this.

You walk on to a new sound an old song that you just found
It still hurts, but it helps out with the change that you couldn’t
know about
Fire red to powder blue this stone inside of you
Is neither hot nor cold, but it is heavy and too damn old

She dreams feathers and her blazing guns
The myth it’s worth fighting for all along
He stares because he knows
There’s something that he’s lost or maybe just forgot
But either way it’s gone

shut the door

I'd like to hang Christmas ornaments from my rib cage, put a collar with a golden bell around my throat so everybody would know that I was coming; give them all a chance to make a clean get away. I'm tangled in mixed views and I really don't know which way is up anymore. I'm pressing my vertebrae up against the rear view mirror of the sky, and it was just yesterday that I learned what it felt like to be trapped. Highways all seem to lead in the same direction, back to the same address, but I'm trying to avoid you now for unknown reasons. I think it's because you're always calling my bluff. I'm stuffing November in boxes, getting rid of wounded bellies and dry mouth wit. Cats with crooked jaws dance with bare feet, and I shut the door on what you and I might have been.

this

"It’s bullshit to think of friendship and romance as being different. They’re not. They’re just variations of the same love. Variations of the same desire to be close."

--Rachel Cohn

I wish that I knew what I know now

I started writing all of this in a comment on my mother's recent post, but when I realized how much I had begun typing and how much more I wanted to explore this line of thought, I decided to make it its own post.

I think it's important to know which makes you happier - the person, or the place? What is the bigger sacrifice? Of course, for me, it's the flip side of that. I have to ask myself what makes me more miserable - being away from the person (Jacob), or being in the shitty place (Texas)?
I like to say that I'd rather grow old alone than go back to Texas, and most of the time I believe that. But most of the time I'm not thinking about the person, just the place.
Would I really rather grow old without Jacob than go back to Texas? No. He made me happy when I was in Texas. We were happy together in Texas. He made that place bearable, livable even. I can say with confidence that I love him more than I hate Texas.
But it's not just hatred for the place, it's not just the fact that there are more desirable places to live. It's everything that ever happened in Texas, it's the ghosts that make my skin crawl, make me (literally) sick to my stomach and mind and soul that reside in Texas. I just cannot go back there permanently.
I don't honestly know which would be (or will be, I guess) more insufferable: being alone or being there. I tell myself that being there would ruin me and therefore end up ruining us, so "us" being over now is okay because in the process I'm saving myself. But I don't really know that. I don't know for sure, anyway. I know that being there would ruin me, but I don't know if being there with him would ruin me. What if I could live in that hell without going to pieces because I'd be with him? I don't know if loving him more than I hate Texas is the same thing as the power of our love being stronger than the destructive power of my past. I just don't know, I just don't know.
I do know that I'm acting like a fucking high schooler by saying that I WILL be alone forever if I'm not with him. But at 22-years-wise, that's how it feels.
I'd be willing to test all of this, find out of I'd break by giving up my preferred location, find out if our relationship is stronger than my ghosts, but I don't want to be the only one. Not only do I not want to be the only one willing to sacrifice because that's just not fair, but I don't want to be the only one willing to sacrifice because it's more than a preferred location that I'd be sacrificing - I'd potentially be giving up my sanity and my entire self.
I feel childish again for being so life or death, black or white. I know that it is possible to hold onto at least part of my sense of self and sanity in Texas, and I know that it is possible to lose myself and my mind and be utterly miserable outside of Texas.
But I know that if I were to go back for a person, for THE person, and it didn't work out for whatever reason, I would lose everything. I would lose the person, the place, and any semblance of peace of mind.
Right now I've lost him, but I still have myself. There's no guarantee that I could go there and get him back. And if I were able to get him back by going back there, then there's no guarantee that I'd be able to stay healthy. There's actually an extremely slim chance that I'd be able to stay healthy, especially considering the fact that it wasn't until I got out of Texas that I even got healthy.


