I’ve gotten into some “strange” habits recently (quotation marks for dispute as to what constitutes strange). I could go into several unimportant details, but the one I’m referring to is “weightlifting” (quotation marks for dispute a to what constitutes weightlifting). As you may have guessed, I’ve been less than okay. For a while obviously, or I wouldn’t have this blog. Lately though, it’s been worse. There are many, many things that set me off. Even the absence of anything to set me off, sets me off. Something shitty happens, it gets to me, obviously. Nothing noteworthy happens? I have time to deliberate on all the things I’ve lost or the things I fear.
Nothing at all used to do this to me. When I was upset, I was upset and that was that. Lately, it’s come in bursts. Hence my splintered door. I’ve been enraged lately. When something upsets me, I’m not just sad, or depressed, I’m pissed. Every time I used to be upset over being alone, I would sit and be my depressed self. Now I question why. Not like a philosopher, but like an angry dog. I don’t really care why, and don’t try to figure it out. I just bare my teeth and lose it.
So why mention any of that? Partly to express my sudden rage I have to try to cope with, partly because I just finished lifting weights at midnight over a problem that hasn’t bothered me for weeks.
Blondie told me she was upset. I asked why, naturally. It’s almost a habit at this point. Because maybe if I help people, I won’t have to feel so disconnected. Anyway, she beat around the bush, not really even hinting at what it was, despite saying she wanted to talk about it (why the hell do some people do this, seriously I want to know). Finally, she said that she was upset because she and her boyfriend don’t really talk that much, and he doesn’t text her back. In the five seconds it took to read and absorb what she had said, I felt that familiar feeling in my chest. The one where your heart constricts and you can’t tell if it’s a good feeling or a bad one. That fucking feeling.
I had accepted that we were never going to be together, and I had accepted that I’d probably have feelings for her until the day I died, no matter how small. I just hoped I was wrong. On either account. I felt my heart leap, or crack, or whatever I think it’s doing, and I don’t have my usual reaction. I don’t sulk, I don’t frown and try to move past it, I stifle a scream, bite my tongue, and stay my clenched fist. I was fucking pissed. I hated that I felt that way. I fucking hated love. Isn’t that some kind of 60’s comic book villain reaction? Or the freaking Grinch? I was feeling the opposite of suicidal. To quote my favourite movie, “I wanted to destroy something beautiful” (bonus points if you can guess my favourite movie).
I will never be over her. I will always feel that twinge in my chest when she says she’s with him, or has plans with him. And that pisses me off. I need her in my life. She’s still half of my friends. It’s even worse now. My other friend has decided he’s not coming with me to the city this year, so I’ll be living alone, back in school which is this whole other can of worms that pisses me off, and Blondie is going to be my only friend in the city. I’ll be desperate to see her, and when I can’t I’ll be depressed and angry. I feel like I’m going to cough up blood from how much tension I’m feeling in my gut.
If my next post is a complaint about breaking my knuckles, you’ll know why.