Tag Archives: dan

metal heart

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you know that you are not alone, i need you like water in my lungs-
this is the end,
this is the end.

- brand new

there is something to be said for emotional resilience.

i am no longer speaking with dan. the more time i was spending with him, the less i liked him as a human being… the less patience i had for his indecencies; the discrepancy in his stories. there were holes in his truths, and deceit in his eyes.

why bother?

it made less and less sense to me- the sleepovers, the dinners, the low voices and quiet laughs over pints, and pints of beer in dimly lit bars no one would find us in. he took me to a grimy pub half a block from his new apartment, where the carpets were stained and the liquor was over-priced. our feet were tangled around the table legs beneath us and i questioned his motives.

he smiled, and my stomach turned.

our hands touched, and i felt nauseated.

i looked into his bloodshot eyes, and felt so fucking angry. with him, with myself, with fucking everything.

i’m good at severing ties- the fucking valedictorian of it even. i find it particularly easy to cut my losses if someone’s time is being wasted, or feelings are being toyed with. i only held onto this one because he told me he had no one else- that i was his family, his best friend, his everything. that if i turned my back on him too, he’d be left with nothing.

say what you will.

maybe he made me soft, pliable.

maybe.

whatever it was, it’s over now. i’ve washed my hands clean of all of it.

self worth

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human skin can be hard to live in

- seabear

 

i’ve been having a hard time.

don’t get me wrong- i’ve been having an incredible summer and a hell of a good time with my friends, and family… from mexican fiesta themed bachelorette parties, to family picnics by the waterfront, to barbecues and slumber parties, and more ladies’ nights and living room dance marathons than i can even count. i have the most amazing support system- the constant emails and phone calls from my mum & pops, the text messages from my brother, the goodness in my friends’ hearts and their willingness to give and to love and to be there for me… i can’t even wrap my head around it sometimes. a friend dropped in last night to give me oral numbing gel for my tooth ache because he knew my EI money hadn’t come in yet and he couldn’t stand the idea of me sitting around, doing nothing about the pain i was in.

that’s the kind of people i have in my life.

and i am so grateful for them, for this time off, for the strength i had in myself to finally make these changes in my life.

but i am still struggling.

sometimes i have to remind myself that i’ve come a long way. that i escaped a dangerous life with an awful man and survived his abuse and our lifestyle. without a penny in my pocket, or a chance in the world- i dusted myself off, and set off to build a new, healthy life. i got an excellent job with zero experience and no education, hopped from house to house until i found a safe place to call home- all while keeping my head above water. not a single person knew of my struggles because i wouldn’t show my scars. “i am strong, i am independent, i can do this”- this is how i got myself out of bed in the mornings. i was barely eighteen years old.

and i get it, you know.

i’m an easy target.

i’m young, i have fucked up one hell of a lot, i have put my family through torture and hell, i am covered in tattoos, i struggle with money, i have been pulled from my own bed- pulled from depression and drinking, and i’ve been told to fucking smarten up and be a real human being because this life business is HARD.

despite all of the bullshit, though… at least i could always say i was capable. i was capable of a good life, with healthy people, and a nice house, with good furniture. and i had a job.

jesus christ, i had a job!

a job i could keep, a job i was good at, a job that allowed me to fully furnish the houses i’d been hoping to and from. a job that allowed me to eat, and play, and be a real adult for the first time in fucking ever.

wait, adults say “in fucking ever”, right?

whatever.

i am not struggling with the time off, or the copious amount of naps i have been allowing myself to take in the middle of the afternoon, thank you very much.

i’m struggling with the lack of income, and what that has done to my independence.

i am no charity case. and although i love surprises and dates and all that fun stuff… i don’t like when people feel obligated to pay for me. i was perfectly capable of paying for my movies, or my food, or my antibiotics, or my mothers’ birthday presents. but when i can’t participate in menu items for a cottage weekend getaway, or i have to skip out on certain activities because my bank account is at -$7.32, and i have one toonie left in my wallet, and i’m wondering how the actual fuck i’m going to eat next week because i still don’t have a clue as to when EI will come in… that scares me.

