Today, I turned in my dance article. Today, ballroom meets for the last time. Today, I want to dance. Today, I miss him more.
Today, I can't dance because of him.
Dance for me is the physical equivalent of writing. But I'm a baby chick, flapping its wings with dance. At least in writing, I'm about ready to hop out of the nest. Dance calms me. Dance gets my emotions out. Dance centers me.
I've never had extensive training in dance. I was in tap and ballet for two years when I was 6. I took electives in high school for a total of probably 1.5 more years of dance. And those were "dance through the decades," Broadway, and tap/jazz. We had to take a quarter of ballroom dance sophomore year. That's it. I picked up on it quickly. It wasn't challenging. It got me interested in dance again.
And when I was alone at home, I would dance. I would listen to the music, let the lyrics fill me, and dance. Whatever I was feeling that day came out. Moves borrowed from music videos, from my futile attempts at emulating what I saw on dance programs, from my own mind. I did dance workout videos. I did whatever I could to dance. And then it stopped. There wasn't any room in my dorm to dance.
So when I found out that someone on our floor was starting a ballroom club on campus last year, I was excited. I had looked into the Swing Society on campus the previous semester, but found the atmosphere to be something I didn't want. Something was off with the way the members interacted, so I stopped going. And then an e-mail came out for ballroom lessons, but were $65. While I had the money, I didn't want to pay that price for only 6 weeks, and I had heard about the free ballroom club Laci was helping to start.
I went to the first meeting alone. None of my friends were interested. Well, Tif was, but she had class. Lauren and Tori, not so much. I walked all the way across campus, and arrived to see almost no one there, in a banquet hall no less. I sat down and started talking to Laci, the only one I knew. Soon, a few more people showed up. I still didn't know any of them. It was an interesting start. Amusing to watch how a club got started. It was like a child: it had to learn how to stand before it could walk. It had just pulled itself up to stand at the end of last year.
I enjoyed those first meetings. I was meeting new people, talking to some that were hardly acquaintances, and forming some friendships I didn't expect. Not only that, but I was dancing. Granted, these were basics I learned in high school, but I was dancing. I was learning from people who had trained and were willing to pass this training on to others like me. At the end of the semester, the child stumbled a bit. They didn't know where they were going.
It took them another semester to find out, and take that first confident step. All last semester I went back. I enjoyed it: the sporadic dances we were learning, new steps combined with old, and the chance to dance. Not only the chance to dance, but the chance to dance with my boyfriend, someone who had even more of a passion for dance than I did. And I started to think that maybe I was good at dancing. Everyone said I was a good follow, and that I picked up on things quickly. Maybe I'd even start competing down the line.
The ballroom club started out this semester with a new exec board, and a new plan of action: teach two dances each month, with a half an hour spent on each. That way, members could continue to practice what they knew and start to possibly form routines. And it went incredibly well. We were all impressed with it. And as vice-president, I got to learn these new steps first, and practice them before everyone else. I started to know enough that, if I desired (and I did), I could choreograph.
Choreographing is something that I've done since about 8th grade. It's in my head, and occasionally escapes through my body. I can see the moves in my head when I listen to the music. I never write them down. No one ever sees it, or offers suggestions for improvements. I try them out on me first to see if a professional took over, how it would look. And then, when I hear the song, the choreography plays in my head.
The choreography stopped for awhile this past month. So did the dancing. The dancing hasn't started again. I want it to. I need it to. But it's not coming. Because of him. Because he started the club. Because he's president. Because I miss him. Because I still love him. Because he left me. Because now ballroom is associated with him.
So today I'll dance inside. Not inside a room. Inside my head. The only place I can dance.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Boys Boys Boys
Since my sophomore year in high school, they've been my main concern. I thought that having self-esteem and actually liking who I was would come from knowing that someone could love me for who I was. Up until that point, I had always struck out when it came to the opposite sex.
