Departure

"There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go."

I like this quote from Tennessee Williams. It gives me a lift. The past several days have been really hard on me. On Thursday, I had my first day of college orientation. It was overwhelming and scary so I kind of freaked out. I began to think seriously about leaving home and making a new group of friends. I've never been afraid of change and I usually have the ability to adjust but that is because I didn't have to face whatever at hand all alone. I became even more aware of my aloneness while I was there. To make matters worse, I had to stay in the residence hall (in a room with the exact same layout) where I had spent many weekends staying in my ex-boyfriend's dorm room (he used to attend the college I'm going to next year). The fact that I couldn't confide in him about my nervousness and anxiety only amplified my misery. The entire college served as this giant reminder of him and I couldn't hide from it. As a result I was not outgoing or particularly open to making friends. I just wanted to go home. Fortunately, I did get to experience some excitement when I chose my schedule in the Pre-Nursing program. I'm looking forward to going back to school to get back to work because the summer has transformed me into a couch potato. I want, I crave, to be busy and distracted. I currently have too much time to dwell on my pain.

On Saturday, I went back to my future college for my sister's 21st birthday party. However, I didn't really allow myself to enjoy it. I seem to have an unconscious desire to be miserable and to make myself feel awful. Once again I closed myself off. I made the mistake of texting my ex-boyfriend, confessing how much I missed him. But, not so surprisingly, he was unsympathetic and unwilling to listen. No matter how even and kind are my words, he destroys every ounce of self-respect and hope I have. I keep fooling myself, thinking that I can warm his hatred this time. Or maybe next time. I think, maybe he won't insult me and hurt me so badly if I say the right thing. But I'll never be able to say the right thing when my words are contradicted by my wrongful actions. His words, on the other hand, make the deepest and most painful cuts. I have to let go of my naive notion that I can fix what's broken between us. He is hurting me back for having hurt him so badly. I can understand his anger but I can't endure it anymore. At one point, at a particularly horrible comment he made, I just lost it because I couldn't stand it anymore; the fact that I had played nice and tried so hard to speak to him maturely while he so happily degraded me, laughing in my pathetic face. So I stopped being nice...I just couldn't anymore...and tried to hurt him back. I remember saying, "Grow up and be a man. Calling me a slut makes you a big tough man doesn't it?" It went back and forth for a while. I couldn't stop myself when I said, "I want to see you so I can punch you in the fucking face." I tried to fight back initially with kindness but that got me no where. So fuck him and fuck this whole attempt at reconciliation. It's all bullshit because he'll never forgive me. I don't know why I even tried.

So I'll listen to Tennessee Williams because it's time for my "departure" from this mess and from the past involving him. It's comforting to know that, although now it seems that there's no "place to go," I'll find my way eventually. I'm still standing. This is not going to kill me no matter how much it hurts.

Negative Positive

I've decided that I want to run a half-marathon at the end of the summer. That is 13 miles. That is going to be hard. But I need to learn a few things: for instance, discipline, patience, and dedication. For those are the virtues I lack when it comes to relationships...so maybe I can attain them through busting my ass in a race. I'm very certain that I'm in over my head...but I need something to focus my time and energy on. Plus, the physical pain is a good distraction from the emotional pain I've been experiencing lately (I apologize for sounding like a crazy self-mutilator). Running a half-marathon would not only be a great accomplishment I could brag about for forever ("Run a 5K? Psh, too easy, I can run a half-marathon")...but it also gives me something to work toward in the future, a big ole' goal that I could reach and say, "Look what I can do...I can rise above." All of the negativity in my life can be transformed into energy that will fuel me toward finishing those 13 miles. I think I can do it.

Tomorrow I'll be going to freshman orientation for college. I feel nervous but excited at the same time. I'm afraid that I won't like anyone or I won't be able to schedule a class. I'm going over all of the bad scenarios I can think of because I have this theory that if you're expecting it, it won't happen. When I was younger, if my mom was only a little bit late, I would flip out, imagining that she had gotten into a horrible car accident. But even then, I could ease my worries by thinking about my theory. I'd think, that would be too big of a coincidence if the exact scene I invented would actually play out.

Okay, I'm really trying not to overthink and overanalyze everything. I just need to distract myself somehow because writing isn't helping!

What Have I Learned? Nothing, so far

I just deleted a hundred or so pictures from my computer. (It has been moving at a snails pace lately which has been really pissing me off. Even though all I ever do on the computer is check e-mail, get on Facebook or download songs on iTunes...which is never all that urgent or productive.) But it was kind of sad. To delete those snapshot moments from my life. Granted, my photo albums only stretch back to Summer '06...but that is a significant portion of my life! Preparing to go away to college is forcing me more and more to reminisce on the last four years. I decided I needed to reflect on my high school career and see what I've learned (if anything)...

