A Burning Issue: Peter (Video Link)
I have never
consistently thought anything for such a long time ever before in my entire
existence. That is probably because I
never truly cared about anything or anyone.
But now I feel numb to all emotions excluding a depth of sadness and
despair. I guess what I am saying is
that I wasn’t even aware that I had a heart until I realized that it was
broken.
He is the last
thought I have before laying down at night and my first thought when I wake up
in the morning. In between, I dream of
what I could’ve done differently and how I could have changed things so that he
would be mine again. Before I open my eyes to find an empty bed and a hollow
heart, that I sometimes wish wasn’t beating at all, I see his face: his blonde
curly bun, his ten extra pounds of weight and the look he used to give me that
made me fully feel like I was special.
I’m looking into his blue eyes and I see my own reflection; an image of
my own true happiness and I know that I am in love. I love the zits on his shoulders and the lack
of appreciation for music that he’ll never be able to grasp. I love the way he smiles when he is juggling a
soccer ball and I love that he never comprehends my point of view. I love that he loves me and I love that I love
him too.
But then I
remember: that he doesn’t.
My eyes open and I
am up too early yet again. I am cold. I am alone.
I feel my nose start to crinkle and the tears slowly but surely begin to
form a pool below my esophagus. I can’t
breath. I cannot breath because I
realize that I not only do not have him but that he hates me. I disgust him and he will never be a part of
my life again. I don’t know if the
emptiness hurts more than the realization that the defining factor of my life
for the last year will never again be a part of me. He is a stranger that I probably won’t ever
get to see touch, smell, kiss or hold again; one might advise me to be hopeful,
but I know that he is gone and he won’t be coming back.
I love him and he
hates me.
I begin to realize
that I sound like one of those stereotypical sorority girls whose Kappa Sigma
meathead from southern California dumped them at some variation of lame formal. I’ve always prided myself on being
independent and raw with a touch of anti-romance and extreme judgment for those
in love. I’ve always pitied those who
were stupid enough to actually believe in it.
And now I know that I sound
like that pathetic girl that I’ve always been disgusted with, who doesn’t
understand that life goes on and is being overly dramatic because he is just ‘some
guy’. But he is not ‘some guy’, his name
is Peter and I am not anybody without him.
The clothes that I
still have of his don’t smell like him anymore and it starts to feel like it
was all a dream while reality has now become the nightmare. Why can’t I remember his smell? His scent would remind me that it was real
and it was better to have had him once than to have never had him at all. At least I felt something. But now all
I feel is pain and sadness being driven by my own self-hatred. I am completely consumed by this feeling that
I will never again feel alive but merely a walking and talking corpse waiting
in line for the gates of hell.
Why did he have to
go through my phone when I was asleep? And
then bully me into opening my Facebook for him?
Yes, I may have lied and I may have manipulated him but it was only to
protect him and to protect myself and the other parts of my life that I value
so much. He caught one lie after the
next and couldn’t grasp the idea of someone lying without cheating all in the
same. Why can’t he see that I am not a
cheater? I have never cheated. I am not a cheater. Break my heart for lying but don’t be thoroughly
convinced that it needs to end because I am just yet another girl who has cheated
on you. He pushed me and he shoved me as
I pleaded for him to listen but I knew he wouldn’t. I walked home in the rain at one in the
morning and I tried to comprehend how my word could mean so little; I didn’t
know whether to feel violated or more concerned over whether or not he would
still feel the same in the morning. I
tried to convince myself that he would realize that I am who he thought I was
before that lies unfolded and that he would love me more than his own ego; but
he didn’t.
Now, I sit in
class merely waiting for the next image of his face the last time I saw him to
flash into my mind: full of disgust, anger, and betrayal. I see myself sobbing in the reflection of his
own overflowing eyes and I knew, just as I know now, that it is over and always
will be. I begin to cry again, in my
Duane 90-minute lecture but nobody even notices. Why do I even bother hiding it behind my
laptop and my soaked flannel sleeves?
Nobody around me cares anymore than he ever will. And even if someone did, it wouldn’t matter
because nobody could possibly look at me the way he used to; he saw me for the
potential that I possessed and the honesty he thought I had but I clearly
proved him wrong.
If I could change
anything it would be the way he thinks of me now. I think that I could deal with the loneliness
and the idea of a future without him but knowing that he is out there somewhere
thoroughly believing that I am a monster is what fuels my heartache. The once confident and strong girl I used to
see every morning in the mirror now looks pale and weak. I don’t know who I am staring at anymore and
better yet, I don’t care who she is because he
doesn’t care who she is. So maybe when
you see me as some stupid, heartbroken, naïve girl, you are right and you are justified. If I’m going to be worthless in his eyes, and
in my own, then everyone else should see that too.
Apparently, I am
nothing, just ask Peter.
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