That's probably why when I finally found someone who said he loved me for me, I believed it full-heartedly and never questioned our relationship. I guess I was just so desperate to have someone else believe in me, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. I needed that from someone, to show me that maybe I was worth something, and see what people liked and appreciated about me. Because of that, I was manipulated into doing things I shouldn't have, things that I wasn't ready for. But I got my self-esteem, if only for a little while. After he left, it disappeared, and I was worse than before.
He left his mark on me, and I went to find more self-esteem wherever I could. I did some things that, looking back now, I shouldn't have. But I was in a bad place at the end of my junior year of high school, and wanted someone to love me back, to prove my worth again. And he made me feel good about myself. The manipulator had a good thing going for him, and I wanted to prove that, since I was the innocent in the situation, I should have a happier, healthier relationship. But it didn't happen. My lack of self-esteem, combined with the manipulation, led me to rush into things with that relationship, and stay in it longer than was good for me.
I always ended up staying with someone longer than was good for me, or being with someone when I could, and should, do better. My low self-esteem was easily raised by these comments, and by those I dated. This came from my friends, who just wanted to see me happy. But I still got my self-esteem kick from boys. The ones I dated, the ones that wanted me but couldn't have me (based on a purely superficial fascination with my looks), the ones with whom I had a past. They carried me through the rest of high school, and through the summer.
The end of the summer brought about new changes. I was going to central Indiana, a place I hadn't been to for more than a few days since I was seven. I was leaving all I knew behind, four hours away. I was leaving the support network I had started to built up: the friends who told me I could do better, the boys I flirted with, and the one I was with. Heading to nothing I knew; heading to new opportunities; ending a chapter of the book and starting another.
And I started to grow. After being cheated on and taking him back because he believed that making out with someone under the pretext of a game wasn't cheating, I started to think. I knew I didn't deserve it. I had made four really good friends in the space of about a month, and they made me feel good about myself, just by being around me. I was in classes that made me think, and got attention from boys I had never seen before, and would never see again. So it got me to thinking about this boy, and why he cheated, denied it, and was still in love with an ex (who he made out with as part of the game). I couldn't come to a reason as to why I was still dealing with someone who claimed to love me when he was obviously still in love with her. I wasn't happy, any time I thought about him. I was agreeing with my friends when they poked fun at him. I started to avoid talking to him daily.
And I broke up with him. The first person I dumped. And you know what? I felt like I made the right decision. Things between us weren't working out, and I didn't want to deal with it anymore. Coming to college brought the self-esteem to me that I wasn't finding from him, or from myself. I didn't need him anymore. I didn't need to deal with his crap anymore, or anyone's for that matter. After that, I was alright being single. I liked it. I enjoyed it. I didn't want to be tied down anymore. Three months later, I was.
That wasn't anywhere in my plans. But this time, I wasn't with him because I needed the self-esteem. I was with him because I missed having a boy to kiss and cuddle with. It was a moment of weakness, when I needed physical contact. It worked out for a semester. Then I realized what I was doing. The summer, I regressed. I've always wanted his approval. Since the first time we were an "us," I valued his opinions of me over anyone else's. So his opinion that I was someone to be with mattered more than anyone else's to that point.
I knew it wouldn't work in the end, and when we left for school, we stopped talking about it. I banished it from my mind. I came to school knowing that I didn't need a boy to make me feel better about myself, and that I wasn't going to actively pursue anyone. I didn't, and got a boyfriend within the first week. It was how I imagined a relationship should go: we cared deeply for each other, and I could be myself around him. We could talk about whatever we wanted, and I wouldn't get embarrassed. It lasted until a few weeks ago, and I didn't realize how much my self-esteem had been wrapped up in him.
And then about 5 boys decided to hit on me, all at once. I'll admit, it boosted my self-esteem considerably. Especially from one. He was what I had always secretly admired: an intelligent, well-dressed, carefree jock. These were rare finds. Everyone seems so down, but he makes an effort to see through the clouds to the sun above. Absolutely adorable, someone I could go from a deep philosophical conversation to extremely innuendo-laden flirtations, and back to philosophy if we so desired. It started quick. It came at both a good and a bad time. I needed the attention so I wouldn't sink into a depression. I got attached too quickly.