Freshman Year
My two best friends and I parted ways. One friend went to private, all-girls school. The other moved to a new, rivalry school district with her mother. I was BFF-less to start off my freshman year. Fortunately, I had my sister, who was a senior at the time. I looked up to her; beautiful, Homecoming Queen, straight-A student, aced her AP and IB exams. I didn't have such a great track record...I was a pretty average student. I had a hatred for science and math (Wow...look where I've ended up!) I'll never ever forget the Homecoming dance that year. I was planning on going with a quiet, shy boy who had had a crush on me for a while. However, him and I being super awkward, we didn't really plan...or speak to each other prior to the dance. So I arrived at the dance, date-less (and wearing the same pink dress of a girl whose flirtatious boyfriend creeped me out in Spanish class). Luckily, another boy I liked came to my rescue and I declared him to be my "replacement" date. We were having a great time when...Date #1 showed up unexpectedly and terribly late. The three of us stood on the dance floor in an awkward triangle...which is hilarious now that I look back on it. (It seems that I have a knack for getting involved in love triangles! Still.) Here's the thing...before Spring Break that year, the thing you would think would be the most devestating high school experience happened to me: I was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. However, I think I only cried a grand total of once. It really felt like nothing compared to the devestation at the end of my senior year...but we'll get to that later. At the end of the year, after ending the on-and-off-and-on-again dating of Homecoming Date #2, I started working on a science project with the valedictorian of our class, a cute Indian boy (#1)...

Sophomore Year
The cute valedictorian and I started dating. We had our AP European History class together (and there was another overlooked but still cute Indian boy in the class who will show up later in my life...) That year I probably made the best decision in high school when I joined the staff of the school newspaper Odin's Word. I didn't know it at the time but I was going to make friends with some amazing people. I also made the decision to become a better student (and I've been a straight-A nerd ever since). I had switched from soccer to waterpolo...and I would switch sports yet again the following year. Unfortunately, the senior Chief-Editor of Odin's and I started, well, some weird relationship that still gives me the creeps. I didn't really like him all that much but I was a dumb sophomore (as my old newspaper advisor would declare!) (Another mistake I see and lesson I failed to learn.) Oh, and I can't forget...the story of Macbeth! To recieve extra credit in English class, a friend and I went to see the school's play Macbeth. I didn't really follow along with the convoluted Shakespearean language (although William S. would appear again in my life soon enough, much to my dismay) but I was intently focused on the junior who played Macbeth. He was very talented and very sexy, all brooding and murderous. During intermission, I decided to write him an anonymous StarGram from his "Secret Admirer." Of course my identity was revealed. A few months later, Macbeth would come to my door with a rose (and guess what...I was dating Homecoming Date #2 at the time).

Junior Year
I joined the small Cross Country team. Remember the cute Indian boy from AP Euro class (not the valedictorian)? Well, he was a senior member on the team...and I hated his guts. I had been a witness over the summer as he briefly dated one my friends and treated her like crap. During the season, we generally ignored each other (of course, we didn't really get any opportunities to talk since he was 6'2 with legs that moved at a speed ten times that of mine). However, on a rainy Saturday, huddled under the tiny Cross Country tent, my hatred melted away a little bit (I mean, who could blame me? He was good-looking, funny and together we listened to music on his iPod.) At the time, I was kind of dating (not necessarily liking) a big football jock who had parties at his house every weekend. It was at his party one weekend that I finally met a boy who would appear later in my life (See: Love Triangle, Senior Year). He told me that he had liked me ever since he saw me freshman year and I would never fully let go of him. Well, needless to say, the big football jock and I ended (not on the best terms) after an awkward Homecoming dance where I tried desperately to avoid him. (Ah, another lesson I seem to not have picked up...I still have a tendency to selfishly hurt people's feelings) Anyways, I forgot all about the jock as well as boy with the long-term crush on me and I focused on the cute Indian boy #2 (or I guess I should say, #1/2 since he was only half Indian). On Thanksgiving (there seems to be a holiday motif in our relationship: lost our virginities on St. Patick's Day, broke up and got back together on Veteran's Day), we became a couple with a funny (and foreboding, now that I think of it!) little nickname...Adam and E.V. (Do you recall how Eve ate the damn apple when God specifically said not to, thus fucking everything up?)

Senior Year
The cute Indian boy #1/2 went off to college an hour and a half away but we continued to date. Everything looked good. I would drive up on the weekends to visit him and when I went I got to see my older sister as well. That year I went to the Homecoming dance with a guy friend who wore a top hat...which was a lot of fun (way better than my freshman and junior dances). I was happy to be nominated for Homecoming Court although I didn't follow in my sister's footsteps to nab the crown. I entered my second grueling year of International Baccalaureate classes (think AP classes on crack) still maintaining straight-A's and trying to improve the GPA I sabotaged during my freshman year. (I hope you didn't forget about William Shakespeare because I thought I was rid of him but he returned with avengeance...literally...Hamlet and Othello seriously beat some deceitful ass). I applied to several colleges in my parent's price range and was later accepted to my first choice. Things began to take a turn for the worst, however, toward the end of the year. Well, you see, the cute Indian boy #1/2 I had fallen in love with, he had been planning to join the military for a long time. The thoughts of it made me miserable and resentful...so I ruined everything. I ate the fucking apple. Remember the boy with the (now, extra) long-term crush on me? And my penchant for Love Triangles (I've counted a total of three so far)? Two weeks before my Senior Prom, I cheated on my boyfriend with the crusher (fitting title, I know). Approximately one month after it happened, I confessed the truth to my (sorta ex) boyfriend. And to make matters worse, last night, I told the crusher that I was not over my ex. So now I'm just caught up in a Hate Triangle. Or no, take out the tria- from triangle and add a si- as in single. That's me, all alone. There is no geometric shape to represent me, just one little vertex (come to think of it, there is no shape with only two vertices either...)

