When a Hopeless Romantic Gets Hopelessly Broken

I can’t help but to think that sometimes love is meant not to be. I look back on my relationships, the loving ones, the ones that lacked one thing or another—and I realize that there is only one that was good enough to last. That one of course, did not last, and I wonder sometimes why that is. For the sake of clarity I will call this guy Simon. Sure, we had our issues, and yes there were hard nights, distance, and maturity issues—but we cared deeply for each other. Simon is the only one that I am still incredibly close with (when we find time to see each other). I ran into him last spring for the first time in years and the chemistry was definitely still there—on both of our ends. It is easy to slide back into the way things were, when the way things are aren’t all that different.

At even the thought of Simon my heart has fluttered since the day we met when I was only sixteen. We always had a connection no one could deny, and one that threatened anyone we ever dated before and after we were together. I was his first time, he wasn’t mine, but he was my first love. It has been five years now since we last were together in that loving way or since we last admitted that we were. Each time I run into his arms for a greeting hug I am used to stopping short, reminding myself to breathe, and forcing the painful memories of our break up from my mind.

Yesterday, it was very different.

I think the last six months of not feeling anything have finally had their effect. I still miss my shitty ex that treated me like a piece of crap, and now I don’t feel the flutter when the one good man, Simon, holds me. I numbed myself to the wrong longings, without even knowing I was doing it. I could tell he noticed the change in me, and wanted to ask what caused it—but didn’t. We walked the delicate line of not asking about relationships, both knowing the pain it causes the other when we aren’t alone together. I don’t know where the years went between when we last touched and the cold November we are now in, and I am horrified that love can die. The connection we had was the only definite in my life, even if I didn’t hold him, I felt that love—and now it is just absent, and I am numb. I am not crying or screaming, just not feeling at all. I think I turned my heart off. I had been trying to do that for over a year, but now it’s turned off to the one I want it on for, and I am scared.

I tried to justify the fact that the first man I ever truly loved, the only one I ever have, could not be with me. As I drove the nearly two hours from where we met back to my apartment I tried to explain things to myself. I realized that had Simon and I stayed together I would not be the person I am today. When we were dating I was totally trusting, smoking cigarettes, and content with not going to college to stay near him. We broke up and now I have a degree, I rarely smoke, and I have a job that pays the bills. I dated others that hurt and scarred me, and with those scars I have learned who I really am. I am going to go to graduate school, likely across the continent—something I would have never done if we were still together. When we were dating I could barely stand being more than a mile from him, our love made us grin constantly, but our dreams meant nothing without the other. I am now independent, bitter, and cautious.

Which is better I am not sure, but now I know that I do nothing in my life that isn’t good for me. I do not fall in love blindly like I did with him. I measure each step to protect my bitter heart, but I measure each step for me. If Simon had not broken my heart, if I had not given it to him to break, I would be someone else. I would be a pushover nicotine addicted college dropout, with the man of my dreams. There are days when I am not sure which I prefer, where I am now, or where I would be with him—but today I think I am better off where I am. I also think that he saw what would happen to me if I stayed with him, something he mentioned during the teary breakup, and he chose what was best for me.

When I was about to leave my parent’s house to go see Simon yesterday I was cleaning out an old box and I found a car I had written and never sent to him. I had written it before we ever dated, expressing how much I cared for him and how hopeless I was without him. I was unsure of myself, self conscious, and in denial of the fact that I knew he cared too. The girl who wrote that letter made me sad. I missed knowing something so definitely, the way I knew then that I loved Simon. At the same time, I am glad that I know it isn’t a matter of me being deserving of someone, but of someone deserving me. I am much stronger now—heartbreak will do that I guess. I briefly considered giving him the card that I’d written about seven years ago, but instead put it in my purse to serve as a reminder for however long I need one, that love that requires losing yourself is not love at all.

The pain I have endured has helped me to develop my writing beyond anywhere it could be if I was happy all of the time. I no longer search blindly for love, hoping for the spark I felt with him that I just couldn’t find again. Maybe there are only a few true loves in each person’s life. He was one of them, now I have to wait until another one comes along. I think since the spark with Simon is gone, I now have room for a new one…once I get settled in graduate school that is. I have been pushing men away from me since I was freed from a horrible relationship over a year ago, and I will continue pushing until I meet one that leaves me no choice but to open my arms.

Racist Liberal Media--I think only I saw that one coming

I almost punched a hole through my wall last night (or, rather, almost attempted to as I don’t know if I am strong enough to do it). I was not going to punch the wall out of happiness because Obama won (even though I did vote for him) and I was not going to lash out at my drywall because the republicans listening to McCain were nothing but rude. I planned to mutilate my wall because the media of this country made me want to hurt someone.

You all know already that the media makes me angry with their obviously biased stories, and the fact that they don’t even seem to pretend to be non-partisan anymore. That isn’t what made me angry to the point of violence (which I disagree with) yesterday. It was the overwhelming racism that no one but I seemed to notice that was seething from my television, my computer, and my radio.

People need to begin to realize that by putting people into groups we are segregating ourselves all over again. Station after station was reporting what white men, white women, black men, black women, latino men, latino women, young, old, clowns, goblins, voted. When will our society realize that by putting people into groups we are taking steps back instead of forward?

Last night NBC said that Obama had broken the “Black Ceiling” and I almost threw my Koosh ball at the TV (but I like my TV so I didn’t). Okay media, I’ll break it down real nice and easy for you. EVERY TIME you dwell on Obama’s race and the fact that he is the “first black president” (he’s half white too) you make racism worse in our country. By not simply treating him as a great man that won, but a black man that won, you separate him from the other great men who have led our country.

So here’s the plan: dwell not on his race or age, talk about what he is going to do for our country, what he is doing, and yes, what he hasn’t done. Be objective. Every second of airtime you waste by talking about race makes the issue worse and takes away from real journalism.

For the sake of my walls, electronics, and sanity, please stop segregating via studies and news stories.