As such, he's backed off. Now, I don't know if it's because I got attached, or because he realized he wasn't going to get lucky before the end of the semester. But I'm not upset about it. Annoyed, yes. Because I'm not just a one-night stand. I know I'm worth more than that. For four years now, my biggest concern has been about how I present myself to the opposite sex, and how much they can give me in return. I've been obsessed with finding Mr. Right Now, instead of Mr. Right. I've been obsessed trying to be the girl I think they want, not the woman I want to become.
But now I'm focusing on being the woman I want to be. Because if I don't love myself, who will? If I'm not the best I can be, then I don't deserve the man who's best for me. And he shouldn't have to wait for the woman who will eventually be the best for him.
That's probably why when I finally found someone who said he loved me for me, I believed it full-heartedly and never questioned our relationship. I guess I was just so desperate to have someone else believe in me, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. I needed that from someone, to show me that maybe I was worth something, and see what people liked and appreciated about me. Because of that, I was manipulated into doing things I shouldn't have, things that I wasn't ready for. But I got my self-esteem, if only for a little while. After he left, it disappeared, and I was worse than before.
He left his mark on me, and I went to find more self-esteem wherever I could. I did some things that, looking back now, I shouldn't have. But I was in a bad place at the end of my junior year of high school, and wanted someone to love me back, to prove my worth again. And he made me feel good about myself. The manipulator had a good thing going for him, and I wanted to prove that, since I was the innocent in the situation, I should have a happier, healthier relationship. But it didn't happen. My lack of self-esteem, combined with the manipulation, led me to rush into things with that relationship, and stay in it longer than was good for me.
I always ended up staying with someone longer than was good for me, or being with someone when I could, and should, do better. My low self-esteem was easily raised by these comments, and by those I dated. This came from my friends, who just wanted to see me happy. But I still got my self-esteem kick from boys. The ones I dated, the ones that wanted me but couldn't have me (based on a purely superficial fascination with my looks), the ones with whom I had a past. They carried me through the rest of high school, and through the summer.
The end of the summer brought about new changes. I was going to central Indiana, a place I hadn't been to for more than a few days since I was seven. I was leaving all I knew behind, four hours away. I was leaving the support network I had started to built up: the friends who told me I could do better, the boys I flirted with, and the one I was with. Heading to nothing I knew; heading to new opportunities; ending a chapter of the book and starting another.
And I started to grow. After being cheated on and taking him back because he believed that making out with someone under the pretext of a game wasn't cheating, I started to think. I knew I didn't deserve it. I had made four really good friends in the space of about a month, and they made me feel good about myself, just by being around me. I was in classes that made me think, and got attention from boys I had never seen before, and would never see again. So it got me to thinking about this boy, and why he cheated, denied it, and was still in love with an ex (who he made out with as part of the game). I couldn't come to a reason as to why I was still dealing with someone who claimed to love me when he was obviously still in love with her. I wasn't happy, any time I thought about him. I was agreeing with my friends when they poked fun at him. I started to avoid talking to him daily.
And I broke up with him. The first person I dumped. And you know what? I felt like I made the right decision. Things between us weren't working out, and I didn't want to deal with it anymore. Coming to college brought the self-esteem to me that I wasn't finding from him, or from myself. I didn't need him anymore. I didn't need to deal with his crap anymore, or anyone's for that matter. After that, I was alright being single. I liked it. I enjoyed it. I didn't want to be tied down anymore. Three months later, I was.
That wasn't anywhere in my plans. But this time, I wasn't with him because I needed the self-esteem. I was with him because I missed having a boy to kiss and cuddle with. It was a moment of weakness, when I needed physical contact. It worked out for a semester. Then I realized what I was doing. The summer, I regressed. I've always wanted his approval. Since the first time we were an "us," I valued his opinions of me over anyone else's. So his opinion that I was someone to be with mattered more than anyone else's to that point.
