Probably the most bitter one yet.
I punched the wall, hard. Must've hit a stud, because it didn't give way the way that drywall should've.
“What's wrong?” asked the stranger. He cocked his head to the side and watched me like I was some kind of quaint little thing.
“I just actively decided to start suppressing my emotions because of a girl. Definitely a good idea.” I gritted my teeth and punched again. This time, the drywall snapped under the force and half my forearm sunk into the wall before I stopped. My breathing was ragged and uneven, and I found the limb shaking with unspent adrenaline.
“Why would you do that?”
“WHY THE HELL ELSE?” I screamed, full of rage. “IT'S BECAUSE I'M FUCKING IN LOVE AND I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT!”
That one word echoed through the room, like some kind of evil echo reminding me of my problem again and again. That's what it feels like in my head sometimes. Like no matter what I do, I have the same story over and over again in a cycle. Get a good thing, obsess over the good thing, make the good thing your whole life. Good thing becomes less good, then obsess over it trying to make it perfect again, until it's just nothing, and then have to cope with your life being about nothing.
Long pause. He didn't seem to have anything to say about that.
“So I'm trying this. I'm gonna bottle it all up, because if I keep TRYING so damned hard, I'm never going to be able to fix it. I need to be false and lie about how it is to preserve how it will be.” I winced. “Sorry, could be. Can't get a straight answer on that one in my head either.”
“You don't have any hope at all, do you?” he asked, marking the issue perfectly. “You think that she's just saying all of that to make your pain just the slightest bit weaker. She doesn't intend to come back any more than you intended to keep in touch. Hell, you probably think that she's just doing it because if she doesn't, then you'll leave her as a friend.”
“But I will.”
“You think that?”
“It's how I react to things. Things that hurt me don't get to be part of my life anymore. Ask Brittany. Ask Jenny. Ask Jen. Ask MCV. Ask Rachel. Ask...”
“I get the picture.” He said, waving his hand dismissively. “But what about Maggie?”
“She's one exception, and there was a huge gulf in the middle there when we didn't talk at all. We were only kept in proximity by mutual friends anyway, and we don't have any of those anyways. We have...guildmates, but nothing that could really compel me to stay in touch.”
“You have your writings...” he countered, and I just shook my head.
“My writings? I don't write. I occassionally write a page or two, at most. I've written five pages this month, and four of them have been conversations like this. That's not a writer, that's an angsty teen who doesn't know when he needs to fucking grow up.”
“You've gotten really bitter about this whole thing.”
“Tonight's phone call sucked. I just made things worse like I always do. Surprised? I'm not. Every time, too much time. Talk and it'll make it better. What's the use of a silver tongue if you can't use it to fix the broken things that you love?”
“Only good for wooing girls then? Not keeping them?”
“Shut up.” I threatened. “I don't need to be talking about this anymore. She's reading this, you know. She'll read this and feel even worse because of how much I hate everything about this damn situation. Typing this is like poison to my not-relationship.”
“How much did you hate typing that phrase?” He smirked as he said it.
“Fuck you.” My tone had grown low and damgerous. I realize that there's the beginnings of tears in my eyes. “Just go away, alright? Writing more is going to make more problems than ever, and I just can't fucking deal with more fucking problems right now. I just want to be happy in my girlfriend's arms, and not worry about money and debts and loans and broken cars and unemployment and traffic violations and family and all of that complete crap. Being happy in someone's arms is NOT TOO FUCKING MUCH TO ASK FOR.”
The man looked taken aback. He frowned. “Is that all you want?”
I nodded, actually crying now. “Do you know how much better it would be if the Xela from December was here with her arms around me, lying to me and telling me that it would all work out?””
“The sex? The relationship?”
“Fuck it. I don't care. I just want to feel close to someone again. I want to fall asleep without feeling like there's a piece of me missing. I want to be able to write what I feel without actually thinking that I'll be getting social ramifications back from posting it.”
“Like what?”
“Like people whom I don't want to talk to telling me that they're there if I want to talk to them. No shit they're there. They're always there. I know the people I talk to when I'm like this. Unfortunately, EJ isn't fucking online right now, and Dan's gone to bed. Besides, Dan's heard way too much about this one. He doesn't need that on his plate.”
“What're friends for?”
“They're for making me forget about all this, not to help me talk it out. That's the mistake that so many of them are making. They're trying to spend time on it, like I am, and that's never going to work.”
“So, what do you do? He asks me, like he expects me to have an answer. I don't, but I give one anyway.
“I guess that I give up, and hope that giving up ends up working in the long run.”
“Good luck.” he wishes me as he leaves. “It's not going to work, and you know that as well as I do.”
