Ringing In The New Year.

I haven’t written in a while…wait, scratch that. Technically speaking, I have. By that I mean I have about half a dozen or so unfinished drafts that I have yet to actually publish and post up. These days, it’s as though I have chronic ADD. I’m always getting distracted by one thing or another. That, or I will write and write until I eventually realize that I have written half a book– none of which that is remotely related to my original focus or purpose, for writing said post in the first place. That having been said, hopefully I will find the time (in the not so distant future preferably) to go through them all and post. After I, of course, edit away all the run-on, jumbled, nonsensical, wackiness that are these thoughts of mine. 🙂 Now, so I don’t forget, happy belated Merry Christmas and New Years!! I hope that everyone’s holidays went as well as mine. 2011. Wow, where does all the time go? If I didn’t know any better, I would swear that there is a little time thief troll out there, you know? Sort of like when you’re doing laundry and every time you go to fold your clothes there is always a sock or two missing. I sometimes think that there is a little Sears & Roebuck man living in every dryer who either has seriously cold feet 24/7, or has a freakishly weird obsession with socks. Either way, it’s effin irritating. Haha just kidding. If you haven’t already guessed, I’m in one of my “seriously over-tired and thus my brain is pretty much a mushy concoction of irrationality and silliness” kind of moods. Um, yeahhh.

Anyhow, moving on. Speaking of time and new years and whatnot…2011. One more year has come and gone and here we are, in the early midst of a brand new one. To make my first post of the new year a little interesting, I have chosen a fitting focus I think. Resolutions. Now, normally I don’t bother with them, seeing that in my opinion, they are essentially pointless. More often than not, they end up being completely unimaginative and unoriginal. I mean, come on people. Lose weight, try something new, blah blah. BORING!! No offense to die-hard resolution-ers, but it’s true. It’s like taking the top ten popular ideas and putting them on dice in a magic 8 ball. Oh puhleeze. The worst ones are the repeat-offenders. You know, people who come up with the same resolutions year after year AFTER YEAR! This magic 8 ball is saying “seriously dude, give me a challenge. something that ACTUALLY has a relative chance of being accomplished, preferably BEFORE my lifetime warranty expires…”(Yikes, I definitely need a nap. LOL) I will admit however, that I am somewhat amused by some of the resolutions people come up with. I don’t mind if they are completely illogical or irrational or just downright ridiculous, as long as there’s a degree of creativity to them.

If there is one thing I have learned from 2010, it is that life isn’t serious. Rather, it shouldn’t be, I should say. Life is meant to be LIVED. Not to get all philosophical or psychological or whatever because, let’s face it, I think all that psycho-analyzing mumbo jumbo is bullshit. (Again, no offense, as that is merely my personal opinion/observation.) But I think that this society today tends to focus more on the serious than it does the not-so-serious. But then again, I allow that it’s difficult to do the latter when you take into account this cruel, harsh, war ridden world we live in. It’s sad really. Pathetic. More than anything, a waste. For a society that claims to be advanced and that has come so far, we really haven’t evolved much at all. Society-wise, we’re essentially still in the Stone Age, I think. I mean, look at the way things are. We are still at war with one another, figuratively and literally, always striving to “one-up” our opponent. Equality is a joke, but looks oh so pretty in ink on faded yellow paper behind impenetrable glass in some building in D.C. Reality, as defined by today’s society, is some trust fund Casanova going on TV to find “the one” deserving of some stupid rose. All the while, he is practically dating and doing godknowswhat with a dozen different hopefuls. Where is the lesson in that? That bigamy is wrong unless you’re on TV and the whole world is watching? Let’s not forget what, in all likelihood, will be the must-have occupation of the 21st Century…”Teen Mom.” By the way, the fans of that show seriously need to be slapped. Repeatedly. Along with all those unfit parents that could care less that their impressionable kids are being babysat by TV channels like MTV and VH1. I’m sorry if that seems a bit harsh, but it all disgusts me. Hell, there are times when I actually feel ashamed to be a member of society, let alone that I live in this country. I really am. I have to say, it’s all very disappointing.

Oops–sorry, I’m veering off topic YET again. Back to resolutions. Like I said, I normally don’t make any. This year I think I will give it somewhat of a shot. What the hell, right? As people like to say, If you can’t beat ’em, you might just as well join ’em. I’m going to tweak things a little bit though. Sort of skip the traditional-ishy type of resolutions. Then again, I’m not really sure if I would call it a resolution. Rather, it’s more like a promise to myself. A personal goal for the year, you could say.