I knew it wouldn't work in the end, and when we left for school, we stopped talking about it. I banished it from my mind. I came to school knowing that I didn't need a boy to make me feel better about myself, and that I wasn't going to actively pursue anyone. I didn't, and got a boyfriend within the first week. It was how I imagined a relationship should go: we cared deeply for each other, and I could be myself around him. We could talk about whatever we wanted, and I wouldn't get embarrassed. It lasted until a few weeks ago, and I didn't realize how much my self-esteem had been wrapped up in him.
And then about 5 boys decided to hit on me, all at once. I'll admit, it boosted my self-esteem considerably. Especially from one. He was what I had always secretly admired: an intelligent, well-dressed, carefree jock. These were rare finds. Everyone seems so down, but he makes an effort to see through the clouds to the sun above. Absolutely adorable, someone I could go from a deep philosophical conversation to extremely innuendo-laden flirtations, and back to philosophy if we so desired. It started quick. It came at both a good and a bad time. I needed the attention so I wouldn't sink into a depression. I got attached too quickly.
As such, he's backed off. Now, I don't know if it's because I got attached, or because he realized he wasn't going to get lucky before the end of the semester. But I'm not upset about it. Annoyed, yes. Because I'm not just a one-night stand. I know I'm worth more than that. For four years now, my biggest concern has been about how I present myself to the opposite sex, and how much they can give me in return. I've been obsessed with finding Mr. Right Now, instead of Mr. Right. I've been obsessed trying to be the girl I think they want, not the woman I want to become.
But now I'm focusing on being the woman I want to be. Because if I don't love myself, who will? If I'm not the best I can be, then I don't deserve the man who's best for me. And he shouldn't have to wait for the woman who will eventually be the best for him.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Where the Story Ends
So Brad says that lists are the easy way out, that they're not stories. It's just throwing your thoughts up in a list, building on them a bit, and sending to press. But today I feel like writing a little list, at least for myself. Because for more than a week now, I've been thinking about what I want, for me. I've always put myself second in relationships, and now that I'm single I've decided I need to raise my standards a bit. I need to take care of me. I'm important. I deserve to be treated as such.
For any guy who's interested:
1. Take care of me.
I'm always the strong one: the one who keeps on task and keeps you on task. The one who knows what's going on. The one who has money. The one who plans things. This is a constant theme in all of my relationships, and I'm sick of it. I want to be taken care of, even if it's just for a little while.
2. Be responsible for your own schedule.
Know when you have to get stuff in. If you need reminders every once in awhile, that's fine. I'm fine with helping you out there occasionally. But if I have to remind you of things that need to get done outside of class, as I did with Zack and Jose and to an extent Dave, then that's a bit much. I don't want you to fail at whatever you need to get done, I just don't want to be your schedule-keeper.
3. If you're genuinely interested in my activities, ask about them. If not, don't say you are.
Show me you're interested. If you don't, I'll think you just want to get into my pants and are saying things to impress me. I'm fine if you're not interested in Harry Potter, dancing, or fencing. I'd much rather you be honest with me. Say it sounds interesting but you'd never try it. Don't say you'll try it and then bail. Or, if it's truly not interesting in the least, but you can see it's important to me, say something along those lines.
4. Be spontaneous.
I'm a person who plans every aspect of my life. I don't do spontaneity very often. I'd like to change that, but sometimes I need help. And I don't mean something like, "Let's go to Kentucky for a weekend!" Thursday evening. I mean small things. Call me to look at the moon. Go for a walk with me to see the stars. Bring me something small, just to let me know you're thinking about me. Even if you don't have money, you have a meal plan. If you bring me something, there's a 95% chance I'll like it and eat it.
5. If you have a problem, come to me.
Don't keep things from me. If I notice something's visibly bothering you, then tell me. If it's not yours to tell, say that and I'll back off. If something's bothering you and you keep it from me because you don't want my opinion of you to change, saying that's going to change my opinion of you. It makes me think you can't trust me to care for you because you have a flaw. I already know you're not perfect.
