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I want to tell you this, but you have had a series of girlfriends for most of the time since we split, probably have one now, and I don't want to cause drama, or seem suspicious. I also don't want to break the tenuous friend-truce we have going, where I can at least see glimpses of your life on Facebook occasionally. Where I can see you're doing well.
We were barely adults, going to house shows, driving all over Muncie, smoking waay too much weed, walking to the Village for smokes or coffee or bookstore browsing. We had our cocoon. And it didn't break, not through multiple young-adulthood crises, not through multiple moves where we were able to sleep in the same bed for a few months before being pulled apart again, rinse, repeat.
You put up with my bullshit, did your best to soothe my mind, troubled to its core. When I was in the hospital, you stayed with me the entire time. You forgave my outbursts, my misdirected anger, my clingy tendencies, my parents' own individual brands of crassness, insanity, and over-protection. You loved me.
That's not to say I didn't love you. I did. I still do, in that way one loves someone they no longer really know. If you needed help, I'd stretch myself as far as I could to lend a hand. But I know you wouldn't ask if you needed it, unless things were severely fucked-up. And even then, I know I'm not someone you'd ask, now.
I still remember you scooting over on the couch, patting the empty seat, reaching your arms out towards me. I remember how heavy and light my heart felt simultaneously as, instead of snuggling up to you, I asked you to come talk to me on the back porch. So I could explain. You said you'd been expecting "something like this" to happen.
I went to him because I was bored. That's the only reason. And both of you, the type to stay friends instead of enemies, let me choose. I could have thought of it as a mistake, and kept you. Kept your love. But I didn't. I thought I wanted him.
The last time I laid in bed with you, you asked me some closure questions, and I answered them honestly. Then you got up and walked out. I should have asked you to stay. I should have gotten up and followed you. I should have taken him to the back porch and explained to him that.. I don't know.At the time, all I wanted was him. Is it realistic to say I should have felt differently? I wish I had felt differently. Especially since he's now just another scar on my heart.
It didn't take a year for me to start missing you intensely, even though I loved him too. And still do. I thought it was normal, that it would go away. I remember thinking this while sitting in front of my computer, on The Ether, a little over nine years ago.
I was wrong. It wasn't normal. I still miss you. I don't miss anyone who came before you, now, I recently managed to wrestle the final demon down. Her. You would know who I'm talking about if you were to read this. I don't miss anyone who came after you, save for one.
So now it's just you, and the one I chose over you.The one who stood by while I ruined my life, the one who enabled me. And I miss him less than I miss you. Him? I'm still working him out of my system. You? I have no idea where to begin.
I think I don't want you out of my system. I want things to have been different. On some level, I want you to still be mine. But I had my chance, and I don't even know you now, really. My heart is convinced you're the same, or better, in all the ways that matter, but there's a lot I didn't bother finding out about you. Because I didn't know it was there to be discovered.
I'm too scared to even ask you if you want to be more friendly. Text back and forth, that kind of thing. Too scared of weirding you out, upsetting a girlfriend of yours, of driving you out of my life completely.
I found out recently that regret goes both ways. You can regret the things you have done... which is what I've always feared, which has kept me distant from people in some strange way. And you can also regret not doing things, which has been hitting me hard recently.
I think I've kept myself from reaching out and telling people how I feel because I've been shut down so many times. I bottle it up, and then explode, making me look ridiculous, which, leaves me to be alone with my awkwardness. I've never had a good experience with telling someone how I feel about them.
Recently, there was a party, and it was fun, and I was slighty sloshed, but not enough that I'd lost all my sensibilities (I was still trying to look out for others while I tripped over myself). I started getting hit on by this guy, who, I'll admit, I've had a little bit of a crush on for some time. A bunch of us were piled on a couch, and I mean litterally piled. Somehow, he ended up on my lap, and I ended up staring into his bright blue eyes. Oh God, just thinking about it makes me feel lightheaded all over again.
And yet, as attracted, (and drunk) as I was, I couldn't bring myself out of my shell. I wanted so much to just ignore the fact that I was a virgin, and just go for it, just be with someone for once. But I couldn't do it. I kept myself at a distance.
My first time was precisely what they tell you it isn't supposed to be--we weren't in a relationship; we were drunk and I let him take me home from a party. His interest in me had seemed to wax and wane sporadically and I never knew quite how serious he was or what he was up to; an unhealthy amount of gin seemed to rekindle it sufficiently for one evening.
So far, I've lived my life to regret nothing, and I have no regrets. However, I think that if I leave an issue unresolved that I'll regret it until I'm old enough to let go again. I'm not very old now, barely in the summer of my life. I haven't experienced much in my life, but I've done, seen, been privy to more things than many people my age, but there are still so many more things in the world.
I want to experience life as it comes and not regret a second of it. I want to be free to make these choices that may send me spiralling to my death or to a new life. I just want to do as many things as I can.
But, right now, I think that if I don't figure out things with one person in my life, then I'll regret it. This person means so much to me, but I just don't know how far that extends. I care for this person, I want the best for them, I just hope that they know that. It's important to me that they know that.
Out of all the things I have done, every event that has come and gone, the thing I least regret is the thing that I thought, at the time, I would most regret. It led me to a week in a psyche ward. I could feel people's love. They told you what they thought of you, because hey, it's not like they were ever gonna see you again after a week or so, right? I've been told people are too afraid of me to tell me what they really think. And that is what I truly regret.