*A sort of autobiographical, too-intimate look at my life in the moment (it should be noted that almost NOTHING else that I write is about me, but I feel this is necessary for background/therapy reasons). *
I saw a car the other day like the one that you had when we first met (You know, the one we sold before we moved to Baltimore. I think we got $300 for it). It reminded me of you at 19 and me at 17. You and I were a lot of things that we aren't anymore, the most significant of which is in love. I was so young, and you swooped in with your "band hair" and your bench seats, and took me away from the mess that was my life. You cleaned up my messes, opened bank accounts with me, cried with me, for me, over me. Invited me in, and erased my past all in one fell swoop. And that was it. I was 17, and I was in love.
You were the thing that was to save me from my past. When I was with you, I did not think of my awful home life, or my failing grades. I did not think of ANYTHING but you. You made me laugh when I did not think it was possible to crack a smile. You were a numbing drug when all I needed to do was feel. I knew that I had to chase this feeling, this high, until it ran out. So, when you moved to go to school, I followed. When you asked me to marry you, I did. And for many of those moments, I think I was surface-happy. There was, however, always a nagging feeling that something was bubbling just below the surface.
How many years can you ignore your past before it turns around and bites you on the ass? As much as you tried to help, not dealing with problems never solved anything- now, don't get me wrong. I am not blaming you. I am confessing that I used you. I knew what I was doing. "Just smile and look pretty" became my middle name. Well, I am tired of smiling if I am not happy. And I am sick of having to look so damn good all of the time.
So, after much debate and heartache, I left you and the life that we spent so many years building together. Because I love what you do for me, but I don't love you. You were my band-aid on my gaping wounds of the past, but it's time to clean them out, and get some sutures so that I can finally heal. I would like to form more friendships with people based on who they are, and not what they can give. I would like to be able to fall in love and have fewer regrets. I would like to have enough time and energy to finish an entire novel, and, without having to put so much effort into keeping my marriage from falling apart, maybe that will be possible.
*So, this is where I find myself. 24. Single. Writing. Struggling. Missing. Rebuilding. This is the background to everything I write, to give some context.*
No comments:
Post a Comment