6. Don't try to make me jealous.
Because it'll work. I don't know why you'd want me to be jealous of some other girl. I already have self-esteem issues. It doesn't end well for you if I find out you're intentionally making me jealous, or disregard my feelings of jealousy. Because in my past experience, I've had a reason to be jealous of the people I'm jealous of. One ex was still in love with her, another ex moved in on her after dumping me, and I know how girls think for the others.
7. Deal with me.
I'm a simple girl. I take pleasure in simple things, like Disney movies, cake, and sleep. I've got an eclectic list of interests: Harry Potter, religion, fashion, philosophy, photography, Power Rangers, cooking, and coloring, just to name a few. I can either be insanely mature, or take pleasure in childish things. It depends on where my head is. If that scares you now, then you don't know me, and if you dismiss me, you'll probably end up missing out. Get to know me and see how often I talk about those things that scare you.
8. Be romantic.
If you claim you're the romantic type, follow through. I've experienced little true romance, and of those few times I've had a part in planning it. I'm a hopeless romantic. I want to get swept off my feet. Cook for me. Study in candlelight. Go for a midnight walk with me and dance in the moonlight. Bring me a single flower. Write me silly notes. Text me just because. Mention me to your friends. Mention me to the world, via Internet.
9. Tell me how you feel.
Usually I'm not sure what to think about this. I mean, I like figuring out if someone has feelings for me. But I've come to realize that some people are just big flirts, and I can misread what I think are signs. I flirt with people too. I know this. But if I'm flirting with you every day and try and keep the conversation going for hours on end, 9 times out of 10 I have feelings for you. I won't outright tell you I like you unless you tell me first.
10. The superficial part...
This is subject to change. I go for personality over looks all the time.
But I'd like someone who's a bit taller than me, probably 5'10" and above. Someone who's cute. I'm a sucker for eyes, and tallying it up it seems that blue's the prevalent color. Someone who can dress himself. Someone who's confident. Well kept. Toned. There's this thing that I like to call the "V" that some guys have. Ask about it, I'll describe it. Probably my second favorite thing on a guy (eyes are first). I don't want to hear that I could've done much better again.
That said, I'm not sure how long it'll take me to be ready to find this person. Sometimes it feels like I should take initiative right now and go for it. Sometimes I think it'll take me a few months to be able to have a meaningful relationship. But if you care enough to come to my blog and read it, and are genuinely interested in me, then I'll do my best.
For any guy who's interested:
1. Take care of me.
I'm always the strong one: the one who keeps on task and keeps you on task. The one who knows what's going on. The one who has money. The one who plans things. This is a constant theme in all of my relationships, and I'm sick of it. I want to be taken care of, even if it's just for a little while.
2. Be responsible for your own schedule.
Know when you have to get stuff in. If you need reminders every once in awhile, that's fine. I'm fine with helping you out there occasionally. But if I have to remind you of things that need to get done outside of class, as I did with Zack and Jose and to an extent Dave, then that's a bit much. I don't want you to fail at whatever you need to get done, I just don't want to be your schedule-keeper.
3. If you're genuinely interested in my activities, ask about them. If not, don't say you are.
Show me you're interested. If you don't, I'll think you just want to get into my pants and are saying things to impress me. I'm fine if you're not interested in Harry Potter, dancing, or fencing. I'd much rather you be honest with me. Say it sounds interesting but you'd never try it. Don't say you'll try it and then bail. Or, if it's truly not interesting in the least, but you can see it's important to me, say something along those lines.
4. Be spontaneous.
I'm a person who plans every aspect of my life. I don't do spontaneity very often. I'd like to change that, but sometimes I need help. And I don't mean something like, "Let's go to Kentucky for a weekend!" Thursday evening. I mean small things. Call me to look at the moon. Go for a walk with me to see the stars. Bring me something small, just to let me know you're thinking about me. Even if you don't have money, you have a meal plan. If you bring me something, there's a 95% chance I'll like it and eat it.
