Unrequited Love.

As any other night, I find myself distracting myself from my current life’s miseries with anything worthwhile on my phone. Tonight, that consisted of Dawson’s Creek, a TV show (currently on Netflix) that came out about two decades ago. For being a sucker for drama and romance, this show is right up that ally. In the midst of the third season, the girl falls for the main character’s best friend. How’s that for dramatic, huh? In some of those episodes, unrequited love becomes a very hot topic. In result, this gets me thinking. 

I just may or may not be dealing with unrequited love myself. I mean, let me just cut to the chase. My life turns upside down and I run to whatever distracts me from the inevitable turmoil. Of course this involves a boy, and frankly, I’ve been debating whether or not I wanted to write about it. But thank god I made a blog where I write about whatever I want. 

Sparing many of the intimate details, I’m stuck feeling like shit at the moment, and probably for a while, about giving into a few too many impulses. I love communicating through music. So if you’ve ever heard the song (or even just the chorus), “I found” by Amber Run, you just might know exactly how I feel. 

For the first time in a couple of years, after my last disaster of a relationship, I actually felt something for someone else. Even worse, I allowed it. If anyone really knows me, I don’t always have the healthiest of attachments. So I fell. And I fell fast, and hard. 

This person allowed me to enjoy things that I never had before. I started to believe in certain things that I thought were dead as burned ashes. Even the thought of them in the middle fo a work day would put a dumb smile on my face and I’d laugh. After my crash, I was brought back to life. And I allowed it.

I almost feel selfish for anything ever happening. Thinking that something, anything, in my life to feel right. To not crumble to the cold hard ground. 

I can’t help asking myself why would I allow those things to happen? I got so blinded that I didn’t see the hints towards what I’m currently sitting with. An unrequited love. The constant feeling of being unwanted. The feeling of not feeling good enough. Beating myself up, just like the night I had crashed my truck. That night, it’s like I knew what the unavoidable future would’ve been if I went down that road. 

After that crash, I didn’t want to be alive. Fighting with my mind, and PTSD, feeling like I should’ve died. God survivor’s guilt is an awful, awful thing. I was hurting so, so bad. I wasn’t me. Then that mysterious boy that he is, brought me on a trip. It was a trip to get away from all of the bullshit in life. God I wish I could go back. Or now at this moment in time, just forget it ever happened. But of course my feelings just kept growing. What can I say, I know what I want. Unfortunately, I still tend to be impatient even though I literally have a tattoo that tells me otherwise. I then came home after that trip feeling more like myself again. And god, this person was the best part of the worst year of my life. 

Now, without them, I struggle with these pushed off feelings from when I lost my truck, and now a bit of heartache. Not just any heartache. The same kind of heartache that I’ve only ever felt once before. Yet somehow, I keep thinking of the first occurrence, almost more than the one that I’m currently in. There’s just so much.. pain. I keep questioning, is any of this normal? Is it my PTSD? I’m so confused right now. Now, any good samaritan would tell me to focus on myself. Of course I’m trying to do that. It’s why I write on my blog in the first place. It’s why I’m finally writing about what’s on my mind. Exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about, but as anyone should know, bottling things up only makes things worse.

I have a really hard time not blaming myself for things I cannot control, and this is one of them. In both times of heartache, the other person just.. lost interest. Like a total personality flip. One person one minute, then something completely different the next, with no going back. I always end up asking, “What did I do wrong?”. 

“Am I really that bad?”

“Do I really deserve this?”

All faith in this generation, or maybe even society itself, is just lost. I curl up on my recliner, wearing my favorite robe, throwing on my Netflix, and shutting this cruel world away. I do have to say, I feel like I’m at the end of my rope. I’m afraid that I will decide to do something reckless in the matter of a split second. If I crash again, I’d hope that I won’t be around to live through the same pain as from the first one. If I resort to substances, my life’s sobriety would’ve been for nothing when it comes to learning anything from my father. 

Now, this particular person hasn’t necessarily done anything wrong. Things suddenly became abrupt and me being friendzoned. Or more accurately, pushed away. All I want to do is help. Be there. Do something. It’s not fair. But shit this world really does suck at times. Most of the time.