I’m going to live. That’s my resolution for 2011. I’m going to let go, once and for all, move on, and start living my life again. Instead of standing still and holding on like I have been. 2010 was a rough year. It had its ups and downs. It’s good moments and bad ones. But it’s over. What’s done is done. The pages can’t be rewritten. I refuse to be the kind of person that lives in the past, bitter and broken. I want to move on. In doing that, I have to let go. Of all of it. By that, I mean all the things that have been holding me back, preventing me from moving on with my life. For starters, HIM. Yes, him.

I had a conversation with my aunt a few days ago, that really got me thinking about everything. I can’t remember what we were discussing specifically, but somehow the topic of him came up. An off-hand remark was made about him being the “love of my life.” For the first time, in all these months, I had to be completely honest with myself and simply face it. The truth. Which is what I did. I told my aunt the truth. That he wasn’t the love of my life. I did love him though. Without a doubt, he was my first love. Admittedly, it felt good to say it out loud. I haven’t wanted to, mainly because I was reluctant to hear the response I thought I would no doubt get. But her response was the exact opposite. For the first time, someone believed me and accepted what I had to say about him. She didn’t once say I told you so, or call me foolish for falling for him. Most importantly, she didn’t question the love I had for him. I’m not going to lie. It was definitely an unfamiliar, albeit very appreciated gesture. She just listened and understood.
It’s a funny thing, is it not? Age. Growing up. When you’re young and you look at the adults in your life, you think they couldn’t possibly understand what you’re feeling or going through. Even when they tell you they’ve been there, they’ve done that somehow it just felt like they were saying it to pacify you, to keep you from doing what they didn’t want you to do. But now that I’m older, I realize it wasn’t like that at all. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but maybe they were right. I know, wow. It’s a strange concept, but I think I’m starting to understand. To accept it.
I was sitting there having a “grown-up” conversation with my aunt, this person that probably changed some of my diapers when I was a baby and held my hand when I was little–and I couldn’t help but see her from a completely different perspective. I mean, sure she’s still my aunt and yeah, she did those things. But she’s also a woman, just as I. A woman who is wise and caring and understanding. A woman who has been there and back more times than I could probably count. She’s been where I have been. She’s been hurt and has had her heart broken. She’s been lied to and she has lied. She’s made mistakes and learned from them. She’s not perfect, nor is she a saint. She might have been my aunt first, but she is now also a friend. She is one of the few people in my family that I think, honestly gets me. Who understands. She listens but does not judge. I can talk to her about almost everything, and not have to worry about it getting back to anyone. She doesn’t lecture or tell me how to live my life. She essentially lets me, be me. Of course, it probably helps that we are so much alike. We are both stubborn and hard-headed and we don’t give a damn what we say or do or what people think. And no matter what, when push comes to shove, we will do anything and everything for the ones we love and care about. We can relate in a lot of ways. The most being that we have done a lot of wild and crazy things in the past.

I can’t tell you how much of a relief it is that I can talk to her about what’s going on in my life. Now especially. These days, I don’t really have a “support system”, or whatever it’s called. Not a great one, at least. Admittedly, the blame for that lies mostly with myself, but still. Specifically where as it concerns the subject of HIM. He is, what you might call a sore subject, between my family, my friends and I. Not surprising, my family pretty much has nothing but contempt for him. As far as they are concerned, he wrecked my life. Simply put, they hate him. The fact that they don’t know him, nor all that happened between him and I, means nothing to them. I learned a long time ago that there is no use in talking about him or anything that has even a remote connection to him, with them. I understand why they feel as they do, and that, albeit in their way, they are just trying to look out for me, but they fail to realize that their “way” only makes it worse. I don’t need a lecture. Or to hear “I told you this was going to happen” or all the names they have come up with to call him. And I don’t need to be told to “get over it” and “forget about the jerk.” THAT I definitely don’t need or want to hear. They make it sound so easy, you know Like I’m just supposed to forget that he was a part of my life for 15 months and that, foolish or not, I loved him. I can’t do that. While he might be a jerk and those things they call him, he meant something to me. The same goes for my friends. It’s true that he is the main reason why I pushed them away, and why I no longer talk to any of them, including my best and closest friends. I won’t deny that. If not for him and what happened, would things be different? Would I still have my friends and not have written them completely out of my life? Probably. But he DID exist and those things DID happen, and there is nothing I can do to change that. I can’t change the fact that I fell for him, even after they warned me not to. I can’t pretend that when he walked away it didn’t break my heart and turn my world upside-down, because it did. Because of him, my life will never again be the same. I will never be the same. So much has changed. Some for the better and yes, some for the worst. Do I miss having my friends in my life? More than you could possibly know. But how do I tell them that I’m not the girl they used to know. That the friendship we once had, we will never have again.

