Goodbye sucks. Period.
Yeah, I know. I don't update. I just basically grew out of this phase of my life I guess. But theres one phase I'm afraid I will never grow out of.
You know it has to happen. You avoid it like herpes, hoping against hope that you aren't the one who has to endure it, but inevitably, you have to deal with it.
Allow me to set the stage here, then if you wish, you can stop reading and simply fill in your own experience with this, suddenly fading off into your dim memories when you too were forced to say goodbye to someone you desperately didn't want to. Letting go, it turns out, really is hard to do.
So you met him (or her), and things clicked way quicker than you ever remember them clicking w/ someone else. I'm talking "wow, I'd like to stick around after the sex" type of clicking. If your first impulse isn't making an excuse to leave and mentally routing the bus route you're taking to get home (or the best corner to grab a taxi, depending upon the severity of your situation). Now, if after the sex, you not only don't have that knee-jerk, prison-break impulse, but you actually want to stay, to talk to him (or her) and hang out, well...then something's going on.
And sure enough, something is.
Romance starts. The kind you always swore you were either against, wasn't ever going to happen to you, or simply didn't exist. You find yourself saying and doing things that caused you to cringe and shudder only months ago at the mere thought of it. "Are these flowers in my hand? Where did I get them? Am I seriously concerned about the nagging pain in her ankle she keeps talking about? Wait a fucking minute, why am I in Bed, Bath, and Beyond?"
Your friends start noticing. "What's up with you lately?" "When did you pick up those jeans...did she get them for you?" "Holy shit, did you cut your toenails?"
They smirk and laugh, some a touch bitter at your sudden personality change, most actually happy for you.
You know something's wrong, you can tell this just ain't you, but by God, you feel.....happy?
You're in love.
And my FUCKING GOD, those first few days/weeks/months when it hits you like that, you might as well have a morphine drip in your arm at all times, because NOTHING can bring you down. The sound of your alarm clock that used to make you wish inanimate objects could feel pain? Music to your fucking ears.
You never thought it could happen to you and now that it has you're the happiest you've ever been.
Then you're minded of the golden rule of life. The only constant in change. Things fall apart. Suddenly your world is chopped into a thousand pieces.
The relationship is over, but you can't face that. You fight like bloody hell, passionately debating him, explaining how things can be, desperately trying to do the impossible, force someone else's heart into feeling the same way yours does.
Everyone who cares about you in your life tries to help. Buddies line up to drink w/ you, smoke w/ you, laugh with you, tell you to move on, buck up, go get laid and forget the jerk. Family supports you, whispering ageless sentiments into your ear like "it wasn't meant to be" and "the right one will come along." You believe none of it, of course, but you appreciate the effort.
With all the people who love you showering you with affection, it dawns on you..."it's not helping." You want two things desperately; him (or her), and if not that, than to be alone, most likely with booze, and to be left that way until things are different, or you're drunk, or both.
Time drips by, days seem unending as you silently torture yourself with images of him (or her), stretching every moment out until he loses all linear sense and becomes one long, garbled, confusing mass of sadness.
This goes on and on, for longer than you thought possible, and it seems to get worse, not better.
You snap a few times, setting up face to face meetings even though it kills you just to see him. You manage to get alcohol involved, even getting her (or him) into the sack once or twice more. After all, we're all human, and everyone likes affection from time to time. Those fleeting moments of intimacy are so intense for you that you feel on the verge of tears the whole time, even though at the moment, you're getting exactly what you wanted, him (or her)..but the knowledge that it's fools gold, an apparition, and will soon disappear before your very eyes like smoke only makes the situation that much more insane. You kiss her (or him) as if they're the last lips you'll ever taste, and as far as your concerned at the moment, they are.
Then time passes. The raw, bottomless pain that encompassed your life softens a little. It doesn't pass, but it eases in intensity, you begin to scrape out something like the life you had before, all the while continually entertaining the foolish, self-defeating dreams of her (or him) coming back to you. "If you love something, set it free, if it comes back, it's true" becomes your new motto. You almost convince yourself it's going to work out, even though in your heart of hearts you know it's over.
But you refuse to say goodbye. To officially move on. To wish him (or her) the best and take a step in the other direction. It's too hard. It's too final. It's too....real.
And so you stay, right in the little, decrepit hole you've dug for yourself, now comfortable in the misery you've become so accustomed to, too afraid to live again.
And somewhere, deep inside, you secretly hope he (or she) is hurting too.
