Stupid in love

It happened almost a week ago, and I am still really, really angry. So angry I hit a cab for not stopping at a stop sign to let me walk in front of it. So angry, I yelled at a pregnant woman in the park. So angry, in fact, that I feel like I'm revisiting those confusing, messed-up teenage years again, where all of these things just seem to be happening to me, and I don't have any control over them or my reactions to them. I haven't been sleeping. I've been buying (and smoking) cigarettes. I've been eating too much. I'm hurt. And because I'm wounded, I'm lashing out at anyone who gets close enough.

All because of a stupid, careless boy who was so wrapped up in his own feelings that he didn't stop to consider mine.

I guess part of the reason I'm so angry (or maybe most of it) is because i feel stupid. I should have seen this coming. But I didn't. I got wrapped up in my feelings, in the idea that i really really liked someone who really really liked me back, and i didn't want it to be anything but magic and so i believed that it was, in a way, magical. Because for all of my cynicism and feigned disinterest and obvious lack of emotion, what i really wanted was something real. and this guy came along and he gave me the illusion that i was looking for. and i let my guard down. and i let myself believe the things he said that i wanted to believe. and i trusted him.

And, here's the most embarrassing part. I even fell in love a little.

Now, I don't know what his side of the story is, but I thought we were on the same page. I thought the sparks were flying for both of us. I thought we were well on our way to happily ever after.

Because sometimes, you just have to believe in it, you know?

And then the rug was pulled out from under me. I was jolted from my dream. The boy said in no uncertain terms that I was wrong, he had only said he wanted to have fun, that there were no sparks, and that this was the end. "But, wait," I thought. "It's barely begun."

And once again, I found myself face down on my bed crying aloud, remembering how these feelings feel when they wash over you: the pain, the disappointment, the feeling of absolute and utter failure, the nagging questions. "What is wrong with me?" "Why doesn't he want me?" "What did i do wrong?" And even if you've done nothing wrong, it is still your fault, somehow, not his.

And once again, you realize that it is not the boy that you are mourning but the ideas you had about the future with that boy.

Maybe the truth is that he did like me a lot, but he got in over his head, he got scared, and then he realized that maybe he didn't want what he had said he wanted all along, and so he said he couldn't see me anymore.

But from my point of view, it seems a lot like this: He treated me like shit. He had absolutely no respect for me or regard for my feelings. He led me on. He lied to me and told me what he thought i wanted to hear so that i would trust him, and then he dropped me.

And honestly, the worst part is not what he did. It's that I fell for it. And it's the oldest fucking trick in the book.

Bad News Bears

Bad news, kids.

I've just had my very first ever rejection from an institution of higher learning. Rejection from men? That I am well versed in, friends. I've been learning how to navigate the subtle underpinnings of potential-romantic-partner rejection since my first crush on one Jonathan Gardner circa 1988 (we were in kindergarten. I was in love.) when I decided to make known my romantic intentions by strategically placing my mat next to his during naptime and kissing him when he wasn't looking. To which he replied by yelling "Ech!" and wiping his mouth furiously. (or something. I don't remember. It was 1988.) I got a good talking to from Mrs. Foster about how "nice girls don't kiss boys." But I've never been a nice girl, have I? And it was totally worth it.

Back to 2008. Educational rejection. Now this is a completely different animal. For once, it has nothing to do with the way my face is shaped, or how much fat i happen to be wearing, or whether or not my clothes are fashionable, things i don't generally put much stock in anyway. No, no, this rejection is based instead on the baring of my innermost soul and desire, my utmost creative effort, WHO I AM AT THE VERY FOUNDATION OF MY BEING, and all of the things that are inside, all of the things i generally rely on for my self-esteem, hooking of romantic partners, general advancement in life, purpose, goals, dreams, etc, etc, etc...well, with one piece of paper, SLC took one giant, hot, steamy shit all over it.

Thankfully, though, I learned a very valuable lesson this week from a little show called One Tree Hill. It was this quote: Blessed are those whose hearts bend, for they will never be broken. My heart is bent, friends, it is. But thankfully, it's not broken. *tear*