5. If you have a problem, come to me.
Don't keep things from me. If I notice something's visibly bothering you, then tell me. If it's not yours to tell, say that and I'll back off. If something's bothering you and you keep it from me because you don't want my opinion of you to change, saying that's going to change my opinion of you. It makes me think you can't trust me to care for you because you have a flaw. I already know you're not perfect.
6. Don't try to make me jealous.
Because it'll work. I don't know why you'd want me to be jealous of some other girl. I already have self-esteem issues. It doesn't end well for you if I find out you're intentionally making me jealous, or disregard my feelings of jealousy. Because in my past experience, I've had a reason to be jealous of the people I'm jealous of. One ex was still in love with her, another ex moved in on her after dumping me, and I know how girls think for the others.
7. Deal with me.
I'm a simple girl. I take pleasure in simple things, like Disney movies, cake, and sleep. I've got an eclectic list of interests: Harry Potter, religion, fashion, philosophy, photography, Power Rangers, cooking, and coloring, just to name a few. I can either be insanely mature, or take pleasure in childish things. It depends on where my head is. If that scares you now, then you don't know me, and if you dismiss me, you'll probably end up missing out. Get to know me and see how often I talk about those things that scare you.
8. Be romantic.
If you claim you're the romantic type, follow through. I've experienced little true romance, and of those few times I've had a part in planning it. I'm a hopeless romantic. I want to get swept off my feet. Cook for me. Study in candlelight. Go for a midnight walk with me and dance in the moonlight. Bring me a single flower. Write me silly notes. Text me just because. Mention me to your friends. Mention me to the world, via Internet.
9. Tell me how you feel.
Usually I'm not sure what to think about this. I mean, I like figuring out if someone has feelings for me. But I've come to realize that some people are just big flirts, and I can misread what I think are signs. I flirt with people too. I know this. But if I'm flirting with you every day and try and keep the conversation going for hours on end, 9 times out of 10 I have feelings for you. I won't outright tell you I like you unless you tell me first.
10. The superficial part...
This is subject to change. I go for personality over looks all the time.
But I'd like someone who's a bit taller than me, probably 5'10" and above. Someone who's cute. I'm a sucker for eyes, and tallying it up it seems that blue's the prevalent color. Someone who can dress himself. Someone who's confident. Well kept. Toned. There's this thing that I like to call the "V" that some guys have. Ask about it, I'll describe it. Probably my second favorite thing on a guy (eyes are first). I don't want to hear that I could've done much better again.
That said, I'm not sure how long it'll take me to be ready to find this person. Sometimes it feels like I should take initiative right now and go for it. Sometimes I think it'll take me a few months to be able to have a meaningful relationship. But if you care enough to come to my blog and read it, and are genuinely interested in me, then I'll do my best.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Alone
Yep, I'm single now. And I don't even know why. I mean, last week he told me I depress him, and had to think about whether it would be best to break up. I guess he decided that, mainly because of that whole cliche of "love dying." It sucks. Especially since about a month ago he was so in love with me. We were doing amazing. It really seemed like we could make it "forever and ever and always," as he said. As long as he claimed to love me.
Forever was about seven months. They were a good seven months. I think he was trying to take the easy way out. He said he didn't think a relationship should have to work at staying in love, that our love should have just come and be natural. He said he's been feeling this disappearance of love for a bit now, and it's been conflicting him.
He told me before he only broke up with people when he couldn't see being friends with them, but wants to still be friends. Maybe not now, but when I'm ready. I don't know if I can do that. I have to quit being vice-president of ballroom now, because I'm pretty sure I'll always love him, even if I say I'm over him.
And if he had decided to stay together, things would've needed to change. We both realize that. Our relationship was becoming too physical, as all my relationships seem to end up. It was becoming routine: we'd do homework together most nights, talk about school before homework, do nothing over the weekends, be physical only over the weekend, and I'd stay the night one night over the weekend.
And now I want to go out and make bad decisions. I want to go out and get drunk (with people I trust), I want to meet someone I've never talked to and flirt, make out, but not come back to the room. I want to take a little risk, because I've never been in a place to do so. I want to go buy clothes and walk down frat row, hoping I can get into a party because of how I look only. I want to cry in peace. I want to cuddle with him. I want him back.