But they're not, because they've moved on. And you haven't. And in life, no one's gonna do shit for you. You do it, or it doesn't get done.
It's as simple as that.
You know it has to happen. You avoid it like herpes, hoping against hope that you aren't the one who has to endure it, but inevitably, you have to deal with it.
Allow me to set the stage here, then if you wish, you can stop reading and simply fill in your own experience with this, suddenly fading off into your dim memories when you too were forced to say goodbye to someone you desperately didn't want to. Letting go, it turns out, really is hard to do.
So you met him (or her), and things clicked way quicker than you ever remember them clicking w/ someone else. I'm talking "wow, I'd like to stick around after the sex" type of clicking. If your first impulse isn't making an excuse to leave and mentally routing the bus route you're taking to get home (or the best corner to grab a taxi, depending upon the severity of your situation). Now, if after the sex, you not only don't have that knee-jerk, prison-break impulse, but you actually want to stay, to talk to him (or her) and hang out, well...then something's going on.
And sure enough, something is.
Romance starts. The kind you always swore you were either against, wasn't ever going to happen to you, or simply didn't exist. You find yourself saying and doing things that caused you to cringe and shudder only months ago at the mere thought of it. "Are these flowers in my hand? Where did I get them? Am I seriously concerned about the nagging pain in her ankle she keeps talking about? Wait a fucking minute, why am I in Bed, Bath, and Beyond?"
Your friends start noticing. "What's up with you lately?" "When did you pick up those jeans...did she get them for you?" "Holy shit, did you cut your toenails?"
They smirk and laugh, some a touch bitter at your sudden personality change, most actually happy for you.
You know something's wrong, you can tell this just ain't you, but by God, you feel.....happy?
You're in love.
And my FUCKING GOD, those first few days/weeks/months when it hits you like that, you might as well have a morphine drip in your arm at all times, because NOTHING can bring you down. The sound of your alarm clock that used to make you wish inanimate objects could feel pain? Music to your fucking ears.
You never thought it could happen to you and now that it has you're the happiest you've ever been.
Then you're minded of the golden rule of life. The only constant in change. Things fall apart. Suddenly your world is chopped into a thousand pieces.
The relationship is over, but you can't face that. You fight like bloody hell, passionately debating him, explaining how things can be, desperately trying to do the impossible, force someone else's heart into feeling the same way yours does.
Everyone who cares about you in your life tries to help. Buddies line up to drink w/ you, smoke w/ you, laugh with you, tell you to move on, buck up, go get laid and forget the jerk. Family supports you, whispering ageless sentiments into your ear like "it wasn't meant to be" and "the right one will come along." You believe none of it, of course, but you appreciate the effort.
With all the people who love you showering you with affection, it dawns on you..."it's not helping." You want two things desperately; him (or her), and if not that, than to be alone, most likely with booze, and to be left that way until things are different, or you're drunk, or both.
Time drips by, days seem unending as you silently torture yourself with images of him (or her), stretching every moment out until he loses all linear sense and becomes one long, garbled, confusing mass of sadness.
This goes on and on, for longer than you thought possible, and it seems to get worse, not better.
You snap a few times, setting up face to face meetings even though it kills you just to see him. You manage to get alcohol involved, even getting her (or him) into the sack once or twice more. After all, we're all human, and everyone likes affection from time to time. Those fleeting moments of intimacy are so intense for you that you feel on the verge of tears the whole time, even though at the moment, you're getting exactly what you wanted, him (or her)..but the knowledge that it's fools gold, an apparition, and will soon disappear before your very eyes like smoke only makes the situation that much more insane. You kiss her (or him) as if they're the last lips you'll ever taste, and as far as your concerned at the moment, they are.
Then time passes. The raw, bottomless pain that encompassed your life softens a little. It doesn't pass, but it eases in intensity, you begin to scrape out something like the life you had before, all the while continually entertaining the foolish, self-defeating dreams of her (or him) coming back to you. "If you love something, set it free, if it comes back, it's true" becomes your new motto. You almost convince yourself it's going to work out, even though in your heart of hearts you know it's over.
But you refuse to say goodbye. To officially move on. To wish him (or her) the best and take a step in the other direction. It's too hard. It's too final. It's too....real.
And so you stay, right in the little, decrepit hole you've dug for yourself, now comfortable in the misery you've become so accustomed to, too afraid to live again.
And somewhere, deep inside, you secretly hope he (or she) is hurting too.
But they're not, because they've moved on. And you haven't. And in life, no one's gonna do shit for you. You do it, or it doesn't get done.
It's as simple as that.