Wow.
I guess I've answered my own initial question...
I guess [right now] being alone is better.
No, it's just easier.
Fuck both of those words - it's not better, it's not necessarily easier, but it's safer.
That sucks.

I really thought that by getting the hell out of Texas I'd have a better chance of finding myself and growing up and getting a grip on/embracing health. I thought that by getting out of there and bettering myself, I'd be able to be a better partner to Jacob. I thought that my leaving would give each of us time to grow and come back together as stronger individuals and thus a rock solid couple.
I don't know if he's grown up any; I actually have no idea how he's doing. But I know that I am so much better than I was in Texas, so much healthier, so much more optimistic. I actually believe that the future is possible. I haven't really found myself or grown up, but I no longer rule those things out as impossibilities, and I believe I am finding myself.

I wish this growth could be beneficial to him.
It's hard to believe that we are really only possible at the cost of me.
How does that work? Is it really a "we" if there's only a part of me that exists? And is it really the case that "we" are only possible when I'm weak and lost? Could I keep what progress I've made if I went back for him? Is it a sign of strength and stability on my part to be willing to find out? Or is it a sign of weakness and fear? Is my willingness a healthy confidence in myself or a fear of the strength and power that I have the potential to possess?
Considering my tendency to self sabotage, I know that I cannot go back.

This is a strange thing. I know I should be happy and proud of myself, but I'm not. I'm sad and I feel disgustingly selfish. I think I need to be selfish now, though. Isn't that what I've been saying throughout this entire post? I need to be selfish - this is a healthy kind of selfishness. Right?

OH MY GOD SAID THE SAME DAMN THINGS LIKE 3285728042 TIMES JUST NOW. GOING TO STFU AND CRAWL BACK INTO MY HOLE NOW.

this story's old but it goes on and on

Sometimes I find myself thinking that some day you'll just show up where ever I am, tell me I'm the one and you're sorry, we hug and kiss and cry and then we live happily ever after. There are variations, but of course that's what it always comes down to. I think about this and my head hurts, my stomach flips, I think I'm going to vomit and cry. I realize that this is just a fantasy and you're not coming. You'll never come for me.
I feel like a complete idiot.
I'm trying to get to the point where I'm not the way I was when we dated so many years ago - I'm not that lovesick little girl anymore, and I can't keep holding on to these ridiculous romantic notions. For the most part, I don't. I am different. I am understanding of what happened, why it happened, and I know that there is no point in being mad at you or crying about it. I even recognize that getting drunk will not fix my situation. Yet I find myself thinking that we've come together so many times so there MUST be something to it - there must be something to us.
But our luck has run out. We're never going to be together again. There is no "some day." You'll never come here. I'll never be swept off my feet. You're not going to find me alone on the Clemente bridge watching boats go by with wind in my hair and tell me you want to be with me forever. That's some shit from a romantic comedy that probably made me cry when I was PMSing at 14 years old. We verged on a cute little romcom happy-ending love story, but you couldn't handle it, and we're never going to get that back.
This is over.
That makes me sick to my stomach.
I'll probably never see you again.
That scares me and makes me sad and is relieving all at once.
This is over.
This is over.
This is really, really over.


Just.. get the hell out of my head.

Texas, oh Texas.

Tony Norman (editor and columnist for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette) interrupted me in Reporting class on Tuesday after I'd spoken literally five words  to ask me where I'm from. I guess I looked surprised (I was caught off guard), so he added, "You have an interesting accent." Embarrassed that someone had finally picked up on my hickish roots, I told him Austin, Texas. His response: "Really? Wow. You have an amazing accent - it's beautiful! I love it." That was the first, and probably only, time I've ever been proud of my Texas drawl.