That sets me over the edge. I go to lie down for bed and know that I'm not getting any sleep tonight.
“What's wrong?” asked the stranger. He cocked his head to the side and watched me like I was some kind of quaint little thing.
“I just actively decided to start suppressing my emotions because of a girl. Definitely a good idea.” I gritted my teeth and punched again. This time, the drywall snapped under the force and half my forearm sunk into the wall before I stopped. My breathing was ragged and uneven, and I found the limb shaking with unspent adrenaline.
“Why would you do that?”
“WHY THE HELL ELSE?” I screamed, full of rage. “IT'S BECAUSE I'M FUCKING IN LOVE AND I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT!”
That one word echoed through the room, like some kind of evil echo reminding me of my problem again and again. That's what it feels like in my head sometimes. Like no matter what I do, I have the same story over and over again in a cycle. Get a good thing, obsess over the good thing, make the good thing your whole life. Good thing becomes less good, then obsess over it trying to make it perfect again, until it's just nothing, and then have to cope with your life being about nothing.
Long pause. He didn't seem to have anything to say about that.
“So I'm trying this. I'm gonna bottle it all up, because if I keep TRYING so damned hard, I'm never going to be able to fix it. I need to be false and lie about how it is to preserve how it will be.” I winced. “Sorry, could be. Can't get a straight answer on that one in my head either.”
“You don't have any hope at all, do you?” he asked, marking the issue perfectly. “You think that she's just saying all of that to make your pain just the slightest bit weaker. She doesn't intend to come back any more than you intended to keep in touch. Hell, you probably think that she's just doing it because if she doesn't, then you'll leave her as a friend.”
“But I will.”
“You think that?”
“It's how I react to things. Things that hurt me don't get to be part of my life anymore. Ask Brittany. Ask Jenny. Ask Jen. Ask MCV. Ask Rachel. Ask...”
“I get the picture.” He said, waving his hand dismissively. “But what about Maggie?”
“She's one exception, and there was a huge gulf in the middle there when we didn't talk at all. We were only kept in proximity by mutual friends anyway, and we don't have any of those anyways. We have...guildmates, but nothing that could really compel me to stay in touch.”
“You have your writings...” he countered, and I just shook my head.
“My writings? I don't write. I occassionally write a page or two, at most. I've written five pages this month, and four of them have been conversations like this. That's not a writer, that's an angsty teen who doesn't know when he needs to fucking grow up.”
“You've gotten really bitter about this whole thing.”
“Tonight's phone call sucked. I just made things worse like I always do. Surprised? I'm not. Every time, too much time. Talk and it'll make it better. What's the use of a silver tongue if you can't use it to fix the broken things that you love?”
“Only good for wooing girls then? Not keeping them?”
“Shut up.” I threatened. “I don't need to be talking about this anymore. She's reading this, you know. She'll read this and feel even worse because of how much I hate everything about this damn situation. Typing this is like poison to my not-relationship.”
“How much did you hate typing that phrase?” He smirked as he said it.
“Fuck you.” My tone had grown low and damgerous. I realize that there's the beginnings of tears in my eyes. “Just go away, alright? Writing more is going to make more problems than ever, and I just can't fucking deal with more fucking problems right now. I just want to be happy in my girlfriend's arms, and not worry about money and debts and loans and broken cars and unemployment and traffic violations and family and all of that complete crap. Being happy in someone's arms is NOT TOO FUCKING MUCH TO ASK FOR.”
The man looked taken aback. He frowned. “Is that all you want?”
I nodded, actually crying now. “Do you know how much better it would be if the Xela from December was here with her arms around me, lying to me and telling me that it would all work out?””
“The sex? The relationship?”
“Fuck it. I don't care. I just want to feel close to someone again. I want to fall asleep without feeling like there's a piece of me missing. I want to be able to write what I feel without actually thinking that I'll be getting social ramifications back from posting it.”
“Like what?”
“Like people whom I don't want to talk to telling me that they're there if I want to talk to them. No shit they're there. They're always there. I know the people I talk to when I'm like this. Unfortunately, EJ isn't fucking online right now, and Dan's gone to bed. Besides, Dan's heard way too much about this one. He doesn't need that on his plate.”
“What're friends for?”
“They're for making me forget about all this, not to help me talk it out. That's the mistake that so many of them are making. They're trying to spend time on it, like I am, and that's never going to work.”
“So, what do you do? He asks me, like he expects me to have an answer. I don't, but I give one anyway.
“I guess that I give up, and hope that giving up ends up working in the long run.”
“Good luck.” he wishes me as he leaves. “It's not going to work, and you know that as well as I do.”
That sets me over the edge. I go to lie down for bed and know that I'm not getting any sleep tonight.