“I just want to spend more time with you. I feel like we barely know each other, and every time I ask if you want to hang out, or I invite you to something you just blow me off.”
“Then how do you even know you like me?”
“You know what, you’re right! I don’t know.”
Walking away I squeezed my eyes shut momentarily. I couldn’t handle this anymore. I absolutely hated the beginning stages of relationships. Everything was so confusing, and I was so impatient and romantic, which were two things in relationships you didn’t want to mix straight from the get-go.
My shoulders were so tense, and my head pounded with emotion that wanted to flood out like a tsunami tide, but I held it in. There were people milling about, and despite my growing hatred towards people on this campus, I still cared what they thought.
I hated that too.
I hated so much right now I felt like my heart was a dried up raisin, incapable of any type affection.
I wanted to cry. I was desperate to release the building tension in my chest. I hoped and yearned for so much when it came to significant others, and every time I only got let down.
What’s life without hope, right?
Well what’s life without it? A life with a lot less pain, I’m guessing. I know I sound depressing, but it’s the bitter and honest truth.
Maybe I’m destined to be alone forever. Maybe I’m not meant to be with anyone. Maybe this was one of those things in life where you should just give up, because it would only end in a waste of time and effort.
The thought of this made my heart ache with an emotional pain that was physical. I wanted to rip it out, this damned organ that was supposed to bring me life. Lately, it was only bringing me hurt.
Is this what brings on most depressions, the stupidity of the opposite sex? Is it wrong that I let something as mentally challenged as what someone else thinks, be the reason for such sad periods in my life?
This is all my thought process as I storm down the sidewalk and towards my car. I see it in the distance and speed up my pace as I draw nearer. I can’t hold in the water works for much longer.
As soon as I hit the unlock button on my car key, I give in.
I’m in the privacy of my car, only subject to the few judging glances of passersby’s. It’s ridiculous really. Can’t a girl have some privacy? It should be against the law to hold something in so painful.
I cried. I wept. I hurt. I slammed my fist against the steering wheel and my ponytail against the head rest.
It was too much.
Why did this always happen!
It’d been two whole years. I thought I was ready to get back out there, to try again for the gift of what people called “relationships”.
I wanted someone to share the hardships and battles of life with. Didn’t anyone else?
Of course they did.
But none wanted to share in that with me particularly, and that is what hurt the most.
This was the reason (and still is the reason) why I prefer not to socialize. I don’t want to be hurt, let down, over and over again like I have an immeasurable amount of times in the past.
I hate people.
I just want to sleep, and never wake up. I don’t want to deal with the stupidity of others. And I know I sound like a spoiled brat, but I think the correct terms would be spoiled dreamer. I just want to live a life with a tiny bit of joy. I want to experience this “love” that the novels talk about. My mind cruelly spoils me with the promise of a fairytale.
People talk about marrying their high school sweetheart, and then pastors talk about treating every day with their wife as if it were they’re anniversary.
Where is that for me!?
Just be patient, they say. Is this “patience” supposed to last until I’m old and decrepit? Because this impatient girl won’t last that long. Sprouting wings and soaring from the top of the UC sounds a lot more enjoyable than embracing this “patience” they’re answering with.
I don’t want it.
I tell myself this, hoping that I’ll eventually believe it and get over the feeling of wanting to be in a relationship so bad I’ll change who I am, I’ll lose myself to gain this special treasure.
What if it’s not all it’s cracked up to be?
I think this sometimes, and then I recall my relationship with Manuel, and it kills me all over again.
My nose tingles, then my eyes swell with tears and I push it all back with every ounce of energy I have. I miss him.
I miss what we had. I miss his constant pursuit of me. He knew how to do a relationship, maybe not all the way up to par with what exactly I’d hoped, but I was happy a majority of the time.
I still feel like it wasn’t enough, and I know that’s because we were never meant to be, and that’s why we aren’t. But at least we were something.
I tell myself to not settle for less. This world is too big, and this life is too short to settle for the lesser. But what if my standards are way beyond the latter?
What if what I long for is just too much. What if my standards are insurmountable? (I’ve always wanted to use that word…)
How would I even be able to tell? When I’m ninety years old staring out a window in a nursing home that I’d checked myself into because I’d never gotten married so I’d never had kids that could force me into the home?
Wow, that’s just sad, but I can see it coming.
This is depression. This is a mental disorder that I am diagnosing myself with. Is this how it is for a lot of writers? All the one’s I’ve done research or projects on were married numerous times.
Maybe I’m not like other writers. Maybe I truly am unique—inimitable… (I’ve been looking to use this word as well).
Maybe I’m one of the many “lucky” people who do in fact stay single their entire life.
I can’t do that! It can’t be true! It can’t be my destiny…
Please, God, no… Don’t let it be true.
I want cheesy romance, and fluttering hearts, and forehead kisses, and his thumb rubbing over the top of my hand…
I want to be scooped up in his arms at random moments, and the compliments about how beautiful I am when I need it the most, and someone to always be there when I feel like I had no motivation to go through one more hard day of life…
I know you exist. My match, I know you’re out there somewhere, but I don’t know where to search.
And one of the saddest things is I don’t even know how to try if I’m supposed to. The world has terribly screwed that up for me.
Am I supposed to go out searching, or wait for you to come to me?
Am I supposed to flirt with you, initiate as much as possible, or let you wear the pants?
I don’t know!
So many games, and “rules”, and exceptions that have made this process even more difficult than I’m sure it originally was.
I always find myself back here, in this place of being totally and utterly lost…
It’s too familiar, and still not the least bit comfortable.
I want out.
These are all a steady line of thoughts…
In My Head.
9/28/14