Now, what inspired me to write this rantful post is the fact that the past is always there to creep up on me and fuck shit up. So, I’m also thinking of my ex. What I not-so-long-ago had to go through. I mean, it sort of is the past repeating itself. 

I fell for a friend while that friend already had their own thoughts and feelings. I become anxious and antsy. I open up to them. I overthink things. They become ‘my whole world’ as all other things become seemingly irrelevant. I give myself to them. Things go great. One thing happens, then boom. All that dies down to nothingness and I’m left alone with nothing but more pain. 

Super healthy, right? Kidding. Not to point fingers, but I think growing up in a toxic family household has something to do with it. I’ve never seen a healthy relationship from up close. Maybe I’m too intense. Too difficult. Undesirable.

I’ve been going back and forth about writing about this, but I think for my sake, it needed to be put down. That’s something fairly new that I know means taking steps in the right direction: putting me first. Saying fuck it. Taking care of myself. Focusing on me. Getting it all out there. But damn is it lonely. Sparing me the cheap optimism, I know that I need to give myself time. Earn some more self respect. Let myself feel the pain, get over it, learn from it, and move on. That’s the goal. It’s a definite change of pace. I know I might not be perfect, but I’m willing to change. To better myself. And most of all, be able to live with myself and learn to love myself. 

Amber Run – I Found Lyrics | Genius Lyrics

Lowest Low

As I finish watching Netflix’s new movie,”After We Collided”, I felt the urge to write again (but maybe in a different style than I’m used to). Of course, if anyone has watched the movie (or series) they would know that you’re riding one hell of an emotional roller coaster in the romance series. 

After sitting through the feels, I decided to pick up my computer for the first time since bombing my college classes beyond repair. Can you really blame me? Trying to do online schooling during a global pandemic isn’t exactly ideal. I can confidently say that Covid fucked up my college experience. I haven’t even started expressing everything else turning my life upside down. (This would also explain my absense of writing..) 

It started with my 2006 Mazda 6 (aka Brandy) blowing its tranny and therefore being without a vehicle for a good chunk of time. It wasn’t long before I bought a 2007 Silverado 1500. I had one hell of a deal on it so I couldn’t possibly turn it down. I also fixed the tranny. After a couple of weeks, and within the same week, my little brother’s mom (who I’ve known for ages) goes to the hospital fighting for her life and I get deathly ill of Covid. These unfortunate occurrences did not have any correlation with each other. My little brother is just about parentless and court battles are being mentioned. I’m out of work for weeks and I live on my own, meaning that I pay my own bills. Shit just keeps stacking up. Tensions are high among family. Kim did eventually die after suffering for weeks in the hospital. I say fuck it and begin getting my next tattoo, which has played an important role in keeping me moving forward. I finally return to work when a couple of weeks later, I have steroid injections for the iliopsoas tendons in both of my hip joints. This leads to the worst panic attack of my entire existence (PTSD did play a role in the attack) which irritated my joints more. As if I couldn’t get a break, right? Oh, you just wait. 

Here is where shit gets interesting. This is where I wanted to start writing, until I realized that I needed to catch you up on every fucked up thing that has happened the last couple of months. Now that I have you in the know, remember when I mentioned PTSD? Yes I have that disorder and yes please keep this in mind for what I’m about to tell you. 

I’m going to introduce one of my best friends and we’ll call him “S” so that no one really needs to know exactly who I’m talking about. Please don’t try to be nosey, it doesn’t really help anyone. He helped me throughout the day of the injections. I’ll start with being excited about him picking me up that day (he also just got his snazzy car back from getting fixed after sitting a while). I was more looking forward to getting to talk with and see him after a minute rather than getting stabbed in my hips. He had just moved back home.

After arriving to the surgical hospital, he leaves for home (thanks to Covid, no visitors were allowed, and he was close by) to wait until I was done. The nurses begin helping me prep as if I actually was getting ready for surgery. I guess everyone preps the same, regardless of the kind of procedure. I really felt like I was put back into time when I had my two hip surgeries at 15 years old. The past was heavy on my mind. My nerves were gradually getting more on edge. I attempt to listen to the song,”The Crow and The Butterfly” in trying to calm my nerves, but was abruptly interupted with people prepping me and therefore bringing me to an OR room. 

