Well it’s official.
I’m in love with my ex-girlfriend. And I don’t mind telling you, this sucks. And there isn’t a single thing I can do about it.
I am of course oscillating somewhere between acceptance and desperation. Somewhere between letting go and holding on. And I don’t want to dwell too much on this. I think, at bottom, I just needed to get it out. To tell someone. Or, rather, to tell everyone. And what not a better place to bitch about lost-loves than the internet. So there it is.
I’d like to focus on other things. This feels trivial. It feels like high school. I keep thinking about the spring of ’91 when Kim Daniels broke up with me right after the big dance and I spend the next few months cruising around Los Angeles in my Volkswagen with my best friend getting high and going into therapy. (Ah, good times.) I’d like to believe that I’ve grown in the intervening thirteen years. That things have changed. That the circumstances surrounding that break up (and all subsequent breakups) and this current one are radically different. That there are no “patterns” in my love life that bare “working out,” or need deep consideration or analysis or whatever. That, in the end, it’s just been a decade and half of random events. Of things that have happened to me. At worse, bad choices in relationships.
But I know that’s not true. I know that even if I have made bad choices, they were still my choices. And they weren’t all bad. Can I discount the lessons learned? I don’t know. Doesn’t seem right.
So I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about being in love with a woman who doesn’t want to have a romantic relationship with me, even if she wasn’t three thousand miles away. I guess I can take some comfort in that. Some comfort in her being so far away. Perhaps I’ll be able to let go over this summer. Perhaps I’ll learn some more lessons. And grow. And deepen. And be a better human being.
But so often, even the thought of personal growth wears me out.
Wish me luck.