Posty Post

Yeah, I quoted poetry to her, but Maya Angelou quoted poetry to us all, and I decided I wouldn't be embarrassed anymore.

Why did I so easily lose myself?

I lay with my head on her knee in a darkened living room, holding my third glass of wine, and nothing happened. I was honest, in ways I haven't been in a long time, and nothing happened. I talked, I talked it out without thinking about what the point would be first. Nothing happened. She didn't say anything. She didn't say anything back so I just kept talking. I know how to do that, I guess, but I stopped. Now: "Why start again?"

Am I coming into my own, or am I creating the person I've always wanted to be? And to be for whom? For me? For my past self to feel okay about all that happened? To be happy now? Am I happy now? Well, I'm happier than I've ever been before. No. I'm happier than I've been since The Ex and I first started.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm really happy for the first time since I ever felt actually happy (since I actually felt happiness; does it make sense what I'm trying to say?). It's an odd thing to realize that I never was happy. Not that I'm realizing it now for the first time, just that I'm still surprised by it sometimes. I'll tell the "happy" stories from when I was younger and by the silence and avoiding eyes I can tell that it's not really happy, and I'll have to look at it from my adult view point, to see what really happened. Oh, having my mom believe me for one of the few times ever, I think that's a good story. But everyone else seems to hear that the thing she finally believed was that I was the kid who got made fun of at school everyday (yeah, that was me), and, y'know, that whole part about my mom never believing me. These negative strands (my mom never believing or listening to a thing I said; being made fun of everyday at school) are the reality that I lived in. So the happy stories are the ones that finally combated it.

I was happy with The Ex. I know it's easy to focus on how much she hurt me and all the fucked up shit she did and that whole broken heart thing, but no one really knows what it was like before her. She was my Missouri, before I had it as my own. I didn't know that I could be loved or cared about or wanted. She taught me that. She fucked it up a lot at the end, and maybe she would have to, because look where I was coming from... Let's not forget the beginning, and have nothing but hate for her because of the end. (I don't know why it's "us", I know it's really just me, but it's easier to write that way for whatever reason.)

I'm not going to apologize for my current happiness because I worked hard for it and I deserve it. I'm also not going to apologize for when it still hurts, within this new state.

And I had spurts of...maybe not happiness, but I had spurts of good times, like knowing I could be loved or wanted, but it never set in. It was an idea of temporary relief and that I better enjoy it because it could disappear again at any moment. It was the night Jenn Geney let me sleep over. It was the lunch period Danielle took me to the park. It was the two weeks we played soccer in Europe and Lindsey chose to sit next to me on the bus and train. Why would anyone do that? It was that two weeks when nothing else mattered except soccer and how well we played together and it was fun. I still put my medal on when I'm home alone and feeling sad. Not because we won--although that felt really good too--but because it was a time when I was loved and accepted and even liked and enjoyed. My dad was genuinely proud of me. It was the basketball game I went to with Holly and all her friends and I made them laugh as they gave me a ride back to my house. They drove me. She let me in her car and talked to me and laughed when I said something...

Yeah, I had spurts of happiness without Laura, and without them I wouldn't have been ready for her, and without her I wouldn't be ready for this. This life, this feeling, all of this.