and i’m brought back to a place where i don’t like being.

to the attic apartment of 148 breezehill avenue, where i am barely seventeen, and i haven’t eaten in weeks, and my junkie boyfriend is out on a binge, fucking the girls from the shop, and leaving me to fucking die. a place where i am sitting in the corner of the living room, under a wall of broken plaster, listening to ani difranco on repeat, trying to get the courage to finally call my mother and ask her to save me.

i know that isn’t the case, anymore. but the thought of not knowing, and starting from scratch again… it scares the living shit out of me.

as for these last few days… i have to laugh off the bullshit comments about being a punk rock warrior. i have to try not to be offended when people are shocked if i turn down an opportunity to drink when the cold, wet cans are staring me straight in the face. and i have to get over this whole idea that leaving my job was a bad move. i have to shrug off the comments about my relationship with dan going down the shitter…

but here’s the thing.

fuck everyone.

(adults can say that too, right?)

yeah, fuck ‘em.

i’m not sorry.

i’m not sorry i fucked up with m. i’m not sorry for a single tattoo on my body. i’m not sorry the drinking was a problem, for years. i’m not sorry my relationship with dan ended, and he had to move out, and i’m not sorry i was still fucking him after we broke up. i’m not sorry that i’ve had moments of weakness, of desperation, of chaos, or sadness. i’m not sorry for quitting my job. i’m not sorry for being fucking human.

here’s the thing with acceptance and self-worth.

i’m fucking horrible at it.

a good friend made a joke at my expense, and how did i deal with it? i came home, took off my tights, turned off the lights, blasted daniel johnston super loud, and fucking bawled my eyes out for an hour.

ADULT LIFE!

i’m not used to this. i’m not used to dependence or zero income, or feeling this helpless. it’s awful, and it’s fucking with my head, the way it fucked with my head then. the freedom was incredible, at first. i sat in the park, blowing bubbles, drinking beer from a coffee cup, watching my friends play street frisbee at midnight, dancing until 4 in the morning, going to the beach all day, having iced green tea in summer dresses at two in the afternoon at my favourite coffee shops, drinking mimosas with breakfast, stuffing my face with pretty people at restaurants’ soft openings, chatting all afternoon on the porch…it’s been so liberating.

and now i’m all, “fuck”.

because the money is gone, and so is the glamour, et all.

along with my confidence & independence.

and so now, i wait.

for money. for an epiphany. for a job opportunity that will blow my socks off.

—

post script:

i am no longer fucking my ex-boyfriend. he returned my glasses, and i gave him back his computer, and we haven’t spoken in days, and i am feeling free and happy and strong. i know now, more than ever, that i want a future- and it most certainly isn’t with him. am i mourning the loss of my best friend in the entire world? hell yes. will i get over it? totally.

on, and up.

 

my own worst enemy

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i was reading a post by one of my favourite bloggers earlier- a post about her lover’s birthday and the absolute luck she had in meeting and falling head over heels in love with such a wonderful man. a man who opened her heart after so much pain, a man who pushed her to be everything she could possibly be, a man who captivated everyone in the room the second he walked into it.

a man who shares the same name as m.

and i cried.

i can’t even hear his name, read about an amazing person with the same name as him without wanting to rip off my skin, tear my eyeballs out of my own face, and light my skeleton on fire.

it still makes me sick, it makes me ache to even think about him.

i’ve been having dreams. feverish dreams that he haunts, regularly. i see certain people, hear certain songs, and he is on my mind constantly. and it makes me so goddamn angry i can barely even function. i signed onto my facebook today, and his childhood friend sent me a friend request.

and my heart nearly jumped right out of my throat and i almost got sick to my own stomach.

how irrational is that, after years apart, years in hiding. it’s been almost two years since he’s even tried to contact me- save for that brief run-in on the street in the spring. and i am still filled with such rage, such resentment. i just want to erase him from the planet so i can learn to breathe again.

