Stab me in the fucking heart
I find it extremely amusing how i seem to have a tendency to predict things in an almost forshadowingish type way. Either that, or everything's really just that fucking obvious, which means I'm stuck here with some sort of reality film over my eyes. Whichever, but it's ironic to the point of pain.
Guess what? I know that this will surely come as some sort of huge suprise *morbidly sarcastic tone, btw*.
This is going to be long and involved. Just a warning.
So she broke up with me again. Again. This is number four, technically, but I like to think of it as number three. The first "breakup" wasn't exactly a breakup. But anyway. I am in misery.
Let's start at the beginning-ish. I'm always a little bit uncoordinated when it comes to emotional explanations of things; chronology should help, I'm hoping.
Last time I posted I was all happy and whee. Sickening, isn't it? But I was . . . I still was yesterday. Actually, yesterday was prolly worse; I'll explain in a minutes, don't worry. She was kinda busy-ish last week, running to St. Louis and having to go to Hannibal and all that, so we really didn't see a ton of eachother. I went to my parents on Saturday and did some painting, made some money. Spent a pretty badass night with her on Saturday (Cops + sex in park = sensical. Cops + sex in one's own home = wtf), and then early on Sunday, mom came over and helped me clean my apartment. Zomg, it actually looks good o.O Alicia came over at some point and helped for a while, too. All in all, was a nice weekend, even though she had to go to Hannibal on Sunday night, which was cool, though 'cause she was planning on picking me up from work on Monday.
So Monday. I'm at work and all I'm thinking about is her. I realize, while I'm attatching plastic hooks to the back of plastic cardracks, that I really love this girl. That night, we were planning on going to this church group thing she goes to called Young Lives, and the leader and her mentor and a few other people knew I was going and knew we were together and were supposedly ok with it. The fact that she told all these people and was taking me to something like this really meant a lot more to me than I think she realized. After I thought about it a while, I got to thinking that damn, I think I mean a lot to her, too, for her to do all this for us. And I let go of the last few doubts and insecurities that I had left clinging around me. I let go and just let myself love her, not fearing about Stephanie or confusion or fearing from day to day whether she's going to change her mind or not. And I was very ok with this. I think I threw her of a little at lunch that day, 'cause I was all babbly and said "I love you" about a million times. I was gonna explain all this to her the next time we got some snuggly togetherness, but, heh, yeah, never got the chance.
The ride home from work wasn't bad. We had this amazingly significant talk about love and how sexuality really isn't important; it's all about the person, not their genitals, according to her. Keep that in mind. It's sort of important.
So there I was on Monday night at my apartment, talking to her on the phone about group and how she was thinking about staying a few days at my place next week when she doesn't have Brixon, and other sleepy things. We said our goodbyes and I love you's and hung up and I fell into a rather good slees. Tuesday rolls around. I'm at work, and the first break bell rings at nine. I call her, as usual, as soon as I get in the break room and light a cigarette. Brixon was being a pain and Steve was there so she sorta hung up on me but not exactly. I call her at lunch, and she sounds somewhat distressed. She was at school, running some errands for stephanie or something, I forgot. Nothing too bad. Still says I love you and all that. I call her at third break, and we don't talk too much. She says she's having a long day and it's going to get longer. I ask her what's wrong, she says nothing, still sounds irritated and all that junk. I finally get to call her after work, and we talk about somewhat useless things and I tell her I'll call her when I get home. I get an I love you again.
A few minutes after I got off the phone with her, Steve called, told me about the buffet he's having for Pat & Tim on the 20th. That's about it. Joe takes me home, I get inside, smoke, call her, and she says she'll be over in a few minutes. She comes in, gives me a shitty fucking excuse for a hug (which I corrected; I'd like to ponder at this point about something. I had the urge to cling and kiss her just a bit right then. I'm wondering what would have happened. Would she have pulled away? Would it have made things worse? Or better? Prolly worse, of course, but I have to anylyze everything x.x), sits down in my compy shair and is quiet for a minute while I'm making myself something to eat. Then she says, with this horrible apocalyptic tone, "I wrote you a letter. But I forgot to print it." She doesn't look at me when she says it.
So I'm all like, "Ooookay. Should I be worried?" I'd like to note that when someone asked you if you should be worried and are in a relationship with them, that's where you say, "no, why?" as opposed to just:
"Why?"
"'Cause you have a tone, and it's been two weeks."
"It's been two weeks and a day"
Note how she doesn't confirm or deny my uneasyness.
"Well?" I say.
"Well, what?"
"Well, should I be fucking worried or not?"
