Okay, I made a butt-cringingly embarrassing discovery tonight and I’m starting a new series of entries, because it’s too rich not to share. I was rooting around in the basement looking for a box I never did find, because I ran across some old journals and papers from college and before I knew it, I was sitting on the floor, reading and laughing at my poor, 19- or 20-year-old, extremely angst-ridden self. Extremely angst-ridden.
As very minor background, I dated this particular fellow off and on during college. Apparently, during one of our “off” periods, I took to journaling (old skool pen and paper style — this was the mid-90s, please remember) my PAIN and HEARTACHE. It’s kind of sad, actually, how wrapped up I was in this non-relationship, and how convinced I was that what we had was DEEP and TRUE and, oh, it’s just all so tragic. To assure you (and, more honestly, myself) that I’m not quite the romantically-challenged asshole that these will make me appear, I did date other people in college. This lucky guy was the only one that drove me to writing utter drivel, though.
(NOTE: Do I think he’ll see this and know it was him? Highly doubtful, particularly since only about three people who know me in real life know about this blog and he is not one of them — nor does he have contact with any of them, as far as I know. And if he does find this — oh, well. More mortifying things have happened in the 13 or 14 years (Years! My God!) since these were written. Maybe he’d be flattered to know that he inspired me to such heights of crap all those years ago. More likely he would just shake his head and thank whatever it is he believes in that he avoided the psycho. Honestly, if this is what I was like that year, I’m surprised I had any friends left by the time summer came around.)
And, so, without further ado, Part I. I believe this was written the summer of 1997? 1996? I didn’t actually date these things, so I’m guessing. But this appears to have been written at the start of a school year. Spelling and punctuation is as was originally recorded. Commentary by Present Me is in bold. Names have been changed to protect the truly innocent — which would be everyone except me in this farce. “John” is the star player here.
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Well … hmmm… I’m in a sort of a … funk right now — I guess that’s what Charlie would call it anyway — thinking too much, perhaps? Just thinking things like — what if I never find anybody? [Seriously? You’re what, 19?] I’d always thought it was pretty much a given that I would. But right now I just don’t feel close to anyone — I see Andy and Christy, Mark and Anne — it makes me sort of jealous, because that’s something I don’t have. [It’s ok, give it a few years, and you may end up marrying one of those other guys. Bless your heart.] I used to feel pretty close to John, but that seems to have retreated somehow. [Yes, some dates and some making out = lasting, undying devotion. Of course.] I just don’t understand — why can’t I have someone I feel totally at one with? Someone I feel like cares so much about me and wants to spend all their time with me. [Oh, so young.] Instead, I feel like I do all the pursuing, all the talking. I guess deep down inside I just want someone to love me. That I can love back. It’s hard waiting for that, not knowing if it will ever come. It makes life seem awfully long. [Nineteen! And you just broke up with one of the five people you dated the past year! Who ARE you?]
I guess I’m finding that trust and committment are very important to me… maybe more important than I realized. [Not as important as spelling, apparently. But now we’re getting to the meat of the issue. Shockingly, “John” didn’t return my fierce passion and, after a summer away from my charming clinginess, wanted to date other people. Granted, he didn’t actually come right out and *say* that, he just sort of went ahead with that plan. He probably realized I would have collapsed on my fainting couch and had a fit of the vapors before murdering his bunny rabbit if he had actually told me that. Good grief. Nineteen.] Makes me feel pretty lonely - - - I know I have people I can talk to, but no one I feel really connected with. Do you actively forge those connections, or are they just there with certain people (who I obviously haven’t met yet)? [Or have I? Dun dun, DUNNNNN.] Or it is a combination of the two? [Fairly insightful, you blithering idiot. You still haven’t learned this lesson as well as you should have by now.]
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End of Part I. I really need to come up with a catchy title for these. Next time — John and I are apparently back together. OR ARE WE?