—

break ups are hard.

and after enduring (suffering) leaving m for the last time, i thought i’d never be capable of love again.

dan proved me wrong.

he proved me wrong when he kissed me, when he moved in with me, when we moved into our new home together. he proved me wrong every single time he looked at me, and my heart dropped to the tip of my toes. when rubbed my shoulder and told me he loved me if we ever argued. when he peered up from the sea of pillows in our bed to tell me he thought i was beautiful.

he proved me wrong when he left me- because he was scared of us, of our feelings, of the future.

he was scared he couldn’t be enough, he couldn’t fulfill his dreams, he couldn’t love me the way he wanted to love me.

he proved me wrong because when he told me he was leaving, i felt my heart rip open for the first time in years. it physically hurt my insides to think of a life without him. it broke my heart to think i’d never wake up to his messy hair, or his morning kisses, or the scent of his neck. nothing ever pieced together in my life the way his body did with mine.

he made me whole, again.

and when dan left, i needed to grow a pair and learn to be whole on my own if i ever wanted to be a real human being again.

that’s the hardest part.

because when you’re ex-boyfriend calls you to tell you he’s still in love with you, and you spend days together – watching movies, going for breakfast, drinking beer in bed together in your underwear- when you spend days doing that together, the way you did when you were living together, you’re bound to end up fucking.

you’re going to have a moment of weakness (or six), where you can’t help but rip each others’ clothes off, and hit the high notes, and have him touch you places no one else even has a clue how to because he’s  the only one who knows you well enough to know how to make you feel that kind of ecstasy. and when the moment(s) are over and you peel yourself off him, and recover from the shakes, you wonder how the hell you got here.

how you went from scream fits on the phone, and ignoring text messages, and telling him you’re busy when really you’re absolutely wasted in a different city in a room of handsome men, one of which is totally about to makeout with you. how you went from that strong, independent woman, to the one laying next to him, covered in his sweat, in his bed, in his new shitty apartment with no air conditioning, and six couches but no tv, and nothing in the dirty fridge but beer. how you swore you were only going over to check out his new place, and help hang a few pictures, and then he made you come so hard you could barely walk for three hours.

…

whatever.

and so we’re back here. going back & forth between hating each others’ guts, to telling each other we love each other so much it hurts, and then having sleepovers where we don’t even touch, but he’ll kiss me before he leaves.

he’ll always kiss me before he leaves.

and i want no part in it.

i want no part in feeling like this because i know his schedule, and when he’s closed up the kitchen and walked home, i don’t know who he’s with, or what he’s doing, or where he’s sleeping- and i can’t think about those things because they do NOT concern me anymore. or at least they won’t when i stop fucking him. because i need to stop that.

i want to close that chapter, and learn to be his friend again- i want to forget the way his lips feel on mine, or how awful it feels to wake up without his dumb snoring and long toe nails scratching my freshly shaved legs. i want to forget how comforting his voice is on the phone when i’m sick & bed-ridden. i need to find new ways to deal with panic attacks & anger issues that don’t involve him holding me and singing my favourite song while he runs his fingers up & down my arms until i’m calm enough to breathe, again.

i need to create those boundaries and draw those lines, because i’m feeling weak again… and i’m REALLY bad at losing these kinds of battles.

but you already knew that.

 

you’ve got your whole life to do these things

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this is the face of someone who is trying SUPER hard to fight off a virus that is totally trying to get all up in my biz-nass

last night, katie and i ate dinner in my bed and we gushed over matters of the heart. “i’m having feeeeeeeeelings” – this is what we say to each other when our hearts hurt but we don’t necessarily know how to articulate what the actual fuck we’re feeling.

so basically, always.

she’s been sick for two days and my face has been hurting in that weird sicky way your face would hurt if you were about to catch something. i went into a tea & narcotics coma early last night, trying to focus on the episode of animal planet i’d chosen. i feel pretty alright today, but it’s raining out and i have bootcamp tonight which likely means death.

i know i was on this huge happy kick (which i totally still am), except i’m feeling a little off these days. i think i’m just used to having someone around that i can care about and makeout with and text stupid things to. and i mean, i obviously have katie who is basically my new life partner, and dan still calls me every day for little chats and to make me laugh- which is wonderful and lovely and all that other cute and sappy shit, but alas.

