09/10/2013

dear tom,

this is my journal so i can be completely honest.

i was finally, after over two years, able to look at my phone and see an unknown number and not think it could be you. i simply made myself aware that you were never going to contact me and i wasn’t going to contact you because i realized i’d made a fool of myself the last two years sending you texts often. it wasn’t me then and it will never be me. i can’t ever prove to you that i’m not crazy. i can’t ever explain how i felt for you. i can’t ever explain the state my life was in when i met you. i can’t ever tell you clearly why i pushed myself at you and needed you to accept me.

but i can run it around in my head over and over, and that’s what i’ve been doing since you texted me this weekend.

i don’t know why you texted me. you said your life was bland and you were running from things and working a lot. i don’t think that’s any different from when i met you. it sounds to me like you have issues with one part of your life taking over other parts of your life and you refuse to address any of those issues. it sounds to me like you’re filling voids.

my life won’t ever be bland, especially any time before the age of sixty. when i met you, i was going through the hardest time i’ve ever gone through. on top of just moving home and having zero friends or identity, i was dealing with my parents’ divorce head on. i was living with my mom while she stayed at chris’. i didn’t have my own space. i was trying to avoid heath all the time. i was trying to accept the changes and keep my head high when i met you. i’d gained a lot of weight and i felt terrible about myself. i remember thinking i didn’t know if i was going to ever make it out of the cycle i was in. i didn’t know when my life was going to be happy again.

you seemed perfect. you were doing things with your life and you painted and you liked the music i liked. i felt connected to you and i wanted you in my life, but more than that, i wanted something stable.

things only got worse as we both tumbled into our lack of stability. i couldn’t give you space, you couldn’t give me what i needed and i begged you to stop seeing me because i couldn’t stop seeing you, and you wouldn’t. there were days you gave my compliments and cuddled me to sleep and told me i was beautiful. there were mornings i kissed your forehead before i left for work. there was fiesta and you telling me you loved me and you dragging me through la villita by my belt loop.

i’m not someone who deals well with rejection in any aspect of my life. i can’t look at things from a big picture and realize that maybe it’s not me. i don’t think you ever meant to hurt me as much as you did. i don’t think you’ll ever know that for those seven months, you destroyed whatever hope and faith i had in myself. i felt used and angry and unloved by everyone around me. i think i was more alone in those seven months than i ever had been. you were all i thought about and i secretly told myself that i would never have you, even though i continued to pursue the situation.

i don’t even think we had much in common. you told me you wanted to be more free spirited like me. you often told me i didn’t have a real job when i actually did have a job, it just wasn’t a job i needed a degree for. you told me i didn’t have a waist, either, and that’s bull shit. petty things aside, i miss you sometimes.

i miss your gait and your hands and feet and your glasses. i miss your bed and your floor and i miss walking in and seeing you paint. i miss not being let in. i miss feeling inadequate. i miss longing for something.

i’ve always wanted to show you that i’m normal. i’ve always wanted to let you peek into my life now and see how i’ve grown. i’ve always wanted you. i always felt connected with you and i still can’t figure out if it’s because you didn’t want me or if there’s actually something there.

but i ended all of that today by asking you to never contact me again and i asked you to ignore anything i send your way.

i can’t see you. i feel like i will think about this forever. i hate that i can’t sort it out. fuck fuck fuck.