This is the Life of a Redhead

Thursday, January 14, 2010



I’m numb.

“I just want you to know, this has nothing to do you with. I just can’t do relationships.”

We were making progress. We were getting better.

“I still care about you a lot.”

I’ve changed my major, I have a new apartment, I was going to start counseling, take anti-depressants.

“I’m not going to eliminate you from my life. I still want to be friends.”

All hollow victories.

I have so many questions. I’m overwhelmed with panic. I can’t control my breathing. Tears are flooding down my cheeks and suddenly my hands are wet. My phone is wet. I speak like a child. Please, please, please. This isn’t fair. Please, please, please.
He keeps going. I’m only processing pieces of it. He’s felt this way for a whileblahblahblahdoesn’twanttohurtmeblahblahblahpleasedon’tblamemyselfblahblahblah…

Is this spur of the moment? We had a fight, but I said I was sorry. He’s just angry. He doesn’t mean it. He couldn’t possibly have planned this out. Do his friends know?

“They said it was an unfortunate situation.”

I wanted to seek out his best friend, grab him by the shoulders, and start shaking him vigorously. Talk you dirty bastard! I’d thrust him against the wall; hear his skull crack. With blood dripping down his temple, I’d push his head into the toilet, ruthlessly screaming while he choked and gurgled. What did he tell you? How long have you known? Talk! and he, wheezing and gasping for air, he’d sputter information: the conversation they had, what he said about me, how he still cared. Is there another woman? He doesn’t know nothin’.

“We can wait until we’re back at school. We can take it slow.”

Yes. Prolong the inevitable until I see him again. It’s been nearly a month. He’ll see me, and he’ll change his mind. He’ll see how much he loves me. I’ll be good, and I won’t pick fights, and he’ll remember how great we are together.

“I’m sorry, we’re just not compatible…”

We have so much fun! We can talk for hours. We like so many of the same things. We can spend days and days together and not get sick of each other. We care about each other. I am comfortable around him, I can tell him anything. I am connected, invested. I am so unbelievably happy! Aren’t you happy?

“. . .”

You said you’d tell me if you weren’t happy.

“. . .”

When did you stop being happy?

“. . .
I’m sorry.”

Please reconsider.

“I’m sorry.”

Please give me another chance.

“I’m sorry.”

Please please please.

“I’m sorry.”

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