i guess i’m lonely.

which is basically the dumbest thing i’ve ever said, and part of me wants to go right back up those few spaces and delete that sentence entirely, but ugh. i am constantly surounded by friends and family and humans who totally love me, and that has definitely been the key factor is dealing with breaking up with my best friend in the whole entire universe, but still.

one of the first nights me and dan had moved into our apartment together, we spent the whole night getting really drunk, listening to my subhumans records, and playing hockey in the apartment with our empty beer cans. things got sloppy and he shot a can right in my mouth and hurt my lip, but i just couldn’t stop laughing. we were rolling around on the floor, laughing so hard we were crying, and kissing between sentences.

that’s the best thing about young love- the laughing, the comfort. the fact that i probably had a fat lip and looked like a stupid idiot, and he could not, for the life of him, stop kissing me and telling me how much he loved me.

i constantly worry about the future. i worry about the same things when i’m expected to start over because i am so, so scared i’ll never know love again. when i left m for the last time- when the highs couldn’t ever possibly make up for the lows- my biggest fear when leaving him was that i’d never know that kind of unconditional love again. and of course i was naive, then- likely the way i’m being naive now, but that’s beside the point. i had spent four years loving a man who abused me, and despite the fear and the awful lifestyle i was living with this person- i was afraid i’d never be capable of opening my heart again.

… when i left m i was scared i’d never meet someone who would wash my hair for me in the shower, make me breakfast in bed, or paint my nails for me early sunday mornings- naked in bed. i was scared i’d never kiss someone and have my heart drop to the tip of my toes.

i was scared i’d never meet someone who would play beer hockey with me in our new apartment. someone who could make me laugh so hard i cry- instead of the opposite. i was scared i’d never be at ease with the feelings in my heart.

and of course that is fucking ridiculous because obviously i’m a lot softer than i let on…

but as much as i love being single, and independent, and strong- as much as i love relying on my own two hands to figure out how to use power tools, or change light bulbs i can’t reach, or cook dinner for two only to save the second half for the following night… as much as i love giving into crushes i’ve harboured for years, or spontaneously kissing handsome men in back rooms at crowded parties, or getting giddy over holding hands on a walk home in a foreign city at 4 in the morning- as much as those things bring out my youth and freedom, and all those other awesome things i shamelessly enjoy- there really is absolutely not one thing in the world that could even compare to how alive i feel when i wake up to the same person day after day. nothing could possibly compare to how it feels to share your life with someone.

it’s beautiful and it’s twisted and it’s fucked up to feel that kind of ecstatic desparation for someone, but it’s true- i once read somewhere that love is everything it’s cracked up to be… it really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for.

and i believe that now, more than ever.

i wasn’t so sure when i’d left m, and i certainly had my doubts when dan left me- but in loving dan, i proved to myself that i have more strength and peace in my heart that i never thought i’d get back. i had this ugly void- this big black hole in the red of my heart for so long. and it isn’t by filling that void with distractions that i healed – i never used dan as a bandage to cover old wounds. i loved him in new and stellar ways i didn’t even know i was capable of. i see the courage in that, now.

 i suppose this is what healing is.

this is progress

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sometimes i forget that i have feelings.

i was having such an easy time with moving forward, that when dan let some cocky remark slip from between his lips, i totally lost it. i ignored his incessant phone calls, and his constant text messages because i was angry for the first time in weeks. i deliberately did those things because i knew it was hurting him.

how awful?

who have i become, and what the fuck is my problem? granted, he deserved it, and i was right to give myself some much deserved space, but by the third day it was eating at my heart so badly, that i had to call him back.

break ups are hard.

and it’s not because i want to get back together with him (i really, truly don’t)- it’s just that i am having a hard time with this “best friends” business. because he is- really he is. i love him and i care about his happiness and success. but it’s hard when we can’t lay in my bed and talk about the people we’ve been fucking, or the crushes we’ve been having. isn’t that what best friends do? they lay in bed for hours, drinking wine out of the bottle- gushing about the silly things we let our hearts talk us into doing after recent heart ache.

