that it’s okay. We’re meant to be together. And I’d always take “you guys fight like a married couple” to heart, to me – then – it meant we’re supposed to be together, forever.

Then after five and a half years, he broke my heart for the last time. I’d like to say that he cheated on me, I found out, and broke up with him. But then I would be telling a lie. No, that’s not how it happened. The year before this we got into the worst fight of our then four and a half year relationship. He had gotten far too close to a girl at his internship, there were rumors. I didn’t believe these rumors, or maybe I did, but didn’t want to. I don’t remember. But I do remember that he kept this girl away from me, hidden. I had met his other friends- they were the ones to tell me of the rumors – but not her, not Julie. Even when I knew about her, he still tried to deny it or change the subject. And I should have ended it then, I almost wanted to. But I didn’t. I knew things were wrong and would never be right between us again, but I didn’t end it.

Instead, things ended a year later, after another discussion of Julie – yes, she came back – and another girl – this one yelled at him, “didn’t know he had a girlfriend”. (After five years, he didn’t talk about me? Didn’t even mention me?) I should have ended it then, too, but I didn’t. Even though it ripped my heart in half, I still convinced myself that we were meant to be. Instead he was the one to end things, the one to finally smash my heart into tiny shards. I had told him that he needed to choose between the single life and a life with me. He called me back five hours later, at 11 on a Tuesday night – almost Wednesday, his voice trembled. He repeated things he had said before, “I thought I loved you, but I don’t”, “I can’t keep doing this”, “You deserve better than me.” But it was the tremble, the silent tears that I knew were falling, that made me believe him this time. It was the added words that he didn’t say before: “I had tried to do this for a year now, but I couldn’t leave you alone”, “I love you, but I’m not in love with you”, “Go call your mom, friends, Iaisha, you’re going to need them now”, “Please, don’t call me, text me, anything. Don’t talk to my family or friends”. “I’m sorry, I really am sorry.” Those words made me believe him that time. It was the silence after he hung up, the silence that lasted for months that made me believe.

But even now, years later, as I write this, I remember that I didn’t’ believe. I would constantly tell myself, and others, that he would come back after the summer. He never did.

The alcohol not only numbed all the pain, tears, and feelings, but it numbed the truth, too. When I drank, I didn’t feel. In the morning, I’d drink until I didn’t feel anymore- until I could go to work and not cry all day. At night, I’d drink into non-existence. I’d drink until I no longer cried myself to sleep, but just slept. I’d drink until my body would give up.

I remember that people would try to reach out to me, my mom, friends, co-workers – they were the best, sent me home on my worst days, but still paid me – even my little brother, who hardly spoke to me before this, tried to reach out. But none of them ever told me that he wasn’t coming back, they just let me live in delusion. Or maybe they did and I don’t remember. Maybe the alcohol numbed memory too.

He never once told me that I was pretty, gorgeous, beautiful… but I still believed he was the one. Years and years of tears and heartache and I still believed. But why? I still don’t know. How could a guy that would fuck me so hard when he was drunk that my head banged against the wall, a guy that I cried while having sex with because I couldn’t please him, how could he be the one? And yet, I still believed.

Maybe it was all this – the alcohol, the depression, the heartbreak – that has kept me where I’m at now. I know I don’t want to go back to all that, I hold on so that I don’t have to.

Joel and I met on an online dating website right after the New Year – 2012 – began. We hit it off right from the start. Things – everything – just clicked, as they say. It seemed perfect. Except that he lived on the other side of the country – I was in Idaho, he was in New Jersey, and the three hour time difference made it difficult to talk a lot. But when we did talk, it was amazing. I felt like I never had before. Then a month into the “relationship”, his grandpa died and he spent a week in Texas – where he grew up and where his grandma lived. Once he got back home, things were “normal” again for about a week or two, then he got deployed for a month – he’s in the Air Force. But even then, we still talked every couple of days, so things were okay.

They then escalated to where we said I love you and you’re the one and we became facebook official – even though we weren’t “facebook friends”, the world knew I had a boyfriend out there, somewhere, who cared about me and loved me. But now, it’s been five and a half weeks since I’ve heard a single word from him. He doesn’t respond to any of my emails – not even the ones I sent to his military email that I found online. I worry. I worry a lot: about him, about us, about me, about having another Brandon depression. I don’t know what to do, but I tell myself it has to be. So now what? I feel my mind rebuilding the wall around my heart. But my heart is still trying to resist it. What is the right thing to do?

I also worry about the type of guy that I find myself naturally attracted to. Joel is nine years older than me. This is normal. Actually, if I think about it, the guys that I flirt with the easiest are usually older guys, and a lot of times married, sometimes with kids. But don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I seek out the married guys. A lot of times I don’t find this fact out until later. But is it wrong to have this attraction?

Society says yes. My mom would say yes. I constantly have to hold my mind back- Stop, I tell myself. He’s happily married, with kids; you don’t want to break that family up. Or he’s your professor, you can’t do this. You shouldn’t have these thoughts. Or do you know how old he is? He’s old enough to be your dad! But yet, I always have these thoughts.

This week I told myself that I will probably end up some “older, rich guy’s secretary and fall in love with him.” And maybe a part of me wants this to come true. A part of me wants this to happen. Is it wrong to have these thoughts, these dreams? Is it wrong to want this? And why, if it is? Why is it wrong?

Cobbler of Words

Friday, May 4, 2012

Favorite quotes of all time - or at least right now

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

A return to Cobbler of Words