I Know You Think That I Shouldn't Still Love You, Or Tell You That, But If I Didn't Say It, Well, I'D Still Have Felt It, Where's The Sense In That?
From mojo's Facebook account:
The problem I believe is the whole concept of labels. With other people, like B., I never actually had to have "the talk". I don't know if we ever tried to label what we were or are to one another. I've always just assumed we'll fit in each other's lives one or the other to the point where I don't question forever with her. Friend, older brother figure, confidante--it doesn't matter. I never had an issue with what label I wore as long as the length of service wasn't questioned.----
But this whole storm of what T's visit means and how far we should go into telling everybody she's my girlfriend, friend, or whatever has got me a little floopy even though it's still about three months away. I get the feeling that how long we remain close depends entirely on what label we deign to bestow upon this relationship. If I put the incorrect appellation upon it then some buzzer sound will go off and I'll lose one of the closest confidantes I've ever had in my life. Yet I don't want to apply a label just for a label's sake either. That'd be unfair to say what we are is "this" when my heart just isn't to living up to the description fully.
That's the problem with labels for me. Whenever you give something or someone a label, you can just as easily take it away. But when you know how you feel about someone and that feeling is fairly strong, it's harder to lose that feeling. It's more secure to say I love this person than to say she and I are a couple. Couples break up all the time and if that's all you are to one another then it's easy to lose one another.
But if you love a person regardless of what they are to you, you can go on being friends, become more serious, less serious, or totally serious and have no fear that whatever comes next will mean the end of everything the two of you share.
Or, to paraphrase, "Labels? We don't need no stinking labels." LOL
When my roommate read this her immediate question was if I was doing okay. I don't question the motive behind her query, but I do question her expectation of my reply. Not once have I ever shown her that I was prone to hysterics. I'm a candle at the top of a staircase, you have to walk for a good while before you can get approach the point where you can directly affect me. I may not be a stoic as I once was, even a few years ago, but it'll take more than one's man's opinion of how he foresees his future with me to dissuade me from my course of action, I can tell you that much.
As far as I read he's not disowning the idea that we belong together, he's disowning the theatrics that often accompany such announcements. That in itself is nothing worth my scorn. And as for his waffling on the issue about the direction his feelings have now taken? Well, that's just Patrick.
I know many of you can't speak to his state of mind during the last six months, especially when it comes to his romantic affairs. Many of you have only been exposed to such thoughts through the living documentary from which you are now reading. What with the site being shut down for the last six months--maybe longer--and not in the best of shape in the months preceding that, I believe all our motives, our lives even, have been somewhat of a mystery. Sufficed to say that in the intervening months between then and now there was a large part of him that resented me. In much the same vein there was a large portion of my soul that was rent asunder when he informed that he was no longer in need of my friendship, my companionship, or my care.
That's not the kind of emotional turmoil that people can easily forget or forgive. They icy waters of reconciliation doesn't always put out the fire completely.
One of my favorite sayings is "Don't postpone joy." It's compact. It's straight-to-the-point. It speaks to my worldview of recent developments. I can't control how he feels about me. I can only control how I feel about him. And the part of me that enjoys him in my life is enough to compensate for the part of me that experiences displeasure at his indecision. At this moment it's enough to know that I care enough for the both of us while he takes the time to figure out how much he cares about me.
I was reading a book the other day that spoke of how everybody thinks they are the first to ever experience a particular set of circumstances. It digressed how everything thinks they're the first to get laughed out, the first to lose their way in the midst of a tough decision, how they're the first to ever find true happiness. What it also spoke of was how everyone thought they were the first to run into insurmountable obstacles in the pursuit of love's contentment. Not me. I know I'm not the pioneer when it comes to this area of expertise. I don't ever claim to be the first one ever to hurt in the particular way I hurt. Gosh. If that were true then I would have to stop believing that there are as many people living on this planet as there are.
My head, my heart, and my spirit were cut to a thousand strips of paper when he told me that I was getting too old for him and that Notre Dame had changed me for the worst. Neither of those aspects of my life I had any control over. Asking me to stop growing up made as much sense as me not attending my one and only dream school. You may well have asked me to stop breathing, or, worse yet, to stop writing. I was left defenseless on the other end of the line, questioning if the stories I'd heard about his mercurial temperament were true.
Over the last six months, after his head had thought over the discourse his heart had provided it, while he had been making the first overtures to repairing the damage between us, I kept his earlier words in mind. The way he had phrased his dissatisfaction hadn't been improvised; he had clearly been mulling over the matter beforehand, possibly for a few months by that point. That led me to the conclusion that, even if he hadn't wanted to break up, he would've needed a break from us sooner rather than later. He had crafted those words specifically to injure me in such a fashion I would have no other option but total abandonment. I wanted him to die for I no saw other recourse to gaining my precious stability.
However, much like his own journey, I discovered that I missed the totality of what we had even if the finer points still proved to be malleable. In other words, I didn't know what I wanted back; I just knew I wanted him back. He was the ocean and I was once again the girl who dreamed of getting back to that wonderful place. It wasn't the water, the blue sky, or the calm breezes that I specifically missed; it was the entire scene and how I felt when placed among the landmarks that I sorely required again.
And even though everything told me he was prone to aim his poisoned arrows at me once his restlessness pervaded his thoughts again, I found I couldn't hold onto the idea of his absence any longer. I found myself caring about his attention more than I cared about my own bitterness. I found myself wanting to give him another chance if only to prove that I could be the bigger person. I started to decipher my own desires and found them contrary to the situation I found myself in.
That's never sat right with me.
I'm of the mindset that, once you're in a position to make yourself happy and have the inclination to do so, you should take it. If you're mad stay mad. But once you reach the point where you're capable of true happiness I don't much see the point in delaying that happiness. Don't postpone joy, right?
That's why I'm here. And that's why how he feels, aside from knowing he still feels a strong bond and/or attraction to me, is almost irrelevant to that state of my emotions. People say I should tailor my expectations to that of his, that it's only going to pain me in the end if I put more into this relationship than I get out of it. Yet I've never operated that way. Gosh. I've never even put one thought into holding back based on how someone else felt. If I'm reserved it's because in my nature to be reserved and not overtly demonstrative, not because I'm tailoring how I'm feeling to suit someone else's needs. My sisters, my friends, all tell me that he treated me horribly and that he deserves to dangle on the hook a bit longer.
But that's never been my way. As my plans to attend to him in November when I visit him for a week or so, my ire is a condition of the past. I'm not disavowing my anger or my sadness over our break-up. But that time had its place in the sun; now it's time to let a day begin. I experienced the death of something I believed to be the realest in my life at that moment. I let it consume me to the point where I could focus on little else. I gave into the grief for awhile.
And now it's time to live again.