I miss love. I miss the physical torture of longing for someone. I miss the piss and vinegar that comes with the reckless loss of inhibitions. Spitting the face of anyone who dare doubt your devotion. I miss the most honest tears I've ever cried and the piercing words that caused them. The amount of vim and vigor someone can stir inside of you just by a single glance. Trusting someone enough to become venerable and not even thinking twice about it. I miss saying the words and truly meaning it, with every conviction of my being.
I think I had it once. I don't know if it was love or not, but I certainly felt everything I just described. It was the most intense experience I've ever had in my life. The goods were the best and bads were the worst. It nearly ruined my life. Hell, maybe it did in one way or another… It was a traumatizing experience. When it ended, I thought I ended. It's been seven years and I don't think I'm over it. I've certainly accepted it and moved on, but I can't help but think about it from time to time. Feeling that passionately about someone leaves a permanent footprint in your psyche. I'm not saying that's a bad thing or that I'm damaged goods, but it's certainly something that will never be forgotten.
I'm concerned if my thoughts and feelings are rational, maybe even normal? Is it okay to think and feel the way I do, even after so many years? I guess I'm getting scared. Time is supposed to cure matters of the heart but here I am still thinking about it. Since my experience with love, I have been with several amazing women. Amazing relationships that, on paper, should have been light years beyond the one I'm speaking of. However, I haven't felt that earth moving, moon lassoing, raw, unfiltered deepness since being with her.
Don't get me wrong, each relationship has been special to me. Each has affected me in some way and taught me a great deal about life. Likewise, none of them have been quite on the same level. Maybe it's because I had never really been hurt before her? I didn't have any walls, preconceived notions, any reservations. I laid it all out on the line with her, totally oblivious to the consequences. Totally unaware of what true emotional pain was. I am now fully aware and equally as scared of it.
This is what I'm having a hard time figuring out- am I holding myself back because I haven't found "my" girl or "the one" yet? Like, I will know when it's right and all of my relationship insecurities, walls, and restraints will become nonexistent when I meet her? Maybe because of my experiences and fear, I'll never be able to be as fully reckless and unabashed? I will always hold back a little or it will take a lot effort and time to let my guard down? Or, and as scary as this sounds, will no one else ever quite match up? Maybe she was "the one"? Maybe I am the Forest Gump to her Jenny and I have just suppressed it? After all, it has been a long time and I'm still thinking about the relationship.
Seven years later and I don't know if I truly miss her, or I just miss being madly in love. Either way, I haven't been able to fill the void since she's been gone.
Someone once told me that a true judge of character is how someone reacts after they’ve made a mistake. I’ve made a lot of mistakes lately. More in the last two months than in the entire last two years. The realization I’ve come to is that I’m absolutely no good for anyone, but that I’m unquestionably great for someone.
In a time such as this, I like to turn to my good friend Sam Malone for some advice. I mean, making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot… Sam is undoubtedly one of the best womanizing characters in television history. It has nothing to do with the quantity of women he’s had relations with but it’s the fact that everyone still loves him afterward. That’s what elevates Sam into legendary status, he possess a certain charm which we all wish we had a piece of.
God… I used to write so much. I used to really enjoy it, thought maybe it’d be a good backup plan if I didn’t become a rock star. What happened? I’ll tell you what happened. The moment I stopped writing was the moment I stopped being honest. A long time ago one of these stupid rambles hurt someone I cared about a lot. I didn’t want to do that again so I stopped writing. Instead of just censoring or being more considerate with my words, I gave it up. I figured if I couldn’t pour my heart out and say what was on my mind, there was no sense in doing it. I still feel that was the right decision and I certainly know it kept me out of a lot of trouble.
She’s gone. You know, if you couldn’t figure out why I suddenly picked it back up. It’s been about three or three and half months since we broke up. I suppose I could have started writing right away, no doubt that I had plenty on my mind. I couldn’t do it… I still felt like I’d be betraying her or intentionally hurting her. I mean, if I was going to be honest in my writings I’d undoubtedly say a few things she’d be directly involved with.
Why now? Why three and half months later? I don’t know… I’m still pretty friggin’ miserable. Just as heartbroken today (maybe more so) as I was the day it happened. The worst part is that I knew that I would be. I knew I’d hurt this bad this long into it. I’m not surprised by this, confused, or frustrated. I just hurt. I simply have a chest crushing weight of longing. I really miss her. Like I said though, I fully expected to feel this way.
Honesty is what this all boils down to. Once I got past the nasty words, bitter thoughts, jealousy, vindictive plots, and blackout anger- I was hurt. I was hurt by the reality that we failed and we were no longer there for one another.
I think the hurt is good. It’s a constant reminder to be wise of the situations you put yourself in. All growth in life requires some sort of sacrifice or pain, why should emotional growth be any different? I had a lot of maturing to do before I could ever be functional in serious relationship. The hurt I acquired for this failure will undoubtedly lead to the personal growth I needed to ever be successful in a future one. For that, I am thankful for experiencing every moment with her and I don’t regret it for a second.
I like to reside in my imagination most of the day. To the causal observer I must seem alert, coherent and productive because I haven't gotten into much trouble over it. However, as I'm going through the daily motions a fantastic screenplay is flickering in my mind. For example, I spill a carton of orange juice and think to myself "what would Peter Griffin do?" I chuckle as I search for paper towels. Peter would probably blame it on Captain Jean Luc Picard at which point the entire crew of the USS Enterprise would walk into the kitchen where there'd be a long awkward silence. Peter in a condescending tone would ask Jean Luc if he is going to clean up the sticky orange mess.
Whatever happened to predictability? The milkman, the paperboy, evening TV? Casual drives over the Golden Gate Bridge and neon windbreakers to protect us from that brisk Bay Area sea breeze? Back when times were simpler and the world had three fathers- and by no means am I referring to the holy trinity. I’m talking Danny, Jesse and Joey. All were miserable failures with personality dysfunctions but somehow were able to pull themselves together to raise America’s favorite girls. What this country’s fascination is with “three men and a baby” is beyond me.
Aside from the horrible acting and after school special “the moral of the story is” writing style, Full House was mashed potatoes and gravy to my generation. When the theme song kicked on, you felt good. Because, “everywhere you look there’s a heart and a hand to hold on to.” I always acted as if I was bored while I watched the show though, even at an early age I was aware that it wasn’t socially acceptable for a dude to like chick flicks. And that’s what Full House was, a weekly soap opera for young girls.