call me a cliché
Never regret, your past is who you are now.
yes, I am escaping. When they say it, they act like the way a mother would when she sees her kid drunk for the first time. “You’re escaping.” Yes, I am. To be quite frank, I would rather not die. I would rather start over on earth than start over… wherever people go when they’re dead. What do I mean by this? I mean I have hit a wall. I haven’t quite hit rock bottom, but I have definitely hit a big ass wall.
My solutions were as follows: kill myself, leave this hell-hole, or Prozac. I chose to get the fuck out because I’m not very fond of zombie-inducing drugs, and once again I would rather be alive somewhere else. Somewhere where the memories aren’t as ubiquitous. I bought my plane ticket four days ago, dropped my classes, and moved out of my prison cell of a dorm.
My first stop is Atlanta, GA. For three hours. After Atlanta, I land in Montreal, Quebec. From there, I am picked up by my father’s cousin Bash, and I am driven about an hour to my final destination of Stanstead. It’s an adorably quaint little town right on the border of Vermont, where I will spend the majority of my time writing short stories and screenplays, and waitressing at Millie’s diner, the restaurant owned by Bash.
Allow me to recapitulate:
If I had told him the story of the two of us like I was telling him the story of an ex-boyfriend and I, he would have looked me in the eye, cradled my hand in his, and told me, “That’s not right.” He would then proceed to tell me that no one should ever treat me like that, that crying to the point that I was too exhausted to cry anymore, should never be the only reason I fall asleep at night. He would tell me that he promises never to break my heart and that I’m safe in his arms.
Yet, he massacred my heart in the most vile and ruthless way I have ever experienced. I don’t see myself ever falling in love again. Even now, after the talks, after the tears, after driving me to the point of mild insanity, I am still in love with him, and I don’t think I will ever snap out of it. I can not grasp how any human being could treat someone they “care” so deeply for, in the way he treated me. I have lost hope. I have lost everything. I do not know what lies ahead of me, but the only way I could escape the constant reminders of the two of us would be to run away from them.
I have never felt this way in my entire life. I am almost 20 years old. I realize that this is a very young age, yet the way I felt when I was with him was like nothing I could ever explain. Yes, this is cliché, but absolutely nothing could upset me when we were together. I felt so safe, so euphoric, so completely comfortable, so confident with myself… I am 100% positive that what I feel is not adolescent puppy-love, it is the real thing. I guess he couldn’t handle that. So, was it wrong for me to run away from the things I gave up on trying to fix, when he did the same thing?
A man like him was an extremely rare find, and I cherished it and valued it and realized how lucky I was every day of my life. He is what every woman dreams of and speaks of as impossible. When women talk amongst themselves about their dream man and end the conversation with a, “Keep dreaming, girls.” They are talking about the man who stole my heart, locked it up in a safe, and refused to give it back to me under any circumstances.
Nothing is perfect… I can not begin to express how difficult that concept is to learn.
Will we ever get back together? I can’t say, but I can say that I wish it to happen more than anything I have ever wanted.
I can’t listen to music the same way anymore (every fucking song has something to do with love), I can never watch my favorite Disney movies, I can’t watch Star Wars, or read my favorite books, and Shakespeare? Hah, no fucking way. Cats, well… thank god I’m allergic, I avoid Gilgal Gardens like the plague, shooting stars make me want to get into the fetal position and dry heave into a paper bag. Every time I passed his house I felt sick. I don’t work on cars, or go to car shows without crying, my favorite genre of film-horror- is avoided as well, banana pancakes go right into the nearest trash can, so does pizza from The Pie. He took everything from me. I feel a stab to the heart anytime I happen to come across a photograph of him. Writing will be painful. Couples are wished to death (oh golly gee, I can’t wait for Valentines day…). Any reference to Lord of the Rings are dismissed immediately (it seems as though LOTR references have suddenly been incorporated into everyone’s everyday conversation).
He killed my creativity. I can’t paint, and I no longer feel any passion to photograph. Brighton… I don’t even want to think about what will happen when my parents, who are so fond of that place, will want to make a day trip there (see above photograph). Tom Waits… My all time favorite musician, is slowly becoming obsolete.
My friends became quite annoyed with me. I don’t blame them… but it would have been nice to have someone to talk to… someone who could have held me tight and told me that I could do better, and that they would find someone who’s perfect for me.
My ultimate wish came true; I got my prince charming, puzzle piece, other half, everything-I-could-ever-ask-for, every-little-girl’s-dream, even if it was for such a short period of time.
I began to hate. Since I could no longer love, it seemed as though that was all that was left.
I could no longer ask for anything anymore. I needed him…
I still need him.
What I need is this rebirth. Slowly, Painfully, but surely, this will all pass. The human being is an amazing creature. I know that I can do this. No matter how much I want to fight it and tell myself that he will come back to me and that everything will be back to how it used to be, I have to push through it and get over this.
And that is why I am approximately 2,278 miles away from home.