"When everyone around me is busy drowning-- I float."
2003 was two years shoved into one. It seems the night after we jump one more digit closer to an ended world, everyone has some sort of a reflection on their past year. I wanted so badly to skip this and leave last year alone, but I think that it merited some sort of explanation.,
In many ways, last year was both an excellent and terrible year. For the first half of it, I tore myself apart trying to figure out what inside of me was so broken and damaged. I finally realized that there was nothing damaged inside of me. There are only damaged people doing their best to not be alone in their anger and their rage. I allowed myself to take on the pain of my family, mostly my father's anger for my mother, and I dealt with it (perhaps in hopes that they wouldn't have to.) In doing so, I shoved eighteen years of my parents' dissatisfaction and unhappiness into three. I tore myself apart, and to no avail, because they were still angry and unhappy.
I let love completely consume me in a way that is never healthy. I lost myself inside of someone, and in doing so I lost sight of everything else. I allowed myself to be tortured by a feeling that was never reciprocated. I was desperate, to be loved and needed and wanted, and so I stayed in a situation where none of those things were true. Over time, the desperation and the anguish faded away to apathy and indifference. I soon became number and was unable to continue to work towards anything.
It was then that I found him, along with self-satisfaction.
New Year's Eve was wonderful. We congregated on a dark patio with only a few spare candles to cast any sort of light. We throw conversation back and forth, joking and engaging in a game of sarcastic to-and-fro. Between two bottles of Arbor Mist and four bottles of Smirnoff Ice, I forgot half of the conversation. Midnight strikes and I am pulled from engagement into his lips. "Happy New Year."
It's an hour later, and I'm sitting on the plastic hump in Emily's backseat. Every bump snatches more of the feeling away from my ass. (When we arrive at the house, I will be completely numb from the waist down.) I watch white lines defining lanes cross over each other, allowing other traffic to mix in with our car. The atheist in the front seat says a prayer for the departed while we all exchange looks that exude our love for each other. This is true family-- not the ones you had no choice in being related to, but the kind of family that takes you in because they love you for you, without obligation. These people, these five people, are my family and my survival.
Phones ring and tears are shed. Our biological families are not in the same class as this, but still in our hearts. We understand the seriousness of our bonds, but also comprehend the need for blood-related love. I tell him that I'm praying for him while he cries into a rusty tailgate. The answer is always love and alchohol. One foot in front of the other, following street-lamp glow to jumping bodies. They tell me about the mosh pit and how I should have been there on the way back. This girl has an x on the back of her hand and she's drinking my bloody Smirnoff. I tell them both how much I love them, despite the fact that I have never really liked them. Tonight, I am in love with everyone.
This morning I cannot remember half of what went on. I don't remember what I said while I was trapped between his sheets. I'm walking on a swollen ankle from a fall I don't remember. I woke up on the couch, not knowing how I got there or got out of my clothes. Today he tells me that he help me dress myself and then he carried me out to the couch, kissing me to sleep.
I do remember one moment, behind locked doors. With empty expectations I asked him what he was going to do when I fell in love with him. I'm so drunk that I could care less about the answer, but I need to know.
"Work harder to make you happy." He says.
Happy New Year.
I am in love.
I've been soaking up my discontent regarding the equation
I'm officially closed for consultation
In many ways, last year was both an excellent and terrible year. For the first half of it, I tore myself apart trying to figure out what inside of me was so broken and damaged. I finally realized that there was nothing damaged inside of me. There are only damaged people doing their best to not be alone in their anger and their rage. I allowed myself to take on the pain of my family, mostly my father's anger for my mother, and I dealt with it (perhaps in hopes that they wouldn't have to.) In doing so, I shoved eighteen years of my parents' dissatisfaction and unhappiness into three. I tore myself apart, and to no avail, because they were still angry and unhappy.
I let love completely consume me in a way that is never healthy. I lost myself inside of someone, and in doing so I lost sight of everything else. I allowed myself to be tortured by a feeling that was never reciprocated. I was desperate, to be loved and needed and wanted, and so I stayed in a situation where none of those things were true. Over time, the desperation and the anguish faded away to apathy and indifference. I soon became number and was unable to continue to work towards anything.
It was then that I found him, along with self-satisfaction.
New Year's Eve was wonderful. We congregated on a dark patio with only a few spare candles to cast any sort of light. We throw conversation back and forth, joking and engaging in a game of sarcastic to-and-fro. Between two bottles of Arbor Mist and four bottles of Smirnoff Ice, I forgot half of the conversation. Midnight strikes and I am pulled from engagement into his lips. "Happy New Year."
It's an hour later, and I'm sitting on the plastic hump in Emily's backseat. Every bump snatches more of the feeling away from my ass. (When we arrive at the house, I will be completely numb from the waist down.) I watch white lines defining lanes cross over each other, allowing other traffic to mix in with our car. The atheist in the front seat says a prayer for the departed while we all exchange looks that exude our love for each other. This is true family-- not the ones you had no choice in being related to, but the kind of family that takes you in because they love you for you, without obligation. These people, these five people, are my family and my survival.
Phones ring and tears are shed. Our biological families are not in the same class as this, but still in our hearts. We understand the seriousness of our bonds, but also comprehend the need for blood-related love. I tell him that I'm praying for him while he cries into a rusty tailgate. The answer is always love and alchohol. One foot in front of the other, following street-lamp glow to jumping bodies. They tell me about the mosh pit and how I should have been there on the way back. This girl has an x on the back of her hand and she's drinking my bloody Smirnoff. I tell them both how much I love them, despite the fact that I have never really liked them. Tonight, I am in love with everyone.
This morning I cannot remember half of what went on. I don't remember what I said while I was trapped between his sheets. I'm walking on a swollen ankle from a fall I don't remember. I woke up on the couch, not knowing how I got there or got out of my clothes. Today he tells me that he help me dress myself and then he carried me out to the couch, kissing me to sleep.
I do remember one moment, behind locked doors. With empty expectations I asked him what he was going to do when I fell in love with him. I'm so drunk that I could care less about the answer, but I need to know.
"Work harder to make you happy." He says.
Happy New Year.
I am in love.
I've been soaking up my discontent regarding the equation
I'm officially closed for consultation