i want to tell him about the silly night at the strip club, where a dancer named candy told me she loved me. i want to tell him about the tequila shots i took with my friends, and how i went home that night with a friend i’ve been close to for years- a friend who kept my up all night (and again in the morning). i want to tell him about the friend i’ve been crushing on since i was nineteen- the friend who kisses me with both hands on my face, who tells me i’m pretty. i want to tell him about the trips i’ve been taking out of town- trips where i’ve stayed up all night dancing in kitchens to justin timberlake with beautiful women, only to stumble home with one of the most handsome, soft-spoken men i’d ever met. i want to gush about how happy i’ve been since i had my heart broken- but it’s hard to do that when he was the one to break it.

i want to get excited when he asks to cook me dinner after work, and stay up all night watching our favourite tv shows together- but it’s hard to look forward to it when the last time we did that, we spent the majority of the time kissing between sentences, and tearing each others’ clothes off.

you see, i’m not sad that we can’t have that anymore- in fact a bigger part of me is relieved. i see everything so much more clearly now and i know we’re meant to be apart. i can feel it. it hurts to say it, but i really am happier without him as a partner. i just hate waiting for the comfort of telling my best friend everything. it’ll come in time, i’m sure. i just know my secrets will hurt him the way his would still hurt me.

in any case- i’m sure it seems like i’ve been acting like an idiot- and although i’ve been drinking more, and sleeping less, i promise i’m not up to the same old antics i was up to a year ago. i’ve been spending so much time with girlfriends- laying in the sun, and cooking up healthy food on the bbq. i’ve been taking small trips out of the city, and working out a few times a week. i’ve been listening to music constantly- dancing and singing; just enjoying being alive. i just can’t get enough of this weather, and how much i love my friends.

oh, and i almost forgot! i have a roommate!

one of my best friends moved into me & dan’s old bedroom. katie and i grew up drinking 40s of liquor in alleyways, going to punk shows, and staying up all night when we were barely thirteen! she’s one of my closest girlfriends- someone i have just about everything in common with including our taste in music (that NEVER happens?!). we’ve spent the last week together re-decorating, making up totally silly 90′s playlists and cleaning everything! she helped me finish my new bedroom, and she stocks my bar fridge with beer while i’m at work, and buys us shower gel to share (amazing?!)… we painted our toes the same colour and we sit around in our undies watching criminal minds pretty regularly. it’s been nothing short of spectacular, and she’s definitely made the transition extra easy. i’m so grateful for her.

she also helped me finish up my new bedroom- definitely my favourite bedroom of all!

here she is rebuilding my ikea shelf… with her face

and here is a sneak peak at the changes i made to the mancave- now my bedroom!

and here are the boys: moose the cat & finnegan… stoked on becoming brothers!

also, we were doing some organizing/decorating in the kitchen when we over-stocked the shelf and it fell directly onto my neck and shattered just about everything on it! MEGA FAIL! luckily TH swung by this weekend to fix it up for us… where would we be without my papa!?

and yesterday i spent the morning prancing around in this cute little apron, listening to the undertones really loud and drinking wine spritzers for breakfast while doing some vegetable prep for the father’s day BBQ at my brother’s house!

and of course, the most note-worthy of all: only eight more days of wearing suit jackets and heels… because then it’s time for FUNEMPLOYMENT 2011!

woo!

lately

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i should probably just rename this blog “progress reports of a girl who takes one step forward, and ten steps back”, or better yet “little elle: why bother”

HA! i’m funny.

this is what the mancave looked like a few weeks ago…

this is what it looked like after dan lived in here for a few weeks when we decided to break up

it’s mostly empty, now. i have to put my table in storage, and lug the couch out to the sidewalk, and vacuum up the millions of dust bunnies the hundreds of records were hiding, but yeah… it’s fucking empty otherwise.

i took monday & tuesday off to clear my head and cry a whole bunch, because i really haven’t cried much since dan and i broke up. i bought some paint and tomorrow i’ll switch up the blood-red walls for a dark brown colour, and move the rest of my belongings in there. i don’t want to sleep in “our” room, anymore. it was really hot last night, so i got naked, and slept in the living room with the lights and tv on. there aren’t any sheets in on my bed and both rooms are a mess so i just wanted to be away from all of that.