I've been trying not to think about it, but now I'm alone and can cry freely. I don't want to just be friends with him. Sure, I was feeling the same thing he had, but the way I know I still was in love was by his kisses. I've kissed on multiple occasions with no feeling behind it, with no love behind it continuing for weeks. I always felt something in me come alive when I kissed him. It never left me, and didn't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. I'm sure if I kissed him again, I'd still feel it.
But I guess he doesn't. I guess I'm not good enough for him anymore, like I'm never good enough for anyone. Maybe sometime down the line he'll realize what he had, and what he lost. If that happens, everything will start anew, but I'm fine with that. If I'm available and see that he's worked on himself.
I think a part of it is because he's not in a good place for a relationship right now. I mean, his depression has gotten worse and he's stressed with juggling classes, ballroom, friends, and me. I guess something had to go, and it just ended up being me. Even though I did so much for him. Paid for him. Helped him with school. Helped him get organized. Helped him get help for his depression. Helped him through some of his depression. And what do I get in return?
A broken heart.
Forever was about seven months. They were a good seven months. I think he was trying to take the easy way out. He said he didn't think a relationship should have to work at staying in love, that our love should have just come and be natural. He said he's been feeling this disappearance of love for a bit now, and it's been conflicting him.
He told me before he only broke up with people when he couldn't see being friends with them, but wants to still be friends. Maybe not now, but when I'm ready. I don't know if I can do that. I have to quit being vice-president of ballroom now, because I'm pretty sure I'll always love him, even if I say I'm over him.
And if he had decided to stay together, things would've needed to change. We both realize that. Our relationship was becoming too physical, as all my relationships seem to end up. It was becoming routine: we'd do homework together most nights, talk about school before homework, do nothing over the weekends, be physical only over the weekend, and I'd stay the night one night over the weekend.
And now I want to go out and make bad decisions. I want to go out and get drunk (with people I trust), I want to meet someone I've never talked to and flirt, make out, but not come back to the room. I want to take a little risk, because I've never been in a place to do so. I want to go buy clothes and walk down frat row, hoping I can get into a party because of how I look only. I want to cry in peace. I want to cuddle with him. I want him back.
I've been trying not to think about it, but now I'm alone and can cry freely. I don't want to just be friends with him. Sure, I was feeling the same thing he had, but the way I know I still was in love was by his kisses. I've kissed on multiple occasions with no feeling behind it, with no love behind it continuing for weeks. I always felt something in me come alive when I kissed him. It never left me, and didn't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. I'm sure if I kissed him again, I'd still feel it.
But I guess he doesn't. I guess I'm not good enough for him anymore, like I'm never good enough for anyone. Maybe sometime down the line he'll realize what he had, and what he lost. If that happens, everything will start anew, but I'm fine with that. If I'm available and see that he's worked on himself.
I think a part of it is because he's not in a good place for a relationship right now. I mean, his depression has gotten worse and he's stressed with juggling classes, ballroom, friends, and me. I guess something had to go, and it just ended up being me. Even though I did so much for him. Paid for him. Helped him with school. Helped him get organized. Helped him get help for his depression. Helped him through some of his depression. And what do I get in return?
A broken heart.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Unwritten
That's the state of my articles for my Intro to Magazine class. Well, two of them. I've decided, since half the blogs I've been reading are about writing, that it's high time for me to post one as well.
Writing used to come easy to me. Sometimes, it still comes easy to me. But for this class, it's incredibly hard. A big reason is probably because of my professor. He holds us up to industry standards in our weed-out class, which honestly scares the shit out of me. Mainly because I've never really had a journalism class that I've actually written articles in. I've hardly had any practice, and I'm afraid that what I write will be so different than what it's supposed to be like that he'll rip me a new one.
