Category Archives: unrequited love

this feels like a million and a half years ago.

Germany has been incredibly difficult for me. It’s the “ocean” thing again. Sometimes the memory waves are pretty calm and peaceful and then sometimes they’re really choppy and strong and just knock me over and don’t get me started about the undertow that keeps wanting to suck me back to August 11th all over again. Like now, I don’t know what it was but last night no matter how hard I prayed or thought about other things, every time I went to sleep (because I don’t sleep through the night, of course) I had dreams about him. Is that you in front of me, coming back for even more, exactly the same? I can’t tell you why either, being alone in Germany has allowed (forced) me to think about things that I have been able to push away for a long time and no matter how much I try to deny it, I still love him with parts of my heart I didn’t know existed. You must be a masochist to love a modern leper on his last leg. Well I crippled your heart a hundred a times and it still can’t work out. And all I want is for it to stop but they don’t. I used to stop them as soon as they started (or at least tried to stop them as quickly as possible). I tried to push the memories out of my head because I thought that was the way to control them. But still, they never stopped, so then I tried allowing myself to let my mind go where it wanted so that maybe once I would remember then my brain would say something like “ok, we remembered that, reflected on it, now we can file it away with other things from the past, never to be revisited.” You see I got this disease I can’t shake it and I’m just rattling through life. But nope, that seemed to have the same effect, they never stopped. The one thing I keep going back to was that last conversation before he changed his mind about me. It’s like I have survivor’s guilt or something, like I was driving the car in which everyone died and I didn’t so now I have to live a life of regret and guilt. The worst thing is, I can’t even remember all the things I said. I can’t even pinpoint what it was exactly that pushed him completely away yet, I know I kept asking him what it would take to push him away again. I cut my foot to spite my leg. Is that you in front of me, coming back for even more, exactly the same. You must be a masochist to love a modern leper on his last leg. And I finally did it, I was successful. I’ll never forget what Emily said to me after it all happened, that I didn’t take him seriously when he wanted to come back (and he was apparently serious) so I should take him seriously when he said that his feelings have changed. So I have, and I stopped the nonsense I lived in after we broke up which was me living in disbelief that he wouldn’t come back. I don’t entertain that fantasy anymore and instead I am just incredibly sad that this time (even more so than the last time) it is incredibly real. I still can’t stop suffocating on his memories. And that is exactly what it is, suffocating. I want so badly to get some air and instead even in times of supposed reprieve (sleep) I am still haunted. I keep imagining a special pill or a special kind of lobotomy that will take away those memories because despite how happy I was, I would give away all of that happiness if it meant ridding myself of what I am going through now. Well I am ill but I’m not dead. And I don’t know which loss I’d prefer. Cuz that limb that I have lost it was the only thing holding me up. There is you, In front of me coming back for even more, exactly the same. Are you a masochist to love a modern leper on his last leg?

Yesterday I came across the benadryl pill that I always had with me in case he had an allergic reaction. It’s funny how a stupid little pill could mean so much. I thought more about him than I thought about myself, I wanted to protect him more than I protected myself, and I probably loved him more than I loved myself. You are not ill and I’m not dead doesn’t that make us a perfect pair? So you and me, can start again. You can tell me all about what you did to me. What you did to me.


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Filed under ghosts of the past, i take sleeping pills not to sleep but to forget, unrequited love

some things never change.

in the 6th grade, i was in love with a boy named Ryan. He was dreamy in 6th grade terms, he was popular, played soccer, blue eyed, and his father drove a Jaguar (which i imagined us inheriting on our wedding day). i pined after him for the entire school year, even started shaving my legs for the first time in hopes he would notice. i devotedly (read: pathetically) scoured every teen magazine in hopes of advice on how to get him to be mine. In one of the magazines in particular, there was a section of readers’ art and poetry. One poem spoke to me in particular. It waxed poetic (no pun intended) about a girl’s secret crush and perfectly articulated exactly what I wanted to say to Ryan insomuch that I was convinced if he could only read it, it would surely make him mine. So i copied the poem onto my best stationary.

Not only did i copy it but I wrote it in calligraphy. (i found an old calligraphy set in our basement, complete with how-to instructions and i meticulously practiced each letter of the poem until it was a perfect representation of not only my feelings but the hours of calligraphic pratice). the only alteration that i made to the poem was my signature “from, your secret admirer.” I put the letter in my bookbag and shuttled it to school daily for about a week, unable to figure out how to get it into his desk all while becoming increasingly less certain about delivering it as each day passed. then one day, the odds tipped in my favor.

On this day, Ryan got sick in school and had to be sent home and my teacher asked ME to pack the books in his desk into his bookbag. I took this as a sign of the opportunity that I had been waiting for. I steathily sneaked the letter to his desk, placed it in the middle of a textbook, packed everything into his bookbag and gave it to my teacher. My logic was that he would be out sick for a few days, wouldn’t find it for a few days or even weeks, think that it was in his textbook for awhile, never speak of it out loud and the entire thing would never be traced back to me. this was the logic of a simpleton.

Ryan came back to school the next day, with the letter in hand, and had started a major investigation into its origins. I unconvincingly feigned surprise, interest, and tried to also play detective in order to hide my identity as the author (or plagiarizer). By the end of the day, it was pretty much apparent to everyone that  that I wrote the letter. I was the only known person who had access to his desk and had packed his bookbag the day before. When I was approached by the cool girls who directly confronted me about writing the letter, I felt my face turn red yet I continued to deny any and all involvement. However, because no one had claimed authorship and my teacher was a huge bitch, she decided to read it out loud in front of the entire class in hopes of getting a confession and further reinforcing mortification. I turned bright red, everyone watched my face as she read it but yet to this day, I never publicly owned up to the letter.

this story, and hopefully this blog are indicative of the ridiculousness that consumes my life, spurned predominantly by my own misdeeds and doings. now, thirteen years later I realize I haven’t changed much; i’m still hopelessly quixotic, rash, and impulsive. but this time, and only here, am i owning up to it all.

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Filed under shannon shenanigans, unrequited love