My phone, which was playing the music, was taken away. It all looked too familiar. The X-ray screens and the cold metal table that I’d have to lay so unomfortably on. I’m trying to BS with the nurses as they finish prepping which do little to no good. I’m tense and cold and partially naked in front of strangers. The first injection takes me by surprise. The numbing medicine burned and I could feel a piercing sharpness throughout my tendon, as if I could suddenly pinpoint exactly where that tendon was in my joint. I bite back a scream and wince in utter pain. Holy shit this hurt. I even tried to sing “The Crow and The Butterfly” to help ease the torment, which fell short in effectiveness. For some reason it felt like I was being stabbed several times over and over in the same exact spot. A spot where I had so much pain just several years before. It all felt too familiar. Before I knew it, I’m thinking of my Arthrogram that I had years ago. Until this very moment, that was the most painful day of my life. The process was so similar. Instead of steroids, back then they had to use contrast. The doctor then began for my left hip, which was also my more painful hip. 

Tears were running down my face at the alarming rate in which I hardly felt. My body so tense that moving was forbidden. Sobs escape from my chest and up through my throat. Sobs that beg for the pain to just stop. These were the kind of sobs that I only escape in the comforts of my car during my darker days. 

I’m being wheeled back to my room when the symptoms begin. I could suddenly hear everything going on in the hospital 100x louder. The room felt uneasy. My tounge felt weird and an iron taste lingered. All goes to hell from here. Before I know it, 15 people are surrounding me and I’m out of control. I’m screaming and kicking while people are trying to restrain me and someone is trying to put an O2 mask on me. Several attempts for an IV were made until the third placement finally sedated me after a good half hour (or more) of pure attack. A stress induced panic attack. The first attack I’ve had in a long ass time. 

I’m happy and relieved to see S’s car pulled up at the entrance when being discharged. He is helpful in getting me settled into the car for the ride home. I’m dead tired. He helps me limp into the house. I make my place on the couch and he puts a movie on Netflix. “The Devil All The Time” to be specific. It’s a different kind of movie but one definitely worth watching. He stays to watch with me. It’s during this movie that the realization slaps me in the face. I’m drugged up and drained but I feel this more than anything good that I’ve felt in a long time. I’m into him. And not just ‘into’ because this has only happened once before. I’ve completely fallen for him. He’s always been there when I needed and never really let me down. He’s kinder and more understanding than anyone else I’ve connected with. 

Well shit. I’m laying there somewhat immobilized with these thoughts as we watch people die and shit. You’d have to watch the movie to understand. We finish off the night and we hug. S leaves before Anthony (my now ex roommate and ex friend) got home from work. I couldn’t stop thinking of him that night. Or that movie. 

I’m going completely stir crazy the entire next day. I have these newly found thoughts and feelings while being unable to escape my own mind. I don’t know what to do about it. My ex, who we will call “G”, starts to invade my mind. I usually drive to clear my thoughts. The discharge paperwork says to wait 24 hours before driving, without really going into many details. It’s just before midnight that I decide to go for a drive. 

I took my new truck out on the road because I missed it from driving my car a lot after getting it back. Plus it was easier to climb into my truck rather than bending down into my little car. So many thoughts are racing in circles in my mind. I like S a lot but I don’t want history to repeat itself like it did with G. I’m beating myself up over these repeating feelings so much that the nearby small towns weren’t far enough from home. I wanted to escape. I found myself in Eau Claire when my mind goes overboard. I’m thinking of Kim and how much I miss her. I miss my dad too. I miss Dohny, and my heart breaks for him. I’m thinking of the debt I’d be facing. I’m thinking of how fucked up my hip joints are and how I’m potentially facing surgeries. I’m thinking of how I failed my online classes and how much I hate this stupid virus. I’m so angry, confused and mostly depressed that not even a tear falls. I could feel my face lacking a lively expression. The call of the void is on my mind when I sit and wait for a train to pass or when I sit at a traffic light. 