I wish I knew what I am supposed to do. Because right now, I don’t have a clue. What is right anymore? Do I finish what I started or forget it altogether? There are so many questions I ask myself. Should I have sent my best friend that message I sent her a month ago. Could one message be enough compensation for over 8 months of silence. Do I ask forgiveness when I cannot even forgive myself? Do I deserve it. Is it worth it? Do I even want it?

Do I hate him for taking everything, when I essentially gave him permission. Do I blame him for the emptiness that he left me with. A shell of a life. Scattered remnants of what might have been and what will never be. Do I hate him for what he said and all the hurt and pain he inflicted upon me. Do I resent him for walking into my life in the first place, when truth be told, he didn’t have the right. Do I blame him for putting me in a place where I basically had to choose. My friends or him. My dreams or him. Morality and self-respect or him. Do I convince myself and everyone I am over him, when in fact, my heart still hurts from missing him. Do I tell them I’m doing okay, even if I know that simply just isn’t true.

On the other hand, do I thank him for revealing to me the truth. For proving love is worth the risk, win or lose. Do I thank him for showing his true colors, even though that revelation shattered everything I had thought him to be. Do I thank him for the moments shared and memories, albeit most are now bittersweet. But more than anything, do I thank him for being the first to break my heart and walk away. As Shakespeare wrote, that is the question.

It’s been a year and a half since we parted ways. I have to admit, it all just seems so surreal, you know? 18 months have come and gone. That’s three months longer than we were even together. Wow. It’s definitely time to move on, I think. Past time, you might say. I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to get to this point, why I’ve been holding on for so long. At first, I guess you could say that I was mostly in denial. And you would be right. I didn’t want to accept it. To face reality. For months, I kept hoping that it wasn’t real. That it was just a nightmare and that I was going to wake up and everything would be okay. But it didn’t happen. And even when I faced reality and began to accept what would never be, I still couldn’t let go. Not completely. I’m not going to lie. I think a part of me was holding on to some hope that he’d come back. After all, he always had before. We had had fights in the past. Then again, I’m not sure if they could even be considered fights. They were more like little disagreements. To be honest, I would have preferred them to be fights. As crazy as that must sound, it’s the truth. He made me so mad sometimes. So mad that I just wanted to scream. To tell him that he was a selfish bastard to be doing what he was doing. To me, for starters. He knew. He knew all along. He had to have known, had to have seen that what he was doing was tearing me apart. The toll that all of it was taking on me. He had to have known that it nearly killed me each time he would have to leave, knowing that he was going home to her. After he left, the shame would come. It always came. There were times when I would feel so guilty, dirty even. I’d go home and stand in a hot shower and cry and scrub my skin clean until it was practically raw. He made me feel cheap, used. There were times when I would look in the mirror and literally feel sick. I loathed the person that I had become. I hated myself for what I was doing, for not having the willpower to say no and make it stop. Each time I would tell myself that I wouldn’t let it happen again. And every time, I would break that vow. I hated him for that. But I think I hated myself for it even more. I had a choice. I knew it was wrong, but I allowed it to happen anyway. I could have stopped it. I could have told him that he was a damn fool. That he didn’t have a clue of how lucky he truly was. And he was. He had everything. He had someone to go home to someone who loved him and whom he loved in return. He had a little girl that adored and needed him. He had a family, a life. He had it all. Only he was too damn stubborn to open his eyes and see that. Either that, or he simply just didn’t care. Whatever the reason may be for why he was doing what he did, they didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve it. Looking back, I wish I HAD given in and screamed at him. That we had fought. At least then there would have been some kind of feeling. Anything. He couldn’t even give me that. Instead of showing any emotion whatsoever, he would either change the subject entirely, or say nothing and then walk away. It was irritating, not to mention infuriating. There were moments when I swear, it was like dealing with a five-year- old. What was even more maddening was when he would ignore me for no reason at all. We wouldn’t talk for days. Sometimes weeks. After which things would eventually go right back to the way they were, as if nothing had happened. God, it drove me crazy. Him and his damn head games. Men. And they say that WE’RE the complicated ones? Talk about mixed signals.

