After everything that's happened in the past 12 months you'd think I'd be ecstatic. To be sitting here, at an impasse, alone at a kitchen table. To have my mind flooded with thoughts of a boy that is not one [insert ex's name]. But no. With every new happiness comes a new tragedy, a new frown and wrinkle.
Let's take a look.
July 2011: First semester exams are over, I'm on school holidays, assignments completed, tests studied for and I'm spending hours on end with the boy I want to spend the rest of my life with. Best friend ever present, my biggest worry is my next test at school. Drama, I think not.
I'd call that 'Happy Teenager'. Better yet, 'Delusional Teenager'.
Try November. WACE exams completed yesterday, possibly the best feeling a year 12 experiences. It's Friday night and I'm letting my hair down and getting my party on with my closest friends. Wait, now it's Saturday morning and I'm getting dumped and I'm saying goodbye to solid food for the next 10 days because I'm sick with self blame and confusion. Here's the denial, because the boy I loved couldn't possibly be anything but perfect..
I'd like to call that chapter 'Reality Check,' beginning from the moment I find out my boyfriend of 3 years is a cheat. Fuck you virginity stripper, fuck you with a capital F. I think it's safe to say I reached my next stage of grief [anger] quite quickly after receiving that piece of information.
Then comes the bargaining. Hell. I have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but I think it's sufficed to say I exchanged my sober, emotional interpretation of 'love' for a drunk, physical version.
It's been an enjoyable 6 months to say the least.
Acceptance. The last couple of months out did my expectations by a solid mile. It's easy to move on when the guy you loved doesn't exist anymore. When you realize you couldn't hold a 10 minute conversation with the boy you used to stay up all night with. Imagine. Imagine if you stayed with that boy another 6 months, another year, and only then woke up and realized he was all sorts of wrong and that time was wasted. Wasted. Bad word choice.
I spent 3 years of my life getting to know you and tasting love. 3 years laughing and smiling and crying and fucking and, yeah, we had some shit times, but it was never a waste. Never a complete regret.
Right here, right now, I can look back on the time I spent with you and know that for the most part, I was happy. That's what makes everything okay.
You reach a point where hatred seems pathetic, anger stupid, regret pointless. A time where reflection on your relationship is positive despite the ugly and the confidence battle that followed.
You are amazing, did what was right for you, will always represent a special time in my life, will always have a friend in me, will hopefully always be happy.
Go back 4 months and I'll give you seven billion dollars if you can choke those honest words out of me on my death bed.
And so who would of thought that the whole time I've been sitting here writing and wondering, there's been a different name on the tip of my tongue. Another boy I'd like to write a story about. I'll warn you now, this story is just beginning. It'll be a lot shorter and a lot more graphic. Give me 6 months. I'll sit back at this dining room table and tell you about a man named [insert name].
Wish me luck. Here we go again.
19.7.12 ~ The Tainted
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