what does a broken heart look like?

Have you ever wondered what does a broken heart look like? I’m sure many people know what one feels like the apathy, the uncertainty, and the overall feeling of abject failure. My story is just like anyone else’s, maybe the players differ, characters can change from set to set, but it’s not even worth rehashing. And yet, I have to if I should learn anything from this. There were some key moments, like a Friday night at an open food mall, a beautiful place by some artificial lakes. There we walked together hand in hand, happy to be together, at least I know I was. Making out between laughs and talking about her impending return home. That was the moment she struck first, with promises of the future, though vague and uncertain, never to be fulfilled. It was a few weeks after I had told her that my feelings were growing, that a friendship was not enough, she deftly put the decision on me, and I stupidly believed I could control my heart. I was as I usually am, wrong. When i went to see here at her home, we had been writing for a while, she had avoided more direct communication, surely hoping I would let go.

There her behavior changed, she was more attentive, going for and holding my hand, accepting my propositions for sex, which now I know was nothing more than a cheap attempt to humor me. Then I made what I thought was the biggest mistake of my life, I said I love you, and she freaked out, and yet she didn't have the courage to tell me that if those where my feelings, we shouldn't continue doing what we were doing.  We watched a movie, holding each other close, and she still kept quiet. We slept together, cuddling, but it was still nothing more than a lame gift, a way to avoid any direct confrontation. Most people think all men, and many think this of me, all they want is sex. But while not incorrect, we men also feel.

 I am not an honest man, I tend to lie and present myself as much more than I really am, but only one person have I let be privy to the real me. And she was the one that let me down the hardest, not for lack of reciprocity but because she couldn’t be direct about it with me. See, she did say she couldn’t return my feelings, but when she took me to the train station, she reached for my hand and looked me in the eyes and I asked for time, maybe there might be a chance in the future, she was evasive. I asked if I could call, all I wanted was to hear her voice, she said yes, but then she never answered my calls, or my letters, and only from a far did she have the courage to completely shut the door on me. I know of her follies, like she knows of mine, but I always believed we could be honest to one and other, open in our pain that we so easily shared. But I find myself alone and confused. Heart in hand and restless in my bed, thinking of her, of why she couldn’t give me the closure I really need. All she ever gave me were deflective answers, blaming her past for the way she was. Were all screwed up one way or another, but sometimes you get to a point where you choose to get over some of that shit. I wanted to do it for me and her, maybe she couldn’t. Or she really did never feel anything for me, just a “connection”, fuck, that feel like the biggest copout ever invented. I’m probably just being a simpleton, but when you feel a person can understand you, and you let that person into your most private pain, I think it’s kind of a big deal. But I guess that kind of intimacy means nothing to some people, the just share it easily with others, I wish I had known that was her case.

It’s funny that she said she had no problem continuing to be a friend; I’ve been a little slow to catch that punch line; also when she told me that she wasn’t into the relationship thing with me, and then ending a goodbye email by saying she treasured all her relationships. Hilarious when you think about it. I also believe the Spanish conquistadors could be friends with the Inca tribes or the Mayans, so as long as they didn’t have to look at them; they were a problem easy enough to ignore. I’m sure the irony might be lost on some, but those who get it, well you know.

It feels like shit to believe you’ve been used, I still remember she left from here saying she was unsure about her feelings, maybe it was true, I will never know. It hurts that while I was always upfront about my feelings, she plainly refused to see that I was madly in love with her. Or maybe she just didn’t really care. That shit is kind of tearing me up. An interesting thing, I would always remind her how much I missed her, the only time she said it to me was the day she wrote me a drunk email. Maybe that was a big clue; I guess love isn’t just blind, but pretty stupid too.

Maybe it is stupid, how can people fall in love after knowing each other for a couple of months. While I always thought fairy tales were bull shit, now I also realize that while I thought I knew something about people, I’m much more stupid than I believed myself to be. I would call myself a functional illiterate on people, or maybe just a bad reader. Either way, sometimes you hope that real friends have the guts to tell you the truth, and this friend didn’t. That’s a nasty awakening, almost bad enough to turn you off on this love and even friendship thing.

