2/4/03
I'm not sure if I'm depressed or angry or sad or what. All I know is that I was looking through all of the files I have accumulated throughout college thus far, and I came across an essay that I wrote my freshman year. It is dated February 4th, 2003. I read it, and then read it again. It brought back so many memories, and it also made me cry.
Here is what I wrote on that night...
Just the other day, the most unusual and unbearable idea ran through my mind in the way that a sprinter runs towards the finish line. The idea, though, was not characteristic of a sprinter, but more that of a distance runner constantly circling my head as if the track were its surroundings. I decided that it must be the right thing if it stuck out as much as it did. My relationship with Angela had to be put on hold, for now at least.
The long, painful process began prior to Christmas break. It seemed as though talking on the phone had become routine to us; we were running out of things to say in between the pauses of awkward silence that rang in our ears. Every time we talked, it just dragged on and on like a puzzle that had an infinite number of pieces. It was evident in both of our minds that the end was drawing near, but we decided that we were going to stick it out over Christmas break and see how things went.
Break came and went, and things were back to normal. The three weeks we had with each other went wonderfully and at its end, we decided that even though the 300 miles between Milwaukee and Jacksonville were a tough obstacle, we would work through it. Soon after we returned to our schools, things started falling apart, as they had before. It came to be the most frustrating thing that I have ever had to experience. The feeling of wanting to see someone you can’t day in and day out for weeks, sometimes months at a time, and knowing that there isn’t a thing you can do about it.
The night of January 29th snuck up on us quickly and, in my head at least, hasn’t passed yet. By the time we each hung up the phone that late night saying, “this is for the best,” and “I love you,” the time was around 1 A.M. on Thursday morning. That meant that it was January 30th, exactly three years and six months since the night of a first date that spawned a best friend, and eventual love.
I knew when I hung up the phone that this was real. This wasn’t a high school relationship anymore, and it wasn’t going to be anytime soon that we got back together, if ever. That fact is what scared me the most. After three and a half years of being with someone, I’m scared of being alone. It’s not because I’ve never been alone before, or ever had a broken heart, but more because the feelings that I had when I was on my own have long since been forgotten. You stroll into each new day not knowing if it is going to be a regular day, or if it is going to be the day that you meet someone you think is an amazing person. Angela is an amazing person, and it is this that I remind myself of every single day.
Thinking to myself that weeks and months will go by, and that the two of us will meet new people day in and day out, only to constantly compare those that we find attractive to what we so recently had, I started to smile. Even though my eyes were still puffy from the salty river they had created just a few minutes before, this thought gave me a sense of comfort. I love Ang, and I know that she loves me. The time just wasn’t right for us. Her last sentence before hanging up the phone rang in my head like an annoying school bell, only her words were powerful rather than annoying. “It was time that ripped us apart, and you have to have faith that it is time that will eventually bring us back together,” she said. I knew she was right, and so did she.
I realize that it has only been five days since we made the decision to split, and no matter what happens between us this is something that I don’t think I’ll ever completely get over. Words can’t describe the emotions that ran through my head that evening. Feelings of helplessness, guilt, anger, and emptiness swelled up in my body, making it hard to move. The wet pillowcase beneath me stuck to my face as I finally put forth a decent effort to get out of my bed. I walked to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face, hoping it would help me calm down. It didn’t. I went back to my bed and again, I cried.
I had completely forgotten that I had written this. It was over two years ago, but still to this day, everything in it is true.