"Maybe" she replies, in a somewhat small voice.
Now here's where I get just a bit pissed the fuck off. All I could think about right then when she said it is something like I finally completely feel secure and amazingly happy and in love with you, and now something is going to ruin everything.
I sorta yelled "If you're going to fucking break up with me again, just get out of my house right now." And she gets up to leave. I can't let her do that, so I tell her not to go or whatever. She stops and looks at me.
"Why?" I ask.
She replies with something like "We're just not a good match", which really just sorta makes me more mad, 'cause y'know, everything was just fine and fucking dandy three days before and now something's fucked the hell up and not a good match is NOT an explanation at all.
I ask her what exactly she means. She says that we just don't have a lot in common and blah blah blah. I'm thinking of ways to counter all this until "and we just have complete opposite beliefes" comes out of her mouth. What? Opposite beliefs? So I ask her what she means. She says that she can't shove her faith aside anymore and that this is wrong and being a christian is what she is and she just can't do this any more.
Stab me in the fucking heart, indeed.
She made me promise, when we got back together last time, not to let her break up with me again, not to let her be stupid, because she wants to be with me and loves me and all that. Her bringing her religion into this is totally not fair. I can argue it to hell and back (no pun intended o.O), but faith and religion are things that differ so much from one person to the other. I coudln't think of anything right then. I've thought of a lot to say now, and seeing as that everyone's doing a little letter writing (steve wrote me something the other day, as well. I have yet to read it), I'm prolly gonna write her a bit, I think. So she left, and I, of course, broke the fuck down.
Thinking (incorrectly, it seems) that Steve wanted nothing to do with me, I had no one to call. So I called my mom. She came over, held me while I cried, took me to a laundry mat so I could wash my comforters, bought me beer and rented me Dukes of Hazzard, brought me to their house, and made me stay the night. S'where I'm at right now, going home in a moment, though.
So I've been wallowing in this all day. I'm going to call her when I get home because I can't not talk to her. I just can't. She broke up with me, but I'm still in love with her.
There's more I want to write, but if I don't end this, I won't be going home, and that would suck. Maybe I'll finish eventually, maybe I won't. Let's just say that this sucks balls. Someone help me argue this religion thing. Please. I know of several gay christans. there's got to be something I can say.
All I can think of is if God loves you so much that he gave his son for your sins, and he wants you to be happy, why on earth would he care what form that love takes?
I'm going to go home and drown in my tears again. Later.
Guess what? I know that this will surely come as some sort of huge suprise *morbidly sarcastic tone, btw*.
This is going to be long and involved. Just a warning.
So she broke up with me again. Again. This is number four, technically, but I like to think of it as number three. The first "breakup" wasn't exactly a breakup. But anyway. I am in misery.
Let's start at the beginning-ish. I'm always a little bit uncoordinated when it comes to emotional explanations of things; chronology should help, I'm hoping.
Last time I posted I was all happy and whee. Sickening, isn't it? But I was . . . I still was yesterday. Actually, yesterday was prolly worse; I'll explain in a minutes, don't worry. She was kinda busy-ish last week, running to St. Louis and having to go to Hannibal and all that, so we really didn't see a ton of eachother. I went to my parents on Saturday and did some painting, made some money. Spent a pretty badass night with her on Saturday (Cops + sex in park = sensical. Cops + sex in one's own home = wtf), and then early on Sunday, mom came over and helped me clean my apartment. Zomg, it actually looks good o.O Alicia came over at some point and helped for a while, too. All in all, was a nice weekend, even though she had to go to Hannibal on Sunday night, which was cool, though 'cause she was planning on picking me up from work on Monday.
So Monday. I'm at work and all I'm thinking about is her. I realize, while I'm attatching plastic hooks to the back of plastic cardracks, that I really love this girl. That night, we were planning on going to this church group thing she goes to called Young Lives, and the leader and her mentor and a few other people knew I was going and knew we were together and were supposedly ok with it. The fact that she told all these people and was taking me to something like this really meant a lot more to me than I think she realized. After I thought about it a while, I got to thinking that damn, I think I mean a lot to her, too, for her to do all this for us. And I let go of the last few doubts and insecurities that I had left clinging around me. I let go and just let myself love her, not fearing about Stephanie or confusion or fearing from day to day whether she's going to change her mind or not. And I was very ok with this. I think I threw her of a little at lunch that day, 'cause I was all babbly and said "I love you" about a million times. I was gonna explain all this to her the next time we got some snuggly togetherness, but, heh, yeah, never got the chance.
