So September 5 was first Him's birthday. That's was why I was all emo thinking about "His" song and all that.** It amazes me, actually, how much space he occupies in my head. I truly don't understand how someone who, for all intents and purposes, was a blip in my life -- a mere plot point -- can still mean so much to me. Even now, years later, when I'm fairly stable and extremely happy and and and and just excited for the future, He's just... there.
It's not right or fair to me. And yet I can't stop myself from remembering the exact shade of his eyes, or the way he tied his shoes -- much less the way I felt when things were exciting and happy and my gullible soul fooled my willing mind into believing that he cared about me just as much as I cared for him.
Ah, to be young and stupid again. To believe in earnest that all we needed for our story's happy ending was the right timing. I mean, I knew we both felt something. I knew we both cared about one another. But I wasn't wholly stupid and I knew that feelings and all that don't equal longevity.
Because that's just it: first Him came into my life just as suddenly as he left it. Quietly and unexpectedly.
His purpose in my life, if my life were a well-written novel, was to get me from Point A to Point B. He should have been the catalyst for me to grow up into a healthy woman. But instead I chose to wallow in self-pity and agony, got an eating disorder, and basically threw a year of my life down the crapper all because He didn't reciprocate the intensity of my feelings. My experience with first Him should have taught me to be careful, mindful, and responsible with my heart. The novel version of me, the heroine that I aspire to be, would have had a few days of mourning over a relationship that impacted her, etc, but she would have moved on to better and bigger. She would have learned her lesson that first time. And to an extent, I did learn that lesson. I learned to be more secretive, more reserved, less trusting, and less impulsive when it comes to matters of the heart. Because my experience with first Him was excruciating.
But I didn't learn to be careful. I learned to be scared.
I didn't learn to be mindful, I learned to overanalyze.
I didn't learn to be responsible with my heart, I learned to keep it locked hidden and safe.
And along came second Him and, well... second Him was like first Him on steroids. He had the same sweetness in his face; the same goofy personality; the same shade of blond hair; hell, they were even born in the same month! The only difference between first and second Him was their height -- where first Him was 5 foot 6, second Him was exactly 6 foot 2. And the lessons I learned from first Him were obvious in my interactions with second Him. I wasn't nearly as kind or understanding with second Him. I got annoyed and demanded respect; I was never fully honest about my feelings for him (though I'm sure he knew 'cause I'm pretty obvious...); I was more reserved with him (though I was addicted to spending time with him); I was less trusting; I was less willing to gamble with my heart.
But second Him still hurt. And I'm sure that the third Him will hurt, too. As will the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth, and so forth.
Oh, the emo is strong in me today.
But if my life were a well-written novel, I wouldn't think back on first Him every September 5th. I would have moved on from him years ago. It's true that I'm no longer fixated on him, but the fact that I get into a mini-funk every September? Oy oy oy.
On the bright side: I think I'm finally learning to be careful and mindful and responsible. I think I'm starting to learn to balance these three things with my fear, my overanalyzing, and my cagey-ness. At least I think I am.
**(Incidentally, His song is "What's My Age Again?" and if that wasn't enough to turn me off, then...)
It's not right or fair to me. And yet I can't stop myself from remembering the exact shade of his eyes, or the way he tied his shoes -- much less the way I felt when things were exciting and happy and my gullible soul fooled my willing mind into believing that he cared about me just as much as I cared for him.
Ah, to be young and stupid again. To believe in earnest that all we needed for our story's happy ending was the right timing. I mean, I knew we both felt something. I knew we both cared about one another. But I wasn't wholly stupid and I knew that feelings and all that don't equal longevity.
Because that's just it: first Him came into my life just as suddenly as he left it. Quietly and unexpectedly.
His purpose in my life, if my life were a well-written novel, was to get me from Point A to Point B. He should have been the catalyst for me to grow up into a healthy woman. But instead I chose to wallow in self-pity and agony, got an eating disorder, and basically threw a year of my life down the crapper all because He didn't reciprocate the intensity of my feelings. My experience with first Him should have taught me to be careful, mindful, and responsible with my heart. The novel version of me, the heroine that I aspire to be, would have had a few days of mourning over a relationship that impacted her, etc, but she would have moved on to better and bigger. She would have learned her lesson that first time. And to an extent, I did learn that lesson. I learned to be more secretive, more reserved, less trusting, and less impulsive when it comes to matters of the heart. Because my experience with first Him was excruciating.
But I didn't learn to be careful. I learned to be scared.
I didn't learn to be mindful, I learned to overanalyze.
I didn't learn to be responsible with my heart, I learned to keep it locked hidden and safe.
And along came second Him and, well... second Him was like first Him on steroids. He had the same sweetness in his face; the same goofy personality; the same shade of blond hair; hell, they were even born in the same month! The only difference between first and second Him was their height -- where first Him was 5 foot 6, second Him was exactly 6 foot 2. And the lessons I learned from first Him were obvious in my interactions with second Him. I wasn't nearly as kind or understanding with second Him. I got annoyed and demanded respect; I was never fully honest about my feelings for him (though I'm sure he knew 'cause I'm pretty obvious...); I was more reserved with him (though I was addicted to spending time with him); I was less trusting; I was less willing to gamble with my heart.
But second Him still hurt. And I'm sure that the third Him will hurt, too. As will the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth, and so forth.
Oh, the emo is strong in me today.
But if my life were a well-written novel, I wouldn't think back on first Him every September 5th. I would have moved on from him years ago. It's true that I'm no longer fixated on him, but the fact that I get into a mini-funk every September? Oy oy oy.
On the bright side: I think I'm finally learning to be careful and mindful and responsible. I think I'm starting to learn to balance these three things with my fear, my overanalyzing, and my cagey-ness. At least I think I am.
**(Incidentally, His song is "What's My Age Again?" and if that wasn't enough to turn me off, then...)
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