So did I learn anything? It doesn't look like it. But I know that eventually I will learn life's important lessons...even if I have to make a hundred mistakes first.

Anti-Love

I'm on a strike against love right now, at least in entertainment. I don't want to watch love scenes in movies or on television and I don't want to read about love stories in novels. So I picked up The Andromeda Strain by Micheal Crichton, which is about an alien bacteria that kills fifty people in the town of Piedmont, Arizona and Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult, which is about a school shooting in Sterling, New Hampshire. Pretty morbid, I know. The Andromeda Strain was very disappointing...it just ended with too much simplicity and abruptness. I am a huge fan of Jodi Picoult's writing but I enjoyed her latest novel Change of Heart much more than Nineteen Minutes. Usually there is more twisting and turning in her novels but I was less excited during Nineteen. I plan to start reading a book I've heard a lot about, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby. The whole story seems so heroic and poignant. As far as television, I haven't been watching much. But I've become pretty addicted to America's Best Dance Crew on MTV and What Not To Wear on TLC. No lovey-dovey shit, as you can see.

The Ghost

It is so frustrating to be unable to sort out your feelings. I don't know how I feel. I wish I could organize my thoughts into a sequence that makes sense. But that's not how we were made I think. We don't draw inside the lines and so the colors bleed into each other.

I think the emotion that confuses me the most is love. What does it really feel like it? I think I felt it but it was my first time. How do you know? And why doesn't it hold people together better? I don't want to lose faith in love but I did fall out of it, I think. But now that I've lost it completely, I think I can feel it in the strongest way. I keep seeing things in my head that I want to chase away. Like his smile. That one tiny thing that I rarely took time to appreciate while we were together. Why did this happen? Why did I hurt him? I thought, I told myself, I convinced myself...that I fell out of love. But that doesn't make sense. It doesn't happen in the blink of an eye, does it? That is what hurts me the most. That I could lose hold of the greatest gift ever. That I could throw it away like it didn't matter.

I've been going over it in my head. Over and over and over. It leaves me helpless, powerless, meaningless. Love isn't supposed to do this to a person. I want to wake up and I want it to all go away. All my doubts and fears and sadness. But I still want to keep the lesson I've learned. That feels wrong. You have to make the mistake first so you can learn from it. But I want to take back the mistake. I would be happier if I hadn't made this mistake. I tried to convince myself that what happened wasn't a mistake; that my path was meant to go this way and that I chose for this to happen. I'm so mad at myself now. Maybe I'll be better off and maybe I'll realize that at some point. But right now I want him back more than anything.

It has been so hard not to cry these past few days. I had a crazy nightmare that ours paths crossed (it was very bizarre how it happened in my dream...I was sitting on a bus with tinted windows and he was outside my window riding a bicycle) and it's been tormenting me. In the dream, he looked at me and I could just see in his eyes that he didn't care about me anymore. I just knew it and I felt it. I begged a woman on the bus to tell me whether the windows were tinted or not...maybe he hadn't seen me, maybe I'd made a mistake. Maybe he still cared. Everything hurts when I think of that dream.

Strangely enough our paths did cross in reality. It was the biggest coincidence I could ever imagine. I decided to go for a run in the park yesterday. It was a gorgeous evening with the sun setting in a blue sky and the light flooding through the trees. I love days like those. The reason I run is because it clears my head and allows me to think about anything. Lately I've been thinking about him a lot and when I run, my thoughts just flow without much control. But when I'm clear-headed like that, thoughts of him don't provoke any real sadness or anger. Like I'm just merely seeing something but not reacting to it. Just being an outside observer. That's why running helps me cope.

But anyways, I had just passed the 1.50 mile marker when I turn a corner and...there he was, running toward me. As if my imagination had conjured him. It was like I wanted him so badly that he magically appeared. It was like seeing a ghost. I felt this electric jolt run through my body. I could almost feel the trigger being pulled for a huge rush of adrenaline and I could feel it coursing through my veins, propelling my legs forward to prevent me from collapsing. I could see the initial shock read in his eyes but then he looked down. I don't know what he felt. Probably anger flaring up. I kept running and he kept running in the opposite direction. My legs didn't stop. They couldn't. I still feel that my brain is protecting me from the shock. I just feel numb to it, like it was only a dream.

I hate the nights where I dream we're together again. I open my eyes in the morning and I want to fall right back into that daze. I realize that there are so many things I want. But I have to remind myself that I don't deserve him anymore. I have to keep telling myself that. Keep on telling myself that I'll move on. One day I will.