moving on again

In less than 48 hours, I will be moving in to my 4th dorm room at my 3rd college with my 4th new roommate, about to embark on my 3rd college orientation. Am I excited? Yes, yes I am. At the same time, though, there's a part of me that feels unprepared and scared to go back to school, especially a new school. Actually, I think that's the only thing that's making me nervous. I'm a 3rd year, technically a second-semester Sophomore (by Chatham transfer standards), and I don't know my way around campus, don't know any of the teachers, don't have any friends besides my freshman roommate who already has friends attending Chatham, and I feel inadequate & unprepared.
I think it's mostly the not knowing my teachers that gets me. I would be a hell of a lot less intimidated by my course load (Intro to Reporting, World Film History, Intercultural Communications, Elementary Statistics, Step Aerobics, and The Communique - the school newspaper) if I knew that Dr. Duder, Dr. Stayton, and Dr. Teinert were going to be my three main professors, along with Dr. Nick for stats. But they're not, and I don't know these people. What if they're real bastards? What if they don't like me like my previous english professors have, giving me buckets full of adoration and preferential treatment? What if the classes are TOO hard? What if I fall ill, physically and/or emotionally, like I'm prone to do under stress, and need a little help later in the semester but am too shy to ask for it because these new, unfamiliar teachers haven't known me for 2 years nor do they know my back story? What if I need to plop down on a pile of comfy pillows in someone's office and cry for awhile, but Dr. Stayton's comfy pillows instead of chairs aren't there and Dr. Teinert's not there to lower the lights and close the blinds so we can be alone? What if I get fed up with it all and just need to vent and talk about football, but Dr. Nick isn't there to be my psychology teacher and part-time psychologist when I refuse to get up from my seat because I'm about to explode with anger and/or tears after class ends? What if I need extra encouragement to write, but Dr. Duder isn't there to tell me I'm the best writer he's ever encountered at such a young age and to tell me I made him cry with the paper I wrote in less than an hour, boosting my self-esteem and allowing me to power through three more papers in one day? What if I'm having a bad day and just secretly want someone to recognize it, but Dr. Teinert isn't there at 8 pm to find me loitering in the hallway and give me a big hug because I "look really sad"? What if these new professors are hardasses that I can't relate to on any level, that don't see me as anything special, that don't really care?

I was SPECIAL at Concordia - I was a star student, and I truly believe a lot of that had to do with the fact that I was one of maybe 6 English majors in the entire undergrad population, so of course I SEEMED like a great writer and like I "got" everything on a deeper level than any of my classmates. But my classmates were athletes and business majors who couldn't give two shits about literary structure, symbolism, and the power of alliteration, nor could they appreciate Greek Drama for the foundation and backbone of literature that it is, even if they wanted to. I know, I'm a fucking snob, sue me. I earned my right to be a snob at Concordia. Now.. now I'm just another average undergrad with a Peterpan complex who doesn't want to grow up so is settling on the dream of being a writer because it doesn't require a career path.
I finally got comfortable at Concordia - I dug my heels in and made myself a cozy little home among professors that I loved and that loved me equally, then throw in a handful of peers I found myself in a lot of classes with that became familiar, almost friendly faces. I knew I was going to uproot myself from that place, that it was only temporary, but I found a similar comfort there to what I had at Huntington-Surrey, and now I'm afraid Chatham will become to Concordia what Warren Wilson became to Huntington: not good enough, not home enough, the crazy and the asylum. I'm scared.
It's just school. It's actually a rather easy course load, save reporting and stats (Reporting is really hard and I'm not good at it. For someone who voluntarily became a Communications: Journalism major, I am unbelievably uncomfortable and bad at reporting. And I'm not anticipating stats to be very easy, but according to my World Film History teacher, who is also my advisor, the professor is REALLY cool and REALLY understanding of us english majors and our lack of mathematical understanding), but it's intimidating nonetheless. I know it's going to be a lot of work, and I'm lazy. When it all comes right down to it, it's just that: I'm lazy. I could get away with doing a half-assed job at Huntington because half-assed was good enough and because I was a favorite. Same story at Concordia. Now I actually have to work, and I have to work hard. And I'm just not used to it. And it scares me.




Going to shut up now and find something relatively productive to do.

My tooth hurts.

The end.