It's taken me a long time to figure out what I want to say. Almost six months, I guess. I wanted to post through the disbelief, the sadness, and the rage. I wanted to whine about how awful my life became and how awkward everything had become. But I didn't. I think I've been pathetic enough on this website.
Needless to say, Bryan and I didn't work out. At this point, nearly six months later, I feel very little. Or, rather, I've trained myself to feel very little. But let's start at the beginning. The beginning of the end. How poetic.
Bryan had invited me to come to a party over Christmas break. He didn't have a specific day picked. The day after Christmas, he texted me to say that the party was tonight, could I make it? I desperately wanted to say yes, but a huge storm had just hit, and many of the roads were being closed. I said I'd do my best. I remember praying to God, saying, "Please, just let me go to this party. Please, God, give me this."
They always said God works in mysterious ways.
The storm cleared just enough for me to make it out. I met up with Bryan and he drove me to Patrick, his step-brother's, house. During the trip, I discovered that this "party" was actually just five people, all of whom were really close to the Bryan and Patrick, and we would all be sleeping over.
This was it, I thought. Tonight was the night. Finally, after months of waiting, I would find resolution.
The party (really more of a get-together) was a lot of fun. The other two party-goers were girls, one of whom was Patrick's best friend, and the other worked with Bryan's mom. The latter kept flirting with Bryan, and I hated it, but I never spoke up. I knew I had no claim on him (yet), so what would I say?
To keep a long story short, and to spare myself some dignity, I'll keep this bare bones. Bryan and I got physical. Not all-the-way physical, but physical enough. And, looking back, everything felt wrong. His kisses, while skilled, didn't cause fireworks, or even tingles. Each touch felt less like sharing and more like giving, giving of myself so that he could realize how good I would be as a girlfriend. His girlfriend. I ignored all the warning signs, the utter lack of chemistry, because I was frustrated and DAMMIT I had spent so much energy on this moment, why didn't it WORK?
It was all very, very awkward. I mean, really really awkward. More awkward that it should have been, I think. We slept in different rooms. Still, I spent the entire night feeling victorious. He had feelings for me. He must have had. Finally, my months of toil were over, and I was successful. Bryan and I would finally be together. I daydreamed of domestic situations, of the joy on my friends' faces when we became official.
The next morning, however, challenged that idea. We were still intensely awkward around each other. The others at the party seemed not to notice. I remember Bryan contradicting me about something, and I responded with, "Seriously, we are so different. How are we friends?" One of the girls replied, "Are you kidding? You guys are like the same person. You're perfect for each other."
I was overjoyed at the comment. I didn't show it, of course, but it was just what I needed to rebuild my confidence in Us. Someone else saw how good we were together. Good.
I wanted to ask Bryan about last night. What were we? How did we proceed from here? But my nerves got the best of me. He drove me home and we both avoided the topic, choosing instead to make small talk and listen to the radio. He dropped me off and I spent the day getting riddled with questions by my parents, who knew about my feelings for him. Despite my happiness at the way things had gone (I ignored how awkward it all was), I was being eaten away by my desire to solidify our relationship.
That evening, after hours of debating, I texted him. I asked him how he felt, and I confided that I had been in like with him for months and I was really confused about Us. Out of every situation I had concocted in my head, nothing came close to reality. He responded, saying that he hated to say this, but he had never liked me romantically, and last night was a mistake that he greatly regretted. He felt disgusted with himself about how he'd taken advantage of me, and he hoped that we could be friends, but he'd understand if I needed time.
I was literally shell-shocked. Every emotion bombarded me into nothingness. I couldn't move. Seriously. Moving even a finger caused pain. I sat in total, utter stillness for almost an hour. I just couldn't believe it. Not after all that time believing I was right, believing in this Us that had become such a reality for me. How was it not a reality for him? Then I internalized it all, as I am wont to do. I blamed myself for being so awkward about intimacy. I blamed my chubby thighs and cold toes. I blamed myself for not being good enough.
My mom, believe it or not, was the one to save me from it all. She came to me and made me talk through everything. As I talked, I realized that I was not to blame. He was. How dare he lead me on like that for so long? He knew how I felt. How dare he invite me to such an intimate gathering, knowing how it would look? How DARE he touch me?
I wanted to slander him, to return to school with a plot for revenge in mind. But I didn't. Thankfully, I'm mature enough to realize how bad that would be.
When the next semester began, everything was awkward. I had joined Women's Glee (and here, in the sanctity of my blog, I can confide that I did it so that Bryan and I would have continued contact. Mistake.) and I saw him constantly. It hurt like a knife in my heart. Every time he would speak, every time someone else would talk to him or about him... It was awful. It was a wound that wasn't left alone long enough to scab. I realized, as the pain refused to fade, that I had fallen in love with him. I loved him, despite his flaws, because of his flaws, all of it. In the clarity of pain I saw the future we could have had, the reality that might have been, but also could never be.
But, eventually, the pain faded. I became desensitized to the anger and hurt of it all. And still, I wanted him back in my life. Does that make me weak? I don't know. I wanted him back any way I could get him, so, I had a few drinks at a party, bolstered my courage, and talked to him.
It was awful. It felt like coming home. I had been missing his presence in my life so completely that talking to him, even small talk about how bad hangovers sucked, made me feel like a puzzle piece was fitting back into the center of my heart.
I know, I sound like Twilight. I'm sorry. Being a teenage girl is this way, especially during your first love.
I say it was awful because it tore open my scab again. It reminded me of just how perfectly we meshed, how complementary we were to one another. But, at the same time, our talking soothed the pain away. I realized that, even though I still loved him and even though I still hated him for what he did, I could be friends with him again. I could have him in my life. And that, surprisingly, was enough.
But, and I don't know how or why, my feelings changed. Now that I had his friendship, I didn't want it. I would talk to him, and we would be in sync and everything, but I didn't want it. It was too tainted, too impure. I found myself mildly disgusted by him, and disgusted with myself for liking him. Bryan wasn't great looking, he wasn't charming, he wasn't quite my brand of funny. My love goggles were fading, and I was realizing how much of a catch he wasn't.
And that's kind of where I am right now. Bryan and I are on talking terms, and sometimes we text each other when we're bored or uncomfortable, but... we're not quite friends. We're not what we used to be. But, you know what? That's okay.
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