my buddy is coming by tonight to take a look at the place and see if he wants to live with me. i think it’d be a pretty great fit and it would totally be a fresh start. not to mention i’m terrified of living with girls again, so i hope he loves the place and movies his shit in immediately. living alone again is nice, but not when your best friend has just left you and your heart is heavier than a ton of bricks.

in any case… i’m kind of excited to start fresh in some ways. my closest friends all living a few blocks from me and it’s been so nice to enjoy this weather. i originally took the time off to help dan pack but it got too emotional, and he was too drunk, so i fucking left.

i’m not going to lie. i spent weeks being a complete asshole to him. i refused his hugs, and made fun of his new shirts, and called him a drunk when he cracked another beer. i played angry feminist punk super loud in hopes he could hear the lyrics and hurt, if only for a second. i figured watching him leave would be so much easier if i were angry. he took most of it good-heartedly, as i’d expected, because i still think he’s the nicest person in this entire world.

we were waiting for his buddy to show up to help with the move, and in the meantime we were sitting in the living room together, making small talk. he showed me a skit from kids in the hall, and i got up.. walked to our room, sat on our bed, and bawled my fucking eyes out. i don’t know anyone who loves kids in the hall as much as dan does, and having that be our last moment together just made it seem so much more awful. i already miss his goofy laugh, and the way he says my name. when dan realized i was crying in the bedroom, he came in to comfort me. he rubbed my shoulders and apologized, and that was that. “don’t think i’m not bummed, because i am so fucking bummed”, he said.

when he came back upstairs to grab the pippen jersey i bought him for christmas and his pbr mug, he was drenched in sweat- dripping from his face, and arms. his white german shirt was almost completely see-through and he smelled like a keg. and despite refusing to hug him for weeks, when he said goodbye for the last time and put his keys on the coffee table, i ran into his arms, and pulled his wet body against my little summer dress and cried harder than i ever have in my entire life. i squeezed him so tight i could feel his heart beat against mine and every time i thought i was ready to let go, i caught myself pulling him in closer, and closer. i wanted to tell him that i loved him and i was sorry, and i hoped i could look at him again without wanting to die, but i figured it may be a little too dramatic for a goodbye hug that was already so gut-wrenching.

i went to bootcamp that night, and almost threw up on my yoga mat. when i’m sad, i get super icky and throw-upy and it’s terrible. he called me right as i was on my way home and we chatted for about ten minutes. he told me he figured out how to set up his air conditioning unit, and that he’d go out and buy nail clippers to cut his toe nails because they were so gross… and i always forced him to cut them when he lived with me. he’s settling in, i guess. he’s moving again in a month so he’ll be sleeping on a floor for a bit. i don’t like that. i hate it, even. anyway… i guess it’s not my place to tell his story anymore. that chapter of my life is closed, and it’s time to move on.

and through all of this? thank goodness for this… all of it:

late night wine & strawberries on my porch

summer dresses!

silly friends


hanging out in the park & blowing bubbles


friends who visit from out of town

midnight street frisbee, in the heart of the city

the insanity, the intimacy

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i don’t know what it is about sadness that makes me feel invincible.

he is always so fucking drunk, and i am always so quiet and bitter. two more weeks until this apartment becomes mine. two weeks until his junk is out and i can paint, and move furniture around, and become whole again. because right now, i am anything but. i am a skeleton of a little elle that is no longer. i am always okay until i hear his keys in the door, and i smell the liquor on his breath, and the nicotine in the seams of his denim jacket. i am okay until then because i don’t have to think of the blue of his bloodshot eyes, or how tight his arms feel around my ribs when he hugs me, still, despite all of this.