But in other classes, writing is so easy. I can whip out a five page essay in about a half an hour, depending on if I already have my research done and a general idea of where I'm going. I don't plan these blogs out ahead of time either, and I like to think they're somewhat cohesive and understandable. And creative writing, so long as I have a basic idea of my plot, I can get fairly far in my stories. But with those, it always ends up that I hit a brick wall, unless they're going to be under 30 pages long.
I know it's a hard knock life for me coming up, but writing's been a part of me for so long I don't think I'd ever be able to leave it behind. I never thought I'd end up as a journalism major in college. I was thinking more of psychology or teaching maybe. But I changed on a whim when I got to orientation, and I'm glad I did. The journey is long and hard, but at the end I know it'll be worth it. Once I finally get the hang of writing articles and eventually see my name in a magazine.
I guess I should explain how I got interested in writing, because I'm not planning on blogging about writing again. In 3rd grade we learned the traditional five paragraph essay format. They were short paragraphs, of course, but I found that I wrote quicker than most people in my class, and could write about whatever I wanted. We had a lot of essays in elementary school, and continued on to middle school. Middle school was where I learned about grammar and all the fun stuff that goes into writing. And in 8th grade we were introduced to creative writing. Some friends and I started a story, and I never looked back.
There were three women who have shaped the writer I have become, and I wish I could thank them all: Mrs. Hassler, Mrs. Wheeler, and J.K. Rowling. Yes, J.K. Rowling. The Harry Potter series pulled me in like the Wishbone series had a few years before. I guess I grew out of Wishbone and Harry was waiting with open arms. I could write a whole blog on why I love Harry Potter, and I might, since I'm sure I'll be bored this weekend.
I wonder if I'll finally have a man to break into that list: a one Mr. Brad King. I'm not sure yet if he will, but I have a feeling that for at least one person in our Intro to Mag class, he will join their numbers.
Writing used to come easy to me. Sometimes, it still comes easy to me. But for this class, it's incredibly hard. A big reason is probably because of my professor. He holds us up to industry standards in our weed-out class, which honestly scares the shit out of me. Mainly because I've never really had a journalism class that I've actually written articles in. I've hardly had any practice, and I'm afraid that what I write will be so different than what it's supposed to be like that he'll rip me a new one.
But in other classes, writing is so easy. I can whip out a five page essay in about a half an hour, depending on if I already have my research done and a general idea of where I'm going. I don't plan these blogs out ahead of time either, and I like to think they're somewhat cohesive and understandable. And creative writing, so long as I have a basic idea of my plot, I can get fairly far in my stories. But with those, it always ends up that I hit a brick wall, unless they're going to be under 30 pages long.
I know it's a hard knock life for me coming up, but writing's been a part of me for so long I don't think I'd ever be able to leave it behind. I never thought I'd end up as a journalism major in college. I was thinking more of psychology or teaching maybe. But I changed on a whim when I got to orientation, and I'm glad I did. The journey is long and hard, but at the end I know it'll be worth it. Once I finally get the hang of writing articles and eventually see my name in a magazine.
I guess I should explain how I got interested in writing, because I'm not planning on blogging about writing again. In 3rd grade we learned the traditional five paragraph essay format. They were short paragraphs, of course, but I found that I wrote quicker than most people in my class, and could write about whatever I wanted. We had a lot of essays in elementary school, and continued on to middle school. Middle school was where I learned about grammar and all the fun stuff that goes into writing. And in 8th grade we were introduced to creative writing. Some friends and I started a story, and I never looked back.
There were three women who have shaped the writer I have become, and I wish I could thank them all: Mrs. Hassler, Mrs. Wheeler, and J.K. Rowling. Yes, J.K. Rowling. The Harry Potter series pulled me in like the Wishbone series had a few years before. I guess I grew out of Wishbone and Harry was waiting with open arms. I could write a whole blog on why I love Harry Potter, and I might, since I'm sure I'll be bored this weekend.
I wonder if I'll finally have a man to break into that list: a one Mr. Brad King. I'm not sure yet if he will, but I have a feeling that for at least one person in our Intro to Mag class, he will join their numbers.
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