Monday, June 22, 2015

the kind of crazy that i was.

As a young woman in college, I got madly obsessed with this great looking guy in a band. I was consumed. I’ve written about the story before which was long and grueling till I got through to the other side. One particular day I am recalling so clearly right now was being with him after we slept together for the first time. 

He invited me out. It was a sunny day and came by my west village apartment on 10th street to pick me up around 5pm, high summer, the sun was still blaring. I remember exactly what I was wearing, a very thinly striped black and yellow knit tank top with no bra and a mini skirt made out of linen, with a flower pattern of tiny rose buds all over the brown background. I had bare legs and Chinese slippers on my feet. I felt free and comfortable in my body and thrilled to go on a date with the person my heart palpably ached for. I was crazy for this guy.

Right away he told me that he could not hang out because he had band rehearsal but I could come and watch and he steered me towards his rehearsal space. I was not thrilled about the set up and as insane as I was for him, I was not the girl who wanted to sit around and watch some guy rehearse. On the way he mentioned that he could not see me anymore because his girlfriend, who he lived with, was mentally unstable and she would freak out too much if we were together. He also added that he was going on tour soon and, who knows, when he got back maybe he could live with me. He was as nuts as me, just in a different way.

The kind of crazy that I was, was that I knew he had a girlfriend but I did not care because he had been so interested in me I was sure that she did not mean anything to him and that we would be together. I was textbook crazy, the embodiment of the definition of obsession: to focus completely on someone else so you did not have to deal with your own life. I was happy to leave my life behind and focus all of my attention on this creature and bask in our connection and his attention. Alas, I did not know that he actually lived with his girlfriend.

The kind of crazy that he was, was that he thought that he could dump me but arrange for himself to move in with me after his tour.  His girlfriend detector was not working well. There were women out there who would do that but I was not her. I was bad off but I was not that bad off. Ah, we would have been perfect for each other had I gone for the idea but I did not.

I was too distracted at that moment by the unbearable devastation of his dumping me to even respond. My stomach ached and I had left my body. I walked him to his space in a wild mental frenzy and a shutdown exterior, and left coolly, dismissing his idiotic idea, feigning indifference only to go sit in a doorway a block away and cry hysterically. I thought I was crying over him, and had no idea that I was just reliving my devastating core wound of abandonment and heartbreak. We recreate this shit until it gets painful enough that we figure it out, if we are lucky, which I am.

I must say I am amused by the story more than anything else, but also have empathy for that poor kido and gratitude that she stayed alive so that I could be here now. Much love to you all, the struggle is part of life.  I love you, everyone. Always have, always will.

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