In suicide/homicide assessment, we’re supposed to ask for triggers that make a client begin to have such tendencies. I’m certainly not on par with either of those, but I still think the concept of triggers is amazing. For me, especially, there are songs. Songs I’ve played on repeat. Songs I’ve played at appropriate moments that word-for-word more accurately depicted how I was feeling than I could ever have articulated. Today, in a very long guitar playing session, I found myself stuck listening to The Hill. I think the last time I played that song (on repeat, of course) while I cried out a chunk of my heart was December 22, 2008. I left the next day.
How can a single song bring back an emotion? Upon hearing it the first time in two and a half years, I felt exactly as I did that exact day. I must admit that I needed to hear it though. Yesterday I was looking through old pictures, and I was getting overly nostalgic. It’s not that I miss Chris, ’cause I don’t, especially considering that was destined for doom no matter what. However, I did find myself missing something. Maybe just a simpler time, though I can’t imagine how a different LDR could have been much simpler. I was still in school, albeit undergrad, but I think I saw Chris less than I see Stefan now, and we weren’t actually “good” for longer than maybe 6 or 8 months. I think I was thinking about how different everything was (and granted he was closer once he moved back to Ossining). Life was just completely different. I was completely different. My feelings were completely different. All told, I’m 90% more comfortable now. And I’m much happier now. I couldn’t picture life without La Salle or without Stefan, so the distance is a necessary evil. It’s just…different. (Redundant, much?) And I can’t wrap my brain around how I can have such different feelings with different people (even if my actions are sometimes rather consistent).
I think I’m lamenting over life in general. Changes in relationships, friendships, residences. Maybe I’m afraid too. Of what comes next. Or maybe I had a bad fucking day and instead of thinking about all the shitty things, I’ve gone bigger and I’ve tapped into the past. I generally like looking back on my past–it’s very much like recalling a movie I saw a few times; it doesn’t feel like it was me. I suppose that’s a good thing, because if I still looked at myself that way, I’d be very unhappy with me as a person.
I know this blog post doesn’t make any real sense. It’s tangential and non-chronological and doesn’t exactly “flow,” nor does it have a point. I’m all over the place in my head, I’ve abandoned responsibilities (which really just makes it worse), I’m not prepared for the weekend or the next week or the next month, really. I’m going to be homeless in three weeks and I’m supposed to be in NY two of those extended weekends because I’m too goddamned dependent to cut out any possible days of seeing Stefan. I share my apartment with drain bugs. I have no money and little food. I haven’t gotten to talk to my own boyfriend on the phone for more than a half hour in five days. Don’t even get me started on the things I can’t talk about (e.g., my immediate family, some people I thought were friends). So it was a little easier before — I lived with my mom, who was nowhere near as miserable as she is now, I still had a relationship with my father & brother (though it was rather estranged), there were no BUGS, school was easy and even though I knew Chris was playing WoW or reading his email, he pretended to be listening and we talked a LOT. (Okay, I talked a lot. And this is not a complaint or a comparison. I don’t talk to Stefan for extended periods ’cause I’ve given up on trying to believe guys care about the details of my life or really want to be on the phone.) I would like someone to talk to, though. I was going to call Cory back tonight (and should have, especially considering it is now officially his birthday), but my conscience got in the way — I didn’t get all of the reading I wanted to done, so my punishment was no phone call. Of course, that didn’t stop me from playing guitar for two hours or writing this for another half hour. And now it’s too late, and I need to get myself to bed. If I can sleep. I still have nightmares. (Last night it was that someone appeared out of nowhere while I was asleep and held me down, which I “woke up” to in the dream. They were very animal-like and clamped down my hand. They also tried to choke me, and I punched them. Then I woke up, thankfully.)
So yeah. Here’s to a better tomorrow and maybe something a little more stable in my future.