I drive to exhaustion so I fill up with gas and begin to head home. I set the cruise and speed to get home faster while knowing that the sleepy feeling was growing stronger. I don’t even remember passing my designated rest stop. Before I know it, the glaring yellow reflection of a guard rail blinds my eyes when BOOM. I close my eyes. I know that I hit something. The first thought through my mind is that my truck is done. The second was a past accident with an ex boyfriend. I remembered the feeling of all that force hitting you. Force after force after force. I’m waiting for it to just stop. For a second, I open my eyes, and feel that I’m still moving, I see my ceiling lights hanging and flying, which are the only things illuminating my now smashed truck. The airbags went off. My things flying. BOOM! My eyes are closed again. I wait a couple seconds. The truck stopped. I open my eyes to see my ceiling right in my face and crouched down right in from of my steering wheel. The gas tank. I had no idea where I was or what I just hit, but there were a lot of threatening noises and I remembered filling my tank up with gas. I attempt to open the driver door, which fails. I begin to freak out, just for a second, before snapping back and turning off the ignition. The center console still flipped up and I begin to make my way out. I find my phone and call 911. As I wait for the ambulance, I see that I’m about 12 miles from home and under an overpass. I stare at my truck from a distance. My heart breaks deep beneath the shock and trauma. 

I was left with minor injuries. A minor concussion, bruised knee, chest pain (impact of seatbelt), cut up feet, and lost progress in my hip joints. After returning home, the anger and frustration set in. Pictures of the remains of my truck burned through my mind. People left and right were telling me how lucky I was to be alive. Guilt set in. (Survivor’s guilt is a symptom of PTSD) I became mean. I wished I was dead. I felt like I should’ve been dead. I constantly questioned why I wasn’t. I was unrecognizable. 

After another tattoo session several days later, a short road trip (that was previously planned before the crash) took place with S driving his car. I already got behind the wheel beforehand (which was a lot easier said than done) with the help of peers in order to try breaking my newly found fear of driving. 

I was so happy to see him. It felt like a break from the nightmare I was living as if it was a light at the end of a tunnel. He offered endless support and feedback that lifted my spirits. His kindness opened my eyes. I began to notice him more when I’d look into his eyes or watched the way he would drive. The connection kept growing. His somewhat shaggy hair and innocent laugh brightened my moods. I paid more attention to him and who he was. I couldn’t have felt more appreciative and grateful for it. I had no idea what to do next, but with him, I felt more alive than I had in a long time. The roadtrip that day with S is what brought me back to life after just being in the lowest point of my life. Lower than where I’ve ever been before. I arrived home that night with new memories and a warm smile on my face. Most of all, I came home feeling alive again with new hope. 

After writing for roughly three hours in the middle of the night and having some pages down, I’ve decided to leave this here as I don’t want to overdo anything, given that I actually have a 12 hour shift ahead of me soon, I’m going to end this on a good note. I can’t wait to get back into writing as things have started (fingers crossed) to slow down and I’m beginning to feel like myself again. I have a long way to go, but thanks not only (but mostly) to this special person, but also my family, friends, and peers, I am grateful to be here and I appreciate all of the support that I did recieve during this shitty time. 

Until I write again, Merry Christmas, Happy New Years, and drive safe.

“American Money”

My best friend and I remained covered underneath our own heavy blankets in the Livingroom of my frigidly cold house. The night was like any other fall evening, it was too cold to do much outside so him and I stayed inside to watch a movie. Our favorite genre is comedy.

Unexpected thoughts begin to rush into my mind. These are the same thoughts that I’ve been having for some months now. At this point, the rush is overwhelming as my mind begins to race. I see him smile to the movie which immediately reciprocates on my face. His eyes are a cool ocean blue, like when waves crash into a rock or surface. Some spots are almost white, while others a deep aqua. I see his dark brown hair, which has a ridiculous haircut, that makes my smile last longer than his. Instinctively I make my way closer to him by putting my icy feet underneath his warm blanket.

“Excuse you. Your feet are cold.” he says in a matter-of-fact kind of way. He looks at me funny and smiles.

“I know.” I smile. “That’s why I put them there.”

He smiles and looks down. What a goof.

After some time further into the comic film, I intentionally move my feet closer to him to test his patience.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I giggle to myself, “Nothing, my feet are cold so I have to get them warm.”

“Yeah, OK.” he smiles and we both laugh.

I keep testing his patience.

“Seriously, what are you doing? Are you doing this on purpose?” he asks suspiciously now.

I lay there on the couch with a stiff and blank stare at him. I don’t lie so all I say is, “Maybe.”

