Some of you sons a bitches don't think I have a heart, or have said "I don't like your sad post on Facebook or your blog. Be happy."
Go fuck yourself.
Now that we've cleared that up, let me tell you something. I feel a bit broken lately.
Things are going well, money in the bank, I'm looking great, about to ride my motorcycle for the first time this year, etc. Things are looking up. But you know what, I'm conflicted. I'm missing somebody I can't have. It's the fire in my heart that I can't extinguish. The fire extinguisher is right there. But I can't break the glass. Falling in love sucks. If I could write a song, I would. Instead I write this blog with hopes that someone might see it and see something besides a pretty face. Is that weird or just hopelessly romantic?
Part of me has tried to move on, and the other part has said "Dann, you still love somebody else." You can't cheat on yourself. I'd love for it to be as easy for me as it was for him. I didn't think he had it in him. I was foolish enough to think he was in love with me, and like he said "I'll love you forever." When I say things I mean them. I said it back. Some mens words are golden. Others are worthless. Ironically, everyone thought I would have been the heartbreaker. Instead mine was shattered like my fucking leg.
I've only been in love once.
Once in 31 years.
Pathetic or real?
I say real. I've never felt such a fucking amazing feeling in my life. A feeling like I finally belonged to somebody. Somebody who unconditionally loved me even at my worst. I've had my worst moments with Ben. He had his with me. At the end of the day, I still loved the bastard, and forgave him. Forgiveness is a drug more powerful than heroin. You do it once, and you'll do it again and again. You add love to forgiveness and your heart fucks you. It fucks you so fucking hard that you'll never sober up from the drug that got you hooked. I didn't.
Maybe that's why I've had 50 first dates (so to speak) but never a second one. Never. I picked the poor bastards apart to the color of their shirt. They never had a chance. Why? Because they aren't him. Getting over someone is fucking hard. Fucking terrible. Fucking awful. Dealing with a broken heart is worse. I can't express in words the pure outright terror and helplessness I feel when I still dream about him. Weekly. The worst part is, you can't control your dreams. You're stuck. Stuck in some fucking purgatory until your mind and body decides to shut it off. Sometimes I wake up crying. 4 am or later. What do I naturally do? Look for him. Subconsciously for several moments until I gather myself, I'm looking for someone that's not there. Someone that hasn't been there in nearly a year. He was there for over a year. When I would have some fucking terrible night terror that was brought on by some fucked up childhood catastrophe that was beyond the control of a toddler, he was there.
Now he's off doing God knows what with God knows who, and I'm the one sitting her sobbing and writing this damned blog. How the hell do I always get the short end of the fucking stick? One of my best friends and I were talking tonight. He says "I don't think you're ready to date. You're too wound up. It might be 10 years before you settle down." Ouch. I was settled down. With Ben. I keep my dick in my pants. I tried. I tried real hard. I did the best job I knew how to be the best partner I could be. I'm not perfect. I'm nowhere near. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard to make him happy. I tried to the best of my ability. I think he found it easier to hate me than to love me. Such conflict.
Let's be honest.
I'm not the easiest bastard to get along with. I'm opinionated, old-school, bullheaded, narcissistic, and hard-nosed. I don't budge. I'm probably a terrible boyfriend. But I try. I really do.
(you know I let you call me that and only you)