The ride home from work wasn't bad. We had this amazingly significant talk about love and how sexuality really isn't important; it's all about the person, not their genitals, according to her. Keep that in mind. It's sort of important.
So there I was on Monday night at my apartment, talking to her on the phone about group and how she was thinking about staying a few days at my place next week when she doesn't have Brixon, and other sleepy things. We said our goodbyes and I love you's and hung up and I fell into a rather good slees. Tuesday rolls around. I'm at work, and the first break bell rings at nine. I call her, as usual, as soon as I get in the break room and light a cigarette. Brixon was being a pain and Steve was there so she sorta hung up on me but not exactly. I call her at lunch, and she sounds somewhat distressed. She was at school, running some errands for stephanie or something, I forgot. Nothing too bad. Still says I love you and all that. I call her at third break, and we don't talk too much. She says she's having a long day and it's going to get longer. I ask her what's wrong, she says nothing, still sounds irritated and all that junk. I finally get to call her after work, and we talk about somewhat useless things and I tell her I'll call her when I get home. I get an I love you again.
A few minutes after I got off the phone with her, Steve called, told me about the buffet he's having for Pat & Tim on the 20th. That's about it. Joe takes me home, I get inside, smoke, call her, and she says she'll be over in a few minutes. She comes in, gives me a shitty fucking excuse for a hug (which I corrected; I'd like to ponder at this point about something. I had the urge to cling and kiss her just a bit right then. I'm wondering what would have happened. Would she have pulled away? Would it have made things worse? Or better? Prolly worse, of course, but I have to anylyze everything x.x), sits down in my compy shair and is quiet for a minute while I'm making myself something to eat. Then she says, with this horrible apocalyptic tone, "I wrote you a letter. But I forgot to print it." She doesn't look at me when she says it.
So I'm all like, "Ooookay. Should I be worried?" I'd like to note that when someone asked you if you should be worried and are in a relationship with them, that's where you say, "no, why?" as opposed to just:
"Why?"
"'Cause you have a tone, and it's been two weeks."
"It's been two weeks and a day"
Note how she doesn't confirm or deny my uneasyness.
"Well?" I say.
"Well, what?"
"Well, should I be fucking worried or not?"
"Maybe" she replies, in a somewhat small voice.
Now here's where I get just a bit pissed the fuck off. All I could think about right then when she said it is something like I finally completely feel secure and amazingly happy and in love with you, and now something is going to ruin everything.
I sorta yelled "If you're going to fucking break up with me again, just get out of my house right now." And she gets up to leave. I can't let her do that, so I tell her not to go or whatever. She stops and looks at me.
"Why?" I ask.
She replies with something like "We're just not a good match", which really just sorta makes me more mad, 'cause y'know, everything was just fine and fucking dandy three days before and now something's fucked the hell up and not a good match is NOT an explanation at all.
I ask her what exactly she means. She says that we just don't have a lot in common and blah blah blah. I'm thinking of ways to counter all this until "and we just have complete opposite beliefes" comes out of her mouth. What? Opposite beliefs? So I ask her what she means. She says that she can't shove her faith aside anymore and that this is wrong and being a christian is what she is and she just can't do this any more.
Stab me in the fucking heart, indeed.
She made me promise, when we got back together last time, not to let her break up with me again, not to let her be stupid, because she wants to be with me and loves me and all that. Her bringing her religion into this is totally not fair. I can argue it to hell and back (no pun intended o.O), but faith and religion are things that differ so much from one person to the other. I coudln't think of anything right then. I've thought of a lot to say now, and seeing as that everyone's doing a little letter writing (steve wrote me something the other day, as well. I have yet to read it), I'm prolly gonna write her a bit, I think. So she left, and I, of course, broke the fuck down.
Thinking (incorrectly, it seems) that Steve wanted nothing to do with me, I had no one to call. So I called my mom. She came over, held me while I cried, took me to a laundry mat so I could wash my comforters, bought me beer and rented me Dukes of Hazzard, brought me to their house, and made me stay the night. S'where I'm at right now, going home in a moment, though.
So I've been wallowing in this all day. I'm going to call her when I get home because I can't not talk to her. I just can't. She broke up with me, but I'm still in love with her.
There's more I want to write, but if I don't end this, I won't be going home, and that would suck. Maybe I'll finish eventually, maybe I won't. Let's just say that this sucks balls. Someone help me argue this religion thing. Please. I know of several gay christans. there's got to be something I can say.
All I can think of is if God loves you so much that he gave his son for your sins, and he wants you to be happy, why on earth would he care what form that love takes?
I'm going to go home and drown in my tears again. Later.