he took me for breakfast on saturday. the sun was hot and i wore a really feminine dress paired with my doc martens. “you look pretty”, he said, “and i’m not just saying that”. he zipped my dress to the top, and said “come on, i’m paying”. we walked quietly to our favourite breakfast place. a quiet, dim bar with waitresses who know our faces- who served us full pitchers of 50 in the beginning of our relationship. i wasn’t really hungry at all… nervously playing with my spoon. “this break up… it isn’t normal. but you’re my best friend”, he said.

i know

we walked to the book bazaar and i bought some rare book on paintings and photographs from WW2… classified until 1978. my brother was coming back from paris and i knew this book would be perfect for his birthday, and dan let me buy it for him even though he wanted it for himself. “no no… you buy it. he’ll love this”

i know. i knew he would. and he did.

things were so wishy-washy until last night- when he finally told me he’d be leaving june 6th. i knew it was happening, and i knew i’d have to deal with it eventually, but having a set date just makes it so much more real. there’s no turning back, and he is really leaving me, and i have to be okay with that.

i was really angry when i woke up this morning. my alarm went off for the fourth or fifth time and i heard dan get up in the room next to ours. he came into the bedroom and started cracking jokes, nudging me to get out of bed and shower for work, putting his feet in my face until i smiled. i pulled the blanket over my head and groaned, “uuuuuuugh worst wake up call ever”. he smiled and kept laughing. when i finally peeled myself from our sheets he stood in front of the door with his arms out. “i don’t care if i smell like shit, hug me!”

and so i did.

i hugged him and felt his arms tighten around my waist and heard him breathe me in like he always does. i feel it in my gut, when he hugs me. that he isn’t just holding on because that’s how hugging is done, he grasps a little tighter, and tighter, until i let go. and then so does he.

i rushed around in my towel as he played video games in the living room. “gotta win the cup, babe!” he always says. i kneeled over to pull some clean tights out of the dryer, and as i looked up he was just … staring at me.

“the cat knows what’s going on, you know. he’s really upset”

i know.

i don’t know where to go from here… we are either endlessly angry with one another, or still so close it stings. either way i need to shake this familiarity because he will be gone in exactly thirteen days.

thirteen days.

i’m devastated and excited in equal measure. and the idea of feeling those extremes with regard to the man i am in love with makes me sick to the pit of my very own stomach.

thirteen days.

then what?

birthday

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8

a couple of years ago or something, i was yanked from my mama’s belly and forced into this world a month prematurely.

that’s what they call foreshadowing, my friends.

i am never ready for anything life has planned for me, and i’ve been running in circles with one foot nailed to the ground, trying desperately to get somewhere (anywhere).

this isn’t how i was supposed to spend my birthday.

i wasn’t supposed to fall asleep on the couch, with dan’s hand on my back, and wake up alone in our bed- as he slept sideways on a small futon-type bullshit contraption… one room over, yet lightyears away.

i’ve made my peace with the breakup. the more time i spend apart from him, the more i realize this is what’s best for me in the long run. it’s not that he wasn’t enough… he was more than i could have ever hope for. it’s just that we aren’t compatible when it comes to what we need in a relationship. the reason i’m most frustrated is because i trusted him with this, with us… and he ripped it from under my own feet. i didn’t just lose my boyfriend, my roommate… i lost my very best friend. i lost the man who slept in my bed when i was sad, who danced with me til 4am on my birthday last year, who sang new order songs to me to cheer me up, who sat in the yard for hours drinking sangria made from scratch with me on hot summer afternoons, the man who dressed up and went to a halloween party with me despite not wanting to leave the house at all.  i lost the man who called me every night to spend time with me after long shifts at work, the man who watched movies with me until 6 in the morning on a couch half the size of me because i couldn’t sleep. i lost everything.

and he says i haven’t lost him, really. that he will always be my best friend, he will always love me, we will forever have a connection stronger than most… but i can’t feel that way. things will never, ever be the same between us. not as lovers, not as roommates, not as friends. i knew it was a risk i was willing to take, i just didn’t realize it was a reality i’d ever have to face. that’s where the anger stems from. i was naive, and he wasn’t careful.

