I had a few things lying around to “file” tonight. I figured I had a few minutes before bed, so I’d get that done and off of my desk…an hour ago. While I was in the packed filing crate, I thought, “hey, wouldn’t it be a good idea to get rid of a few things like empty folders and old stuff I obviously don’t need anymore?” So I started to. And I got all the way to the end before finding some things I’d both (a) been looking for, and (b) wish I had found sooner.
For starters, I knew it’d be there. Because I said today that I was letting go. Every time I’ve said I’m letting go, I find something else, another “sign.” I meant it today when I declared it in the confines of my car, and then a few hours later I stumble on the one thing that could change my mind: the letter that didn’t [change my mind] nine years ago. “Animalistic Womanizer” was an absolutely horrible writer when he was…what, 18? 19?…but I think it’s adorable. No matter how long ago, this will always jump-start my heart, “I’m telling you, when you opened that door, that one split-second, you unleashed this smile; a smile that caused me to skip a breath. That split-second cleared up the haze that blocked reality from fiction.” It’s the kind of hope you hold onto.
But I don’t really know what hope is anymore. One of the other things I found was a small compilation Heather V. had once put together of excerpts from my blog posts (we’re talkin’ early-t0-mid 2000s here) for a class project (I was pretty good material when I was super-fucked-up). I’ve come full circle, it seems. Here, lemme offer up an example of wtf is going on in my head:
I want out. I don’t want the text messages. I don’t want the IMs (see how old?). Let me out. I need to get my life together, my priorities straight. I need to stop crying over my ex-boyfriend (Congrats, Chris! It wasn’t just you!). I need to start putting school first. I need to stop watching so much TV and start reading more. I need to start going to the gym. I need a hobby. And hopefully, all of these things will lead me to a less insecure place where I can finally be okay with myself. And maybe I won’t be so heart-broken anymore.
I’ll dig myself out of the grave I’ve stumbled into. Sure, I’ll probably scrape my way up the side, close my eyes and wander around the rest of the graveyard chancing falling into yet another. But that’s all I’ve been doing, so I don’t know anything else.
I used to think people that knew the way the human mind worked were just smart. It turns out…to know something…you have to be really fucked up to begin with.
And now that I have taken a closer look, Heather sent it to me three years ago to the day (10/28/06). If I had any doubt that finding these things tonight was a coincidence, I can toss that theory out the window (not that they’re open. I mean, come on, it’s 45 degrees out there!). Regardless of window situation, it saddens me to think I don’t write like that anymore. I mean, it only saddens me slightly, because I’ve nothing so bad to dwell on. Then again, maybe the notion that absolutely anyone can be reading this, including my parents, aunts & uncles, ex-boyfriends, (past &) present stalkers, nemeses and the like prevents me from fully disclosing my thoughts as I used to. I did get a lot of crap for all that disclosure, like, my entire blogging life.
So, coming full circle. Before, all I had was hope. I had hope when the whole world had taken a big fat shit on my head, smeared it down my face and laughed. Today, I just wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t feel entirely helpless or hopeless; but I wouldn’t use it as a stepping stone to higher ground. Or would I? Isn’t that what I’ve done with everything, ever? (Save for those two non-A grades, B & B+, I got over the Fall 2008 semester. That was not a positive. I am not happy about life during those months. I’m sorry I let external factors influence school so much. Bad Linda. BAD!) But life shit on my head then, right? And what did I immediately follow-up with? I established a relationship with some of my family. I got my grades back up. I found the friends I figured I’d lost from being so estranged. So maybe I do still work that way. Do I just not talk about it? Do I not remember how to be cryptic and sound wise at the same time? What is different between me now and twenty-two year old me? (Please don’t say 5 years.)
Now I’m sitting here, not able to straighten out any of my thoughts, but feeling like I’m on some kind of “proper path.” Except for giving up the one thing that might be right. I know I shouldn’t, but I don’t know what else to do. I still don’t know where my sense of appropriate dating etiquette went, or if and when it plans on coming back. The easiest thing to do is get rid of the thoughts lest they become obsessive.
Maybe the differences between twenty-two year old Linda and twenty-seven year old Linda are the accomplishments. I stopped crying. I focus on school. I hardly ever watch tv. I read a lot. The result has even been elevated self-esteem and mental sanity. I think I can handle that. If the trade-off is apathy and avoidance, do I accept those things, or do I make new resolutions to teach myself (will myself?) to care and try and allow myself to fail or think crazy thoughts or get hurt.
What’s the worst that could happen? I’ve already experienced some seriously horrible shit. Everything else should be dull in comparison. …yet somehow, it never hurts any less, just differently. In February 2006, I “grieved” for two weeks straight. In October-December 2008, I grieved every few days, but it never hurt any less. The up-side was also that I had next to zero post-relationship grief. That part was kind of awesome. I might have to say that despite the douchebaggery involved in the asshole breakup, I almost prefer it. I know; I’m a horrible human being. That’s part of what makes me so special.
So do I make an effort? Seems I didn’t reciprocate well enough the first (actually the fourth or fifth if you’re really keeping score at home) time, so I seem to be on the receiving end of “whatever happens, happens.” But what “happens” if I adopt the same philosophy? We’re both absolutely crazy, or as was once termed, the “same sick wavelength,” and that hasn’t changed in a decade. Or has it? I’m still on it. I’m certainly not like the “other girls”…
“And I was sure you’d follow through
The world was turned to blue
When you’d hide your songs would die
So I’d hide yours with mine
All my words were bound to fail
But I know you won’t fail”