“Is there something you need to tell me?” his kind eyes are serious and curious at the same time. He’s looking right at me as I trapped myself into this awkward situation. My mind races and my face turns a bright red. Somehow he was able to see the change of color, even in the dark room.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” he pleads.

I cover my embarrassed face. My secret is out. He knows that something is up. He tries to uncover me from under the blanket but I refuse to budge.

He retreats and sits there silently for a minute before I recuperate my thoughts. The only thought repeating in my head is one that’s been present for some time now. Try it out.

I sit up from lying on the couch and cuddle next to him. He automatically wraps his arms around me. I finally feel safe again until different thoughts fill my conscious.

My PTSD flares up and flashbacks of my ex boyfriend pop up. His smiles were always strong enough to stop me dead in my tracks, whatever it was that I’d be doing. I was a dear in headlights whenever he’d look at me. His laughter was deep and meaningful every time. If he laughed, you knew it was good. My ex was just a best friend at one point in time, too.

I begin to question myself because what I’m feeling right now isn’t nearly as intense and dramatic as what the past holds. The differences are extremely unsettling.

What if I’m just distracted?

Maybe I don’t want this?

Am I crossing a line again?

What if I ruin another friendship based on disrupting feelings?

Why does it seem like I can’t truly let anyone in again?

These thoughts are no stranger to my tired mind. In fact, they have been swarming for some time now.

I lay back down on the couch silently.

He looks down at me and gives me a soft yet sad smile.

The difference between my best friend now and my now ex is that one understands me more than the other.

He could sense that something was running through my head as I stared up at the ill-lit ceiling. Before I know it, he lays next to me and hugs me.

My mind is racing faster than anyone participating in Nascar, so I turn to my phone and play my newest temporarily favorite song, “American Money” by BØRNS. The music helps me slow my thoughts and focus.

Just a week before, I heard this song on the Pandora station at work while doing my normal closing duties.

Every time I hear the tune, I feel free and content. It’s a song about love and adventure. The talks about bikes, storms, mountains, honey, and swimming offers a vivid description of what happiness feels like. The singer puts the dance of a partnership into a perspective that can make any listener of music fall in love with falling in love.

For so long I’ve been pushing it all away because falling out of love is what destroys someone.

I put the song on repeat so that I continuously feel the beauty of the music as I lay next to my best friend.

Thoughts after thoughts swarm my mind like a hurricane. One after another, like a cycle, I feel one emotion after another.

The song ends for the second time. I don’t want to change the music. So I keep it on repeat.

I want to feel this moment for a while.

Instead of worrying about what will happen next, I instead smile.

Just. One. Song.

That’s all it takes for the thought of you to cross my mind once again. The first thing I see is your face. My favorite part of you were your dark, yet bright, eyes that always won my heart over. Your warm smile was always able to bring joy to even a crowded room. One look from you was always felt like a shot of lightning. Sometimes it’s like I’d be a deer in headlights. As the song progresses, the sweet memories of long ago replay in my mind. The thought of all those yesterdays saddens me when I’m reminded of the present. Those memories are memories for a reason. The past is the past.

When the song ends, my curiosity overcomes me and I jump on social media. You’ve moved on with your life just fine. You even had another ‘special someone’ but that doesn’t stop me from feeling. I am only human. You and her are long over now but I can still see your happy faces together.

I used to be so mad and jealous seeing you having something special as if we never existed. To really love someone is so rare and to lack that reciprocation is quite painful. I had to do what was best for me. We were over long before it really was. As I ponder through all this time since you’ve been a part of my life, I finally feel free at this point in time. The pain isn’t there anymore, or like it used to be. The dwelling and crying is absent in the bittersweet moments. I’m at peace with you now.

I still think of you often, and when a certain song comes on the radio, sometimes it takes me back. But I’m done living in the past. I have better things going for me now. I’m slowly but surely learning to really love myself now, so that I am ready for that reciprocation when the time comes.

To see you and not feel that pain, regret, or distress is next to the greatest blessing you can offer me. In return, I wish you the best, truly.

For those who have lost a significant other, parent, child, relative, friend, etc. from any extent.

“One of the hardest things that a person can survive is the acceptance of a lost loved one. To live afterwards is a sign of strength within humanity.” JW