Hellos are harmless, are they not? Or is the harm in the manner of delivery? Either way I go about it, the circumstance dictates that I feel creepy about it. But I know that it couldn’t hurt to try. After all, I don’t know how much I’ve been lied to up to this point.
The PTSD thing hasn’t completely come true, but the anxiety hasn’t left me yet. The feeling of being stuck in one place has never been so great. I feel like sometimes this redneck hellhole will end up swallowing me and shitting me out in the desert, in the BLM lands, like just another dead body. I want to do several things that I shouldn’t do, and they all revolve around the same subject. This mental mess is causing me to think I should do things like make inappropriate phone calls to a store where a guy works that I can’t get over. By inappropriate, I don’t mean content of the call. The entire act of that phone call would be inappropriate, but today I was thinking about how much I didn’t care about that. About how much more it matters to have someone think they’re special to someone else, even if they can’t see each other. Even if it’s creepy as hell for me to do so.
The impact this wonderful but unnamed person made on my life was too great to start ignoring and forgetting about now. He made me feel less lonely so many times, just by the simple act of talking to me and having positive things to say about me that not even my “significant other” would think of. It was the stuff that hit home, not just a compliment about how I look. And to have people at work now trying to turn me against him for some fucked up reason that I really fail to understand (jealousy perhaps?) is one of the worst things I have to deal with on a day-to-day. What these assholes don’t know is that my mind is already made up, and has been for a very long time. They can’t turn me against him. What I’m afraid of, however, is that I’ll snap on one of them. Then the beans might spill, and although too late for any positive effects, all the negative effects would come full force. I’d quickly be out of a home, possibly be ostracized from my job, and with no friends or family around, everything would come crashing down at once. Maybe that’s the way things have to happen.
All I know at this point is that my brain is saturated with the residue of this lovely man’s existence in my life for the last 4 and a half years, and it’s caked on so thick that it will be nearly impossible to remove. And I’m not sure that I want to. These memories sure are nice to have, after all.
These feelings aren’t going away anytime soon. I can control myself for the most part at work, but the flashbacks are hard to handle. I have a memory of some sort for almost every bit of store that I’ve made a habit of going through. They all come rushing in sometimes. This love interest has made a lasting impact on my life.
(I don’t like to use names in these crybaby rants, so as to not have to endure the wrath of others, or public embarrassment later. So don’t take offense to being referred to merely as a love interest. You mean the world to me, and I’m typing that completely aware of the .000001% chance that you’ll read this.)
These last few days have been extra rough. I saw him, or maybe it was just a vivid hallucination, on Tuesday, riding down the college road on his motorcycle. I had just parked my car for class, and I was trying to jump out of it in time to try to wave at him from 100 yards away, but I fumbled over everything I touched. It was almost Kramer-esque. I looked and looked, but he was gone. Needless to say, I couldn’t concentrate for that entire class. When the class let out early, I lingered around that street for a while, since it’s the place I’ve seen him most outside of the store. I could’ve waited around all night if it weren’t for my phone constantly ringing with “are you coming home yet?” Not wanting to cause a scene over something with a fraction of a percent chance of happening, I decided to quit stalling and go home.
Home is never that great. Toddlers are high maintenance, and the boyfriend just sits there and complains about politics and cops, or stares at his Facebook page. Every week, his brother comes over to stay the night so they can “work” on their video game. What constitutes as work for them is sitting around stoned/drunk, making an ungodly mess of paper and munchie trash, and complaining about politics and cops together. And as completely uneducated people, most of the things they say are just ignorant and hateful, and have no basis in reality. Last week was the first time in months that the boyfriend didn’t invite his brother over, or so I thought. He told me that his brother wasn’t coming over that weekend, so we could spend more time together. Not even a whole day had went by before I knew why: his brother was out of town. It had nothing to do with trying to reconnect with me. And he was trying to get his brother to come over a couple days later, but some girl they knew died and that plan got squashed.
So now I’m at a crossroads. Never before have I been so sure that this current sham of a relationship I’m in is over. It can’t be fixed. I want more than he is capable of or interested in giving me. And sadly, what I want is not asking a lot. Some positive attention for once would be nice, and not the kind where it ends with his dick getting wet. Cuddles, hugs, just wanting to be in the same room with me would be enough. Of the three or so hours a day we get to see each other, maybe half an hour we actually spend together. When we’re lucky enough to get someone to watch our daughter so we can see a movie, he usually invites other people along. It’s horseshit. I want to feel valued, and not just for sex.
The saddest part of all this is that I’ve told the boyfriend these things that bother me, in hopes of maybe salvaging what was good all those years ago. We’ve been together a long time, so it’s hard to just up and leave when it’s not a life-or-death situation. But when I told him what bothers me, it did no good. He resents me for wanting him to get a better paying job. I should’ve ended it there. He says I’m not supportive of his goals, and I try to be, but I’m also a realist. I know that if you have no education, no connections, and no money, you have about a one in a million shot at even producing something that people want to buy. I bought him a book on programming for beginners, because if he wants to make games, then he should know that or else he’s limiting himself. He’s read about 10 pages of it in 2 months. There was my physical evidence of supporting his dreams, and there it is, collecting dust amongst other things.
Is it pathetic that I just want to sit outside and look at the highway and watch the cars go by, watching for my love interest to drive by even though I know he’s no longer in the state? I know it speaks to how truly miserable I am. I have several impulses a day to just leave and go find him. I want to run into his arms, hug him and never, ever let go. Right now I could drop everything but school (I’m a week too late to drop that) just to leave and find him. I want to see his smile, and the way he looks at me. I knew it was something very special, and I was too afraid of what others would think to go out of my way to see him off that day. I was also afraid that I just wasn’t important enough for him to even want to talk to me. I didn’t want to turn into a crybaby right in front of him. Right now I’m regretting being such a chicken, because all I want is to see him.
