Saturday, May 14, 2011

a dollar's a penny to you.

you just smile, like a bank teller, blankly telling me, "have a nice life."
come on, baby, now
throw me a right to the chin
just one sign that could show me that you
give a shit.

Selfless, Cold, and Composed - Ben Folds

If I could completely express myself with songs and song lyrics (one without the other really can't say everything) I really would. I have entire playlists titled "happy," "happier," and one long-lost cd entitled "morning music." The music I listen to is who I am. Every single song contains at least a line or phrase that I can relate to, and it usually coincides with my favorite musical expression in that song. That's just the magic of music. Mostly, "happier" is my go-to for instant musical gratification. Not tonight.

'Sho 'nuff. Feeling resentful and angry tonight...and my shuffle is giving me songs like Won't Get Fooled Again by The Who and Top of the World by AAR. Cynical and bitter. I'm eating my heart out. It's awesome. At the moment - Anything by Plain White T's.

Something I still truly struggle with is that I have nowhere for my anger to go. I write it down, yell it in the car, clench my fists and stomp to class. I'm still pretty pissed that he left me to deal with this. I got all of his hand-me-down emotions, dried-up excuses, and blame. And, he gave me an element to my life and history that will follow me around forever that is a bitch to attempt to explain.

Plus, when it comes up in conversation, I get to give a "Reader's Digest" version of "I-was-engaged-for-two-years-and-then-we-broke-up-and-he-killed-himself." I try, at all costs, to avoid dropping any indication of what happened last year to friends I have made since then, but it usually comes up, somehow, some way, and I'm left to scramble to pick up the shattered remains of that person's perception of me. I try to assure them that they knew me as BEFORE the suicide story is really who I am now, but I know that they will forever take that story into account with every aspect of who I am.  Balls.

Only a handful of people know exactly what went down between us. It's not like he ever shared the truth. Even his final letters to me were an expression of a truth he didn't share with anyone else. The people who truly care about me know the entirety of the truth. The true reasons for everything that happened. His actions, my reactions. My actions, and his reactions.

I chose not to share all of these reasons with just everybody. The people who I choose not to share this with see his suicide completely differently than those I did share the truth with. I struggle with this choice, because when I do not share everything with a person, his or her perception of events is different; wrong. It casts me in a light, and gives me a persona that I do not deserve.
People have ostracized me because of this. I have been excluded and thrown away because of this. Yeah, I am completely fine without those people in my life. That doesn't mean it hurts any less. The worst part is knowing that they don't know the entire truth. But, perhaps, that is also the most beautiful part.

I have preserved a mother's perception of her son. I have given her a false memory. I let her fill in the blanks that make her believe that her son was in the right, loving, caring, sweet, gentle. The person I loved was that way. Reality was very, very different. I don't want her to be aware of reality. Not yet.

I will never know if it was completely the depression. I will never know who he really was. However, I think I have a better idea than most how conflicted he was, and I think that I saw more sides of him, and more of who he truly was, than anyone else. He was a person who loved; a person who hated; a person who hurt. He was hurting. He was also hurting me. I don't care what the reason was anymore. All I know is that I couldn't stand being hurt anymore. I can't possibly love someone who hurts me as much as he did.

I found someone who I can love. For that, I will never apologize. Ever.

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