And so this is what my broken heart looks like, it’s not ugly, it’s just pitiful. It’s not grand or over the top, it’s just quiet and unassuming. It goes to work every day, laughs with the people it meets, enjoys time with friends. But at night, all alone, it just lets it all go, obsessed with one thing. Maybe one of these nights I might be able to sleep dry, and not think of her.

P.S. sorry for this lame rambling, I guess this will never leave my mind, but at least I’m trying to give it a go again.

even more random thoughts, order not included

I hate people who lie. And I am the biggest liar I know.

So this presents a very serious issue for me, it is itself the root of all of my many problems. Problems ranging from my failure to grow up, which in turn is a result of my failure to desire to become something of an adult. Now I just feel like a bad test case for some shitty Peter Pan complex. I just have become adept at avoiding any and all responsibility for myself, and the worst part is (for me at least, now that I have really sat down and thought about it) I could probably keep this shit up forever. I don’t know if I should be sad or strangely satisfied in my capacity to game people and just roll with shit. I should be horrified, but not for the worlds ignorance, but my own in believing this to be viable. 

Sometimes I try to remember if I ever had ambitions and where in these last 10 years give or take did the wheels fall off. I remember I wanted to have money when I was a kid, I understood from a young age that money was the enabler to achieve any semblance of comfort. But after I left high school, I don’t remember ever wanting to do something with my life. But at least I partied, I got to travel a little (actually not enough for my taste, but I guess any person who has had the opportunity to travel will always feel they left something on the table), I tried my had at a few jobs, and when I finally discovered what I was actually, ok maybe not great but at least I enjoyed it, it was gone. 

While that one last job (we all have our own “ones that got away”, in more than one facet of our lives) was it for me, I wasn’t ready yet to realize what I had stumbled upon. It took making the one of the biggest mistakes (not that I regret it, for whatever reasons I choose not to share, it was worth it), losing my “ideal” career pushed me into a new field. And as the old adage gleefully reminds me, you only know what you want when you’ve lost it, I find myself craving a return to that place where I felt at home, where my one big regret was not making even more of that opportunity. 

So my 20’s crisis continued, aided by my own unwillingness to compromise with myself and poof, 10 years passed. While I don’t regret it, it does sadden me sometimes that I might have lost what could have been my creative apex. Worst, in an ever increasing quagmire of mistakes and opportunities not taken, my dream of writing was a perfect complement to my ideal career, a librarian. Because while teaching does afford me plenty of time to write (which I sadly don’t make the most of, yes I must constantly remind myself that even if I am to consider myself a work in progress, that is not an excuse to continue to waste time), and I do enjoy the opportunity to share one of my few talents (yes I can speak two languages, it has been very useful) with people who work hard and remind me that I also wanted that; the world of books just calls me. I am a bibliophile, and while some might misconstrue it, I love books (not in a sexual way, and yet I can’t lie and say that books don’t give me an almost orgasmic pleasure). And not just old tomes or younger ones, I get the same feeling of satisfaction from accessing a book online or just reading it from any e-reader.  Yes, it took many twists and turns to just realize what I could do with my so called life.

And yet I will always be a liar, because even if I am righting course, devising plans, and setting things into motion; I haven’t been honest with myself. While it may sound obvious, most men’s greatest fear is the fear of failure, which is also the stupidest in its own way since it prevents you from ever truly trying; I have yet to face it. But I have in part, just by tossing these entries, and yet it could almost be called a fool’s errand. Because I know no one will read them, and if they do, I am somewhat immune to any criticism by the very amateur nature of blogging. I must really toss these bottled messages farther if I ever hope to accomplish my dream, to be paid to do this. And I will, and I will return to read these entries and smile, maybe sadly, hopefully triumphant.

heart

How can I write without a heart?

How can I ever think about telling a story if I don’t even care for the end of mine. 

Today I got my heart broken, I just couldn’t do anything about it. And I saw it coming, and yet I went straight on, I believed I could do something about it. I guess I was wrong. Maybe love is nothing really. Maybe it’s just chance, I think that would be worst because you can always just think if you maybe changed one thing, it would have gone the way you wanted. But it’s not, it’s too random, it can’t be planned around or made happen.

I don’t know what to think. I guess I’ll just quit, she really was my reason for going. Now I have nothing.It probably wasn't even worth it, who really reads this shit.