This sucks a big bag of dicks.
I did mean it that time, when I said we should talk more before you leave. I wanted you to mean your response. I guess it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have been such a chicken shit. I could’ve walked up to you, told Justin to fuck off, and got my goodbyes in. But no. I was scared, embarrassed. I didn’t want to turn into a crybaby. I thought maybe there was some truth to what Cecille had said about you being there Friday. Even with those speed bumps, I tried to stall long enough to catch you alone. I looked at space heaters for a little bit, walked slow. I wanted to go back into the store later on, so I could find you then, but situations arose at home. I managed to drive by the building at about 7:45 that night, and you were already gone. I was going to pull my old stunt, leave you a note. I was even thinking of going fully creepy by placing a creepy fortune cookie fortune with my number on it in your window. But you were already gone. Never again will I be able to enjoy a day at work, and I’ll be hard pressed to enjoy a day at home, too. I want to find you. I really do. But I know that probably crosses actual stalker lines, so I’ll just keep dying inside until there’s nothing left. It probably would’ve been great.
Want to know exactly how lost in the static I feel right now? I went to a gas station this morning to get a drink, and walked out without paying for it. I sat down in my car, put the drink on the seat beside me, and then realized that I couldn’t remember the last 10 seconds or so, and I had no receipt so that must have meant I didn’t pay for them. So I went back in, mind blown, and paid for them because I certainly didn’t set out to steal anything. How I held my shit together so far today is a miracle.
Hopefully my brain comes back before this job interview, or else I’m going to seem mental as hell. And I need this new job. I can’t work where I currently do anymore, not after this. It’s sure to give me PTSD if I have to keep going there and having flashbacks of the great things that I’ve been witness to.
I blew you a kiss the other night.
I know you couldn’t see it because it was dark, and we were driving opposite ways.
But it’s the thought that counts, right?
The last few days have been a multi-directional mind-fuck for me. Friends announcing their departure, love not finding me anymore, and feeling so unimportant to my own flesh and blood.
One of the only people I feel close to is leaving the state in the next couple of weeks, and it’s killing me. It’s my own fault that it hurts so bad. I got attached to him, got used to him being around to boost my ego every now and then. He was giving me things I wasn’t getting at home, like sticking up for me, listening to me, or sometimes just a friendly touch. I always knew that this would end up hurting me in the end.
This lack of affection at home is just driving the nail further in. If I can’t get affection from the person who, by definition, is supposed to be affectionate toward me, then who is really to blame for me becoming attached to someone else? I think he knows it now, and worse, I think he knows who it is. The conversation we are probably going to have later is going to drain what little mental energy I have left after this week.
Then, out of nowhere, my dad and little brother show up. They were on their way to clear out my dad’s storage unit, and figured they’d visit. It’s only been 4 years since I’ve seen my dad, and 6 or 7 since I’ve seen my brother. They drove nearly 2000 miles. They visited with me for maybe 2 hours. It would’ve been shorter if I hadn’t begged them to have some coffee with me. They were supposed to stop by on their way back east. I knew they wouldn’t. Since I work so early in the morning, I couldn’t stay up all night waiting for them to come by. I woke up this morning and saw the text that was sent after midnight, saying they’d be rolling through here at about 2am. Of course, they were long gone by time I had to get up for work at 4am. This hurts on multiple levels, since it’s the first time my dad has met his granddaughter. Couldn’t even take an extra day to visit with us. Yet they expect my broke ass to come up with the $1000 or so it would take to fly/drive us out there to visit them, when I don’t even make that much money a month.
So how is it that I feel like George Stewart? Maybe our situations don’t match up entirely, but Hugh MacLennan was able to really make you feel the mental burnout of George after Jerome came back from the dead. That book (The Watch That Ends the Night) spoke volumes to me. It’s events like these that you know deep down will be defining moments in your life. They will make or break me. I’m hoping that they’ll make me. Right now, I feel so unloved and worthless. I can only hold my breath for brighter days ahead. Either that or I’m driving my car off a bridge.
Read through my old posts today, public and private, and saw that the theme of “Sad Sack” is all that I’ve accomplished with this blog so far. Cry, bitch, moan, groan, and complain seem to be all I can muster, and the booze pics don’t help.
So, as the title suggests, something more uplifting needs to be happening here. When I figure out something uplifting yet it still motivates me to write, it’ll be here. Or if I happen to draw some super awesome picture, that’ll be here too. I don’t want any prospective employers or internet stalkers thinking that all I do is get drunk and complain.
And for integrity’s sake, previous posts haven’t been deleted. I did what I did, so I will live with it.
Hey you. Yeah, you, dickwad. In that lifted 4x4 truck that you totally need in a suburban setting. Remember how you spent that money getting your truck/suv lifted? Well guess what? Not only is your vehicle large enough and actually made for going over bumps with ease, but the fact that you are an extra 6 inches off the ground makes it even easier to get over bumps.
Thinking about those things, tell me why the fuck every person in a 4x4 truck or SUV that I get behind to pull into a parking lot PUSSYFOOTS it over that little 1.5 inch bump of a curb from the street. My shitty old Camry that is 6 inches off the ground can handle it. You have a vehicle that was MADE TO CLIMB MOUNTAINS and you come to a complete stop to pull over a tiny curb. What the fuck is wrong with people?