Moving On
posted 4 months ago
I guess I should start this post by explaining myself. There hasn’t been a post of quality on my lovely little piece of the web in quite some time and it’s because, though I hate to admit it, baby girl has been hurting. I’ve had my head between my knees, rocking back and forth slowly in the darkest corner of my room for maybe two months. Not really, but I have been sad. The most functional, nutty kind of sad that only comes when a chick that considers herself kinda bad ass gets dumped. It’s the mutant child of “I’m fine” and “I just want to go to sleep forever”. It’s the step sister of “I really need to be drunk right now”. It’s just bad. And I haven’t felt right giving advice or sharing my two cents about life when I’m deleting and re-entering an ex’s number into my phone so often it freezes. Obviously, Android isn’t ready for my kind of crazy.
Today, my sister saw I was upset for the zillionth time. I’ll be great one minute then have a flashback that lands me right on my ass. I’m closer to my sis than anyone but we don’t bond over boy talk and at-home pedicures. So, for her to tell me that I need to start taking the advice I give on this blog and make decisions that are better for me, was moving. And here I am. This is me pulling myself up by the bootstraps. I’m done pretending I haven’t been affected by a kind of loss and I’m not going to act as if I haven’t made some of the dumbest decisions ever in trying to rekindle things. I’m retiring my bat and burying the dead horse.
The first kick in the pants came on New Year’s Eve. I’d had a great night out with friends. Our worst decisions were among mixing light and dark (and bubbly), leaving our Hennessy bottle unguarded and not calling a cab ahead of time. For us, this was a top night. After being stranded for an hour or so, cursed out by a Taxi driver and Kleenexing puke from my coat-sleeve, I was on board a 4AM Nothrbound Red Line train home with a full car of the wildest cast of characters. I’m so thankful for my college experience because I feel there is no better education in how to deal with an odd assortment of odd people. No matter where I go I feel I can always accurately peg people—put them in categories so as to better understand where their heads at. Like, the frat bros comparing Chicago’s meat packing district with New York’s or the small group of college freshmen in kitty heels babysitting their first “Girl, I kinda know”. They don’t know yet what karmic rewards they’ll reap for this act of kindness.
Amongst the chaos, I fell asleep. I was awakened by the sound of someone sobbing.
You guys, I’m not being dramatic. When I say “sobbing”, I mean trails of snot, okay? Like, chick was not holding back (audible tears). And everyone knows it’s an unwritten rule of life that you don’t let people see you cry. I, like you, have no clue when we were all taught this, but when you feel the waterworks it’s chin up, eyes wide. There are a few exceptions especially when amongst friends and relatives but chick was letting loose on a packed train with seemingly no friends. The man next to her was half dead. She was sitting directly behind me so I couldn’t turn around completely to get the scoop but I peeped her reflection in the train window and saw no accomplices.
The train buzzed around her, everyone too drunk to notice. I think city folks are exposed to so much shit we don’t understand or don’t want to deal with (especially on the train/bus) that we learn to just tune it out. Literally, not a single soul frowned a single brow. I looked! I wanted to share my silent concern with another kind-hearted individual but there was no one. I wanted so badly to ask, “Why are you crying?” but that’s not socially acceptable past the age of four. I pictured myself as a black version of the Monster’s Inc. girl, sitting in her lap and offering up a hug. In that same moment, I wished so badly that she’d gotten bad news from a family member: Grandma’s back in the hospital, Uncle Jerry’s on another bender, something! But, I knew. I knew no one had died. I knew she wasn’t having terrible cramps. I knew she hadn’t stubbed her toe. I knew she was crying over a boy. On New Year’s Eve. On a crowded train of strangers. She was crying over a stupid boy.
Guys definitely have us beat with all the fighty-fighty-break-up stuff. Because if a full-grown man had been crying on the train, I’d probably think we were about to crash. He really did stub his toe. Grandma’s cookies were the best. Uncle Jerry is like a father. Oh God, you poor thing. I would never auto-assume he was crying over a girl, because really, there’d be nothing to cry over if he was crying over a girl. If a dude would show he cared enough…and actually CRIED…”Oh, honey, come to mama! It’s okay. Everything will be okay. We’ll make this work.”
But they never cry.
We’re always the ones left crying, but when is enough enough? With this last break-up I realized how much of a glutton for punishment chicks can be. Do you know how many more times after the first time I offered myself up for the slaughter? So many that part of me can understand how women return to abusive relationships. ‘Cause this is all coming from me, a girl who grew up in a two-parent home, never had an unfulfilled want or need, college educated, the works and I’m acting like a complete idiot, practically begging someone to be with me. I can’t even imagine what someone with less guidance or support would do.
For me, unfortunately, I think I needed him to treat me badly. I couldn’t leave things amicably. I needed his actions to negate all the sweet shit from before. I needed him to make me hate him. I needed a real reason to walk away. I needed more proof when all the proof was there in front of me. If I looked back on things, it was clear that we weren’t exactly what I wanted. We were so great in so many ways, but lacking in others. I was willing to work and he wasn’t. The end. Well, it should’ve been the end, but I had to make it about a title and other girls and not talking as often and not meeting his friends. I had to pick fights. Make what was bad, worse so that I could finally pick up my shit and leave.
My only hope for next time (God forbid, but I’m only 22 so, yippee..) is that I don’t feel so foolish at the end of it all. I don’t want to be left hanging onto someone who’s already let go.
I wanna be a gangsta.
Swag. Swag.
Christine
*Oh, about the girl on the train: She got off toward the end of the line, a few stops before me. The train had cleared and from the ashes arose some man I hadn’t seen previously. He was definitely nowhere in site while she was crying but it was clear he was the source of the tears upon the two exiting the train. I wish I knew what happened. I wish I knew whether they were able to work it out. I wish I knew if she finally let it go.
**But can we talk about how’d I’d STILL be getting over the Justin Timberlake break up if I were Britney? They’d known each other since the Mickey Mouse club days and probably dated way back then. They were together in the height of their careers and were generally the cutest thing anyone had ever seen. Add to that the fact that everyone knew about the break up. Ugh! I can’t even handle my sister and a few friends knowing. Really, we should all be glad Britney isn’t strung out on heroine right now.
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eyan-j said:
dudes cry all the time. when i broke up with an ex, i cried the whole flight from Seattle to Philly. and then the drive home to Atlantic City. and then whenever i did or saw certain things…like grocery shopping or breathing. shit is real out here.
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sexxxyinthecity said:
ughhh i hate breakups. they are the worst part of any relationship. be strong. and if u cant. cry! do watever it takes until ur ready to move on !
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thechicagorose posted this