I’m not going to lie. He really did a number on me. On my sanity. I never told him this, but it got to be so much at one point, that I ended up checking myself into the psych ward for a couple of days. Voluntarily this time. I wasn’t crazy or psychotic. I wasn’t homicidal or suicidal either. I did it because I needed to get away. From him. From the guilt. From everything. Everyone has a breaking point and well, I guess you could say that I had reached mine. As for why I didn’t tell him, I honestly didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had THAT much of a hold over me. Now, it doesn’t bother me either way.

Although as it turned out, I guess I was crazy because I ended up going right back for more. I knew it was an unhealthy situation. To use a metaphor, I was a junkie and he was my drug of choice. I guess then that begs the question of did I ask for it? Did I get what I deserved? Okay, make that two questions. But seriously, did I? In a way, I guess I did. Like the saying goes, you keep playing with fire, sooner or later you’re bound to get burned. And I did. More than once. I think I have paid the price though, for being so foolish. Sometimes, it doesn’t seem fair that my life is a mess because of all of it, while his has probably remained completely unaffected. Maybe I’m wrong, I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t get away as easy as I think. Maybe he had to pay some dues of his own. Maybe my assumption is incorrect and his life isn’t so perfect and neat after all. I guess we’ll never know, right? I know, I know. I probably shouldn’t give a damn, but a small part of me can’t help it. What can I say I’m curious. I wonder sometimes if he ever thinks about me. If he misses me, even a little, as I do him. My heart would love to believe that he does, but I think we can all safely assume that the heart isn’t all that reliable. That said, I have to be logical about this. Which means trusting my instincts and using my head? And my head is telling me to get real. To forget him, just as he no doubt has forgotten about me. Let’s face it, if he cared about me in the slightest, then he wouldn’t have done what he did and things wouldn’t be the way they are right now. In fact, this blog probably wouldn’t even exist. So yeah, I think that pretty much answers my question.

It answers several others as well. One example being whether or not I should hate him, or if I should thank him. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. 18 months, to be exact. I’ve decided to not hate him, despite the fact that I have more than enough reasons to. Like I said in the beginning of this post, I don’t want to bitter anymore. Life is too short to be spent living in regret. I know that now. I will never forget him or what he did. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.
Believe it or not, I honestly think he did me a favor. Maybe I’m crazy to say that, but it’s the truth. Had I never met him, I wouldn’t be where I am or WHO I am today. Despite everything that happened, and all the hurt and the pain and the hell I’ve gone through to get to this point, I like the life I have now. It is by no means perfect or great, but I’m okay with that. I really am. Moreover, I like the person I have become. I’ve learned so much from this. From him. I may not have it all figured out, but I am a lot closer to doing that now than I was 18 months ago. That I do know.

I have to admit, this is all new to me. Unfamiliar and unchartered territory, you might say. For the first time in a really long time, I’m not worried about what has happened in the past. Or scared of what lies ahead. For that matter, I’m not even embarrassed to say that my life is a mess. I don’t think I would want it any other way, to tell you the truth. Maybe I’m crazy and screwed up and all over the place, but that’s me. I’ve come to the realization that it works for me. That I thrive on chaos and dysfunction. I’m impulsive and reckless. I have a knack for finding trouble and getting myself into crazy messes and sticky situations. I speak before I think.

I’m irrational and incorrigible and I absolutely refuse to conform to society’s set of standards in regards to how I should behave and live my life. I take risks and do things that I know I probably shouldn’t. But that’s me. It’s who I am. I make no apologies for my actions, nor do I feel the need to justify my reasoning behind them. I will do what I want, right or wrong, like it or not. I will sit through hours of lecture on the risk and the danger and utter idiocy of jumping out of a perfectly good plane for a five minute thrill. But chances are, I will do it nonetheless. And god forbid things go wrong, I think I will hit the ground with a scared smile and not the least bit of regret. Mum yeah. Nice.

