Thursday, December 09, 2004

“I never want to speak with you again”

Harsh … the words from the girl with the brown hair curls. But, but … but I didn’t promise. Why does she have to be so rigid? How many times does she insert that word into my mouth?

We’ve been trying to be good friends and allow the past to be the past. I wanted to drop by her class where she was making potato latkes for her kids. I told her I would try and make it. I elected to run a few errands … I’m trying to get things in order to buy my first house and I thought it would be better to get cleaned up a bit and get a haircut to pretty up for our movie that night. But in reality I needed an excuse not to go. I tried beforehand to tell her I was scared to go for reasons I won’t get into here. She never listens to me.

She says I am closed off; I am secretive, that I never tell her what I am feeling. Believe me pretty girl I have tried so often, so many times I have tried to pour my heart, but only to someone who would listen. Every time I opened my heart, my feelings, you would tell me I am being either stupid or silly for thinking such foolishness. But, please listen, please, why won’t you listen? This is how I feel! You are not allowed to judge. This is how I feel! How can I tell you how I feel when I know I will be tried and executed for opening my mouth?

That night we broke up I felt like you were trying to make an effort and I had you sit on my lap and I wanted to tell you but then I felt like I was being attacked again. “That it can’t be as bad as I say it is … that I am exaggerating.” That’s when I blew up. I’m thinking you tried to show me that you were there for me but in reality I felt you were not. Fear the man who never gets mad for when he blows up the rules of debate get thrown out the window. I did a foolish thing and told her to leave and that it was best not to see her for the rest of the month until I graduated from the police academy.

She was sapping every ounce of strength from me when she was supposed to be helping me regain it with her sweet kisses. I really tried to make her happy and she did not believe me. Wasn’t she the one who was supposed to be supporting me though my ordeal of trying to graduate the academy? Why do you get angry and pout at me when I really need to study, when I have a test, or just the basics of supporting me. I know it’s an ordeal for you too, I know you want to see me and I want to see you. How many sleepless nights did I endure during those 4 months as I attempted to appease you and keep up with my academic duties? It was an ongoing joke in the academy, bets made as to when I would fall asleep in class. She could not comprehend that she was killing me, that for the short duration of the academy I needed to be selfish for once in my life.

She chooses what she wants to hear. If I were to tell her I loved her she would tell me I didn’t, tell me the reasons why I didn’t, and get upset for me having the audacity to tell her I loved her and she would pout, and I did not know how to alleviate it, I was at a loss, how can me loving her make her angry? It troubled me. But I forgave her, I forgave her when she broke my heart so many times, I forgave her when she slept with other men, I forgave her and would take no notice for the things she would do and yet if I were to do them she would turn around with spite.

For example, if she were to change plans I am free spirited enough to roll with the tide, but if I were to change plans or plans did not go exactly to plan she would pout and pout and pout and blame and blame. Remember the Madera Canyon trip, a place I hold sacred and our names etched at the watering hole? Remember your birthday and having to wait for a table … my lord, drink the Sangria and chill baby. I’m sorry that I have no concept of a schedule. I am too free-spirited and like not to fret about minor inconveniences. Were you not happy in the end on both occasions? You cannot schedule happiness, I am learning that you have to open yourself to it and allow it to come naturally.

And she would pressure me pressure me pressure me to perform to some preconceived notion of how I am supposed to be. And I would not perform because I knew she would grade me … always grading, always judging. It got to a point where I just tried not to upset her as best as I can, trying to steer clear of the backlash that I knew would be coming no matter what I did.

She made me sad … I didn’t want to disappoint her, I wanted to make her happy, but inevitably we would disappoint each other in the end. And in the end my pretty girl with the brown hair curls never wants to speak with me again.

I need a hug.