part of me wants to wrap my hands around his shoulders, shake him real hard, and yell at him for giving up on himself so goddamn easily. don’t get me wrong, my heart beats big inside of me, but if i am unhappy about something you’ll know. i couldn’t hide my feelings from a rock, especially if those feelings are negative. i wish he thought he was worth as much as i know he is. i wish he had faith in himself; his ability to love and be great.

whatever, fuck.

being insightful and positive about everything all the time is exhausting. dan’s plans to move out ASAP are kind of up in the air considering he might be homeless if his old roommates don’t stop being jerks. and i may be an asshole and all, but i would die before throwing him out on the streets- regardless of the circumstances. we’ve already established that living together still is heartbreaking, but i am not a monster, either.

so now? i wait.

i wait to leave this job. i wait to find a roommate and re-arrange/decorate the apartment that soon won’t be “ours”. i wait to figure out a life path that will take me anywhere but where i’ve been. i guess i never believed in five year plans because i was too busy trying to survive the next five minutes. i’ve been so caught up in my own selfish bullshit and i’ve been unfair to myself for so, so long.

i’ve been semi-offered a semi-opportunity to make roughly 15k more than what i make now if i take a brief course for it in school.

SCHOOL.

christ.

i don’t even know what the hell i’m thinking or what path i plan on taking. but the next few weeks are going to be a total whirlwind.

hang tight.

in the meantime, though?

goddamn it i love birthdays. i am a million years young, and i feel a million years old, and i still get giddy when people go out of their way to be extra awesome on my birthday.

my friends  and family have gone (are continuing to go) above and beyond to make sure today is filled with happiness and laughter and hugs and kisses and extravagant meals and plans and i am so blessed to have this kind of support and unconditional love around me at all times. my parents sent me a love fern at the office, and my brother called me from paris. i was treated to a lovely dinner last night, and am going to another one again tonight. i have pictures and details and so much to share with all of you, and i can’t wait.

in any case…

i’m really focusing on the bigger, brighter picture. and although this transition period is going to be one hell of a bitch, i know things will work out alright in the end.

i can do this.

i can do this.

call it quits, or get a grip

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13

if it makes you less sad, i’ll take your pictures all down
every picture you paint, i will paint myself out
it’s cold as a tomb, and it’s dark in your room
when i sneak to your bed to pour salt in your wounds

                – b.n.

dan and i have spent nights in a different city, at the same time. he’s been gone for days now, doing god knows what, with god knows who- slipping into that familiar darkness. i’m surprisingly okay with it all, you know. it doesn’t sting like it did when he told me he was leaving me. when he said loving me, and living this wholesome life involved too much effort.

people say i’m resilient. that i’ve seen the edges of hell and survived it. sometimes i forget that my own body and heart are capable of plowing through such pain. i don’t think i’m shutting down, and i don’t think i’m blocking my memory, i think i’m being a fucking realist.

my best friend in the whole world would rather find the answer at the bottom of a bottle, instead of within me… our home, our life. i’ve tried. trust me, i begged and i pleaded like a fucking child because i know him better than anyone, and i know that without this love, this companionship, he will fucking drown, again.

but since when do i beg like that? i may be a grown woman but it is NOT my job to save anyone. i can’t fix the unfixable. i can’t hope for the best where hope has been lost. i’m no magician, and despite the rumours… i’m mortal, too. my blood will stop pumping, and my heart will stop beating, and my story will be just like yours, or yours. and that’s fine. really… it’s okay. i’m just not going to stick around to turn this story into a goddamn tragedy when i have every reason in the word to be hopeful for something bigger, and greater… something that will give me light, finally. 

he lost his spark, but i haven’t.

and surprisingly, through all this… the one thing that hasn’t suffered is my sobriety. i still show up for work (sober), i still hang out with friends (sober), i still do fucking groceries (sober). my, what change a year can bring, right? i’m not fucking dead, and this won’t fucking kill me. and i’ve had just about enough of his tip-toe-ing around me like i’m a china doll- cracked and ready to break. i’ve skipped through the stages of grieving rather quickly, and i’m at a point now, where i just want him out so i can move forward. so i can breathe again, without it smelling like his clothes, and his records, and his pomade.

i’m the queen of starting over… so what’s one more time.