I may not change the world, but I’d at least like to say that I tried. I am who I am. To some extent, I guess I have him to thank for that. I don’t know what the future holds. But then, none of us do. I could die tomorrow or 50 years from now. Either way, at least I can say that I have lived a little. He may have taken so much, but it’s what he gave me, what I learned from it all, that counts the most. He taught me about love, unrequited or not. That it can be both heaven and hell all at once. They say that the first love is usually the hardest. Some say it’s the worst. Others, the best. Call me indecisive, but I agree with all three. He made me smile and he made me cry. He was the first to break my heart. For which I am, believe it or not, grateful. It had to happen eventually, right? At least that’s one item I can now cross off of life’s checklist. I’m crazy for saying this, but in a way, I’m glad he was my first love and not someone else. He might be all those things that people have called him and probably a few more, but I have to believe, naive though it might be, that somewhere in all those things is also a sweet and decent guy.

Not to sound overly dramatic, but in the first few months, it almost felt as if my life was over. Well, that’s a little too much, but yeah. There were other issues to factor in as well, but that’s not really my point. I guess what I’m trying to say is that at the time, I think I was too caught up in being crushed and heartbroken and hurt of course, to see his departure and actions as anything but a cruel, cold, and deliberate betrayal. Now that the tears have dried and the hurt has, for the most part, dissipated, I can see things a little more clearly. Ironically, he did me a favor. Both of us, really. He didn’t love me and never would. And me–well, I think I might have loved him a little too much. To let things continue like they were, wouldn’t have been fair to either one of us. I realize that now.

I learned so much. Probably more than I’m aware of, as of yet. I learned that love isn’t always fair. Or just. That you can’t make someone love you when they don’t. I learned that sometimes loving someone means letting them go. He also taught me one of life’s hardest lessons, I think, which is that love doesn’t come with a morality gauge, so to speak. You can love someone, heart and soul, even when it’s wrong. It may not make sense to anyone but me, but in a way, he set me free. In the figurative sense, he gave me back my life. Yeah, it’s crazy. But true. He made me realize something whose intrinsic value cannot be measured. Which is that I don’t need him, or anyone else for that matter, to be happy? To feel whole.

So, to sort of wrap things up, I just want to reiterate what I said to my aunt. He wasn’t the love of my life. Not really. At least, I don’t think he was. That’s not to say that I won’t love him for the rest of my life because I’m fairly certain that I will. I never put much credence into “the first love never really dies” concept. That is, until now. That being said, I don’t think you can put a numerical limit on love. By that, I simply mean that I think it’s possible to fall in love more than once, and love more than one person in an individual’s lifetime. I think that is one of the major misconceptions with society today. People put far too much store in fairytale notions of love and happily-ever-afters than they should. They spend too much time searching for “the one” and some elusive illusion of the perfect “soul mate.” To be honest, I blame Walt Disney. Foolish,
hopeless romantic that he was. 🙂

But seriously. Why do we buy into it? Any of it? We are supposed to be rational creatures and yet, the majority of the time we seem to be, in fact, irrational. Or at least that’s how I see it. Who knows, maybe I’m wrong. I just think that people need to live in the moment more often than they do. That they need to stop searching, stand still, and just let things happen on their own. That’s how life should be. The way, I think, life is meant to be. But then again, that’s just me. As for HIM–well, he will always be my first love. I doubt however, that he will be my last. Or my “only”. Knowing me, I’m pretty sure that I will get my heart broken, stomped on, and bruised a few more times in my life. Who knows, I just might break one or two of my own. I have come to realize that that is the beauty of life. You just never know.

Okay, so that’s enough for this first post of the new year I think. Sorry if I bounced around a little in the process. :). Solo here’s to 2011. To new beginnings and letting go of ones of old. To lessons learned, dues paid in full, and bridges burned. To words unspoken and impulsive letters written. To secrets unrevealed and subtle truths encrypted. To sacrifices made, albeit not in vain. To past love, love to come, and the innocent one I gave away. To all the yesterdays, the here and knows, and tomorrows that have yet to come. Here’s to the hope that this year turns out better than the rest. (sing song-y yeah each.) Happy New Year!!!! 🙂

…now for some much needed down-time… Nighty night. 🙂



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