My Heart is Turned to Stone; I Strike It, and It Hurts My Hand.
He called me last night.
Simply for closure purposes. I just typed it out and hit "send". I even begged him not to contact me again in any way, shape or form, because I didn't want to hear his answers. But he just has to be in total control of everything... of the situation. Of someone's life. He just has to make it hell.
Something weird happened, the second he started talking. Even though he was yelling from the time muttered, "What do you want?". I forgot why I was angry with him. I didn't hate him. I missed him, even. But then he started twisting everything that I knew around, trying to change the way I saw it... trying to get me to believe that it was my fault. Making it look like I was in pain because I asked for it. Saying that, even.
So what did I do?
"I pulled an all-nighter with Lindsay last night. I'm really tired. Please don't call me again. Goodbye, good night." Sounds familiar, right? "My phone is dying." "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
So today, I'm on my bike in the woods. I'm on the way back, and all of a sudden I'm passing under 127th, on the part of the trail that takes you into his neighborhood. The trail that I followed after I had ridden four miles through the mud, covered with sweat and grime, to see him. I could have turned back. But then I thought, the wound is still open. Might as well get it out of my system before it closes back up again. Lindsay showed me the way a few days ago. I knew what to look for. The signs don't lie, but neither do the landmarks.
I stopped my bike at the curb... right in front of his car. I could've ridden a bit farther, rang the bell, demanded some answers. But instead, I leaned up against my handle bars and just... relived it all. From day one. Everything I remembered happening, I thought of. The pictures from homecoming on my friend's Facebook. The fact that he was- at one time- genuinely interested. The words I said in front of the fountain when I told him I was going back to my lying, cheating ex. Holding hands and watching the sun rise at lock-in. How every Thursday, I would get a text from the club president asking if I knew if we had a club meeting that day. When he first told me that he thought I loved him. The midnight swim and the phone conversation the next day in Phoenix. Dinner. And... mostly recently. The way he used to make me so calm, no matter what. How he was always right there when I needed him.
I turned my bike around and glanced over my shoulder one last time. Knowing he couldn't see me, but doing it simply for the satisfaction, I flipped 'em off before riding as quickly as I could back to the trail- fighting to control my bike the whole time, as the sidewalks back there are shit- with tears threatening to blind me and make me unable to get home.
Now, I think I may have figured out why this keeps happening to me. Not to sound like every other whiny teenager, but I feel like part of why I keep seeking comfort from older guys who never yell at me is because my dad... can- and does- always make me feel like I fucked up. Even when I did something awesome, and I know it. He'll undermine it, make it seem like nothing. The little things that happen at home, I get screamed at over. And you know what? It really sucks that it has to be that way. But it is. As for my mom, she just kind of watches it happen, then backs him up later. Both of them act like they don't know how to handle it when the shit hits the fan, and they both end up being completely bipolar- understanding one minute, cruelly insensitive the next. It's like they just have no clue what to do, and I know this is dumb, but I'm too afraid to tell them, because I don't want to open up the floodgate of questions it will cause.
Basically? I'm back to healing after Michael had to come in and make me bleed out. And I really need to get out of this house.
Simply for closure purposes. I just typed it out and hit "send". I even begged him not to contact me again in any way, shape or form, because I didn't want to hear his answers. But he just has to be in total control of everything... of the situation. Of someone's life. He just has to make it hell.
Something weird happened, the second he started talking. Even though he was yelling from the time muttered, "What do you want?". I forgot why I was angry with him. I didn't hate him. I missed him, even. But then he started twisting everything that I knew around, trying to change the way I saw it... trying to get me to believe that it was my fault. Making it look like I was in pain because I asked for it. Saying that, even.
So what did I do?
"I pulled an all-nighter with Lindsay last night. I'm really tired. Please don't call me again. Goodbye, good night." Sounds familiar, right? "My phone is dying." "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
So today, I'm on my bike in the woods. I'm on the way back, and all of a sudden I'm passing under 127th, on the part of the trail that takes you into his neighborhood. The trail that I followed after I had ridden four miles through the mud, covered with sweat and grime, to see him. I could have turned back. But then I thought, the wound is still open. Might as well get it out of my system before it closes back up again. Lindsay showed me the way a few days ago. I knew what to look for. The signs don't lie, but neither do the landmarks.
I stopped my bike at the curb... right in front of his car. I could've ridden a bit farther, rang the bell, demanded some answers. But instead, I leaned up against my handle bars and just... relived it all. From day one. Everything I remembered happening, I thought of. The pictures from homecoming on my friend's Facebook. The fact that he was- at one time- genuinely interested. The words I said in front of the fountain when I told him I was going back to my lying, cheating ex. Holding hands and watching the sun rise at lock-in. How every Thursday, I would get a text from the club president asking if I knew if we had a club meeting that day. When he first told me that he thought I loved him. The midnight swim and the phone conversation the next day in Phoenix. Dinner. And... mostly recently. The way he used to make me so calm, no matter what. How he was always right there when I needed him.
I turned my bike around and glanced over my shoulder one last time. Knowing he couldn't see me, but doing it simply for the satisfaction, I flipped 'em off before riding as quickly as I could back to the trail- fighting to control my bike the whole time, as the sidewalks back there are shit- with tears threatening to blind me and make me unable to get home.
Now, I think I may have figured out why this keeps happening to me. Not to sound like every other whiny teenager, but I feel like part of why I keep seeking comfort from older guys who never yell at me is because my dad... can- and does- always make me feel like I fucked up. Even when I did something awesome, and I know it. He'll undermine it, make it seem like nothing. The little things that happen at home, I get screamed at over. And you know what? It really sucks that it has to be that way. But it is. As for my mom, she just kind of watches it happen, then backs him up later. Both of them act like they don't know how to handle it when the shit hits the fan, and they both end up being completely bipolar- understanding one minute, cruelly insensitive the next. It's like they just have no clue what to do, and I know this is dumb, but I'm too afraid to tell them, because I don't want to open up the floodgate of questions it will cause.
Basically? I'm back to healing after Michael had to come in and make me bleed out. And I really need to get out of this house.