Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Anal for the First Time and Dripping Pee on the Floor.

Okay, so it wasn't the first time at all but you're never going to know that. In fact, I hardly recall the real first time. This time was interesting and we were trying something new because we had no condoms and because I have a sexy ass. We have a strange relationship. I might risk it, but I wouldn't change it. I love you so much.

If you only knew the half of how much you mean to me. How I'd do anything for you. I was crying so hard last night because I thought the world had ended. It may as well have if you were going to leave me alone in it. I was crying so hard and I didn't care that you heard me. It didn't matter what you thought because, I knew, you were ready to go anyway. And you asked me if I had anything to say, like you thought it would make a difference. Maybe it did. But I am so volatile lately that chances are I'll make another stupid comment and we'll be in that same situation again, me saying something unbearably stupid and being unbearably stupid, crying and begging for another chance. And I probably don't deserve these chances at all.

I don't know what made you act the way you did last night. After what I'd said and the way I almost drowned in my own tears trying to take it back or make sense of it. There is no malice to my stupidity - it's just stupidity. I don't know how or why you put up with it. I'd like to think it really is fullblown head-over-heels love and we really matter that much.

I am going to change, of course I am. This can't keep happening. It won't. Last night's slip was made up with grilled cheese and rashers and orange juice and cornflakes and a five to ten run to the shop and if you'd asked me to stand on my head, I would have. I mean it when I say I'd do anything for you. Anything to make you happy or, at least, make life a little bit more interesting or easy or something. Whatever that would entail. You just say the word.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Love is a funny thing. You expect it to be easy. You expect it to be a world of roses and laughs and perfect moments that you find only in movies. You expect him to always say the right thing, and always know exactly how you feel, or exactly how to react to it. You expect him to calm you down when you're yelling or to chase you when you run away. You expect so much that you feel entirely, and utterly defeated when something doesn't exactly match up with all your plans. But that's the thing. Love isn't a plan. It doesn't have a certain beginning and it certainly has no end or visible finish line to those deeply in it. Love happens; it is so incredibly messy. People around you can't comprehend why you do the things you do, or why you fight so hard for something that seems to cause you so much pain, because simply, they can't see. They can't see the invisible ring of insanity that surrounds you when you're in love. It's inconvenient and painful and devastating at times, but we can't live without it. What you don't learn is how hard love is. How much work it takes. How much of ourselves we have to put into it. How it isn't worth it until we are complete and utter idiots about it. Love isn't him calming you down when you yell. It's him yelling, just as loud, just as hard, right back at you, right in your face to wake you up and to keep you grounded. It isn't him bringing you roses everyday or cute things that make your relationship appear more presentable. It's after a long fight, that drains the life and bones right out of you both, and yet him showing up at your door the next morning anyway. It's not him saying all the right things or knowing exactly how to handle you. So no, it's not him caressing your hair and telling you everything is going to be alright. It's him standing there, admitting he's just as scared as you are. You have to remember that with love, you're not the only one involved. You've unknowingly put your life, your heart into the palms of another persons hands and said, here. Do what you will. Mash it into mince meat. Or forget I ever handed it to you. As long as you have it. It makes us crazy. It makes reality invisible and it erases all the lines that we shouldn't cross. Because love isn't about fencing ourselves in; feeling safe, feeling sure about the future. It's about scaring the shit out of every nerve in our body, but pushing forward anyway. Because all the fighting and all the tears and all the uncertainty is worth it. And it's a hell of a lot better, than being 100% happy without someone to show us that there is a world of a difference between feeling 'happy' and feeling whole.

Sunday, February 08, 2009

The Perks of Calming Myself Down.

I've begun rereading The Perks of Being a Wallflower again and it still gives me the goosebumps. It still makes me feel the same way I felt all those months ago in June when I was reading just so I could have something to hold on to. Maybe that was a good course of action. Maybe I should be employing that same course of action now. Anything to keep me on ground level, not crying about things that are happening or might happen or might never, ever happen. Or will happen, eventually, but I can do nothing about.

I'm not going to cry anymore. I realise that sticking a plug in my heart before, when I didn't trust Dillon and I didn't trust me, was a bad course of action, but I need to do something. January is gone. And I'm still crying. Why? Stop crying, Emma. You're wearing yourself out.

I succeeded in ceremoniously ruining yesterday's long planned outing to the cinema by being in a mood and being snotty and feeling inadequate because I was wearing black tights with a brown dress and the rest of the world was so much prettier than me. I ruined our Valentine's niceties. All he was doing was being nice, in his own way, by letting me decide everything. Not because he didn't want to, but because he wanted to make sure that we were doing exactly what I wanted to do. My thoroughly childish and ungrateful attitude to this is to suggest we go home.

We did go to the cinema but it must have been an hour before we talked again. I bought him Fanta and Minstrels, a peace offering. And we were alright then, somehow, during the film with kisses and my legs wrapped around his and I drifted into a half sleep on the bus back home and I walked to my house alone half crying and crumbling and I evaporated on my bed in the dark in my coat and I phoned him with my sincerest apologies because I'd finally realised the extent of my badness and I couldn't believe it. But I don't think my sorry meant much because it never does to him.

I annoy him too much. I irritate him. I need to change. Not just for him, but for me. I'm not working for me at the moment. My personality suits no one lately. Except perhaps my mother but that's because I have no choice but to be nice to her, otherwise I will find myself out of residence. But perhaps if I'm not nice to Dillon and Aisling and everyone else, I will find myself out of good esteem and out of friendship and out of love. I need to change.

But what to do? I'm at a loss. I don't know how to be. Nothing works for me anymore. But I have a tendency to blame everything else and claim that everything else isn't working. But really it's me. And I'm also in the habit of blaming Dillon for a lot of things because it used to always be the case that things were his fault and he was the reason I felt the way I did. Maybe he was. But he's not now, not evenly slightly. It's all me. But what do I do?