If I have any hope of sleeping in the next week, I need to get my thoughts out of my head. I don’t know where I got the stupid idea that things need to be okay with me all the time. No matter what happens, it’s fine. But the thing is, it’s not always fine. It can’t possibly be. So I don’t know why I always pretend that it is. I think half the time I do it for my mom. Not that my mom can’t handle anything. It’s just that she ends up feeling so badly for me that she feels worse that I do. Then I feel badly for making her feel badly. It’s a vicious cycle. So, instead of dealing with all this, I just tell her it’s fine. Somehow this habit has carried over into everything else.
What brought one this middle of the night epiphany? My boyfriend and I broke up tonight. I called my friend Julz and told her. Then I filled her ear with a bunch of rationalized bullshit. I told her it was mutual, which is kind of true in the sense that I knew he just wasn’t that into me. I knew it. I just hoped that if I ignored that long enough, he’d never mention it. But he did, and here I sit writing. I still believe some of what I told her, like that fact that I think I may have liked the idea of him more than the guy himself. But still, I cared about him. It wasn’t love, not by a long shot. But still, I cared. A lot. So, after hanging up with Julz, telling her “It’s fine. It’s fine,” I realized it wasn’t. And you know what? It doesn’t have to be. This hurts. Bad. I hurt. And let’s face it. It’s kind of embarrassing too. It’s going to take some time, tears, and a lot of chocolate to get over. And I know that I will get over it. Knowing me, fairly soon too. I’m just going to need some space and a few friends’ ears (charge your cell phones, guys). I know things will get back to the point of being truly fine, even better than fine…eventually…
