sofreeupthecheaperseats-blog

[sofreeupthecheaperseats-blog]

If you came back I won’t be able to trust you again and if I get hurt it will only be worse. If I got hurt again by you then it will be my own damn fault. I’ll always have the doubt you’ll leave me for a man AGAIN. 

I didn’t deserve any of this shit.

I did my best but that wasn’t what you wanted.

If he introduced you to a lifestyle that keeps you down so you rely on him, he will never let you out of it.

You must come to terms with everything you’ve done.

You’ve made it clear you want nothing to do with me and I want nothing more than to forget you.

I don’t want you in my life.

You’re not my business anymore.

I burnt you away.

Fuck you.

[sofreeupthecheaperseats-blog]

Fuck this

Only the letter matters now.

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Day 02 [12/15/18]

My bed and trash can are starting to look like that of a horny teenage boy, minus the lotion and crusty bits. Needed my oil changed. Apparently Walmart does that. Left the auto center and was immediately greeted by the Midsummer’s Night Car Scent hangy thing I first saw in your car. I had one before, I removed it just before walking into the Whataburger after noticing it was now empty. 

I held it. It reminded me of you.

I need one anyway.

I walked around aimlessly for the next two hours thinking of how much better it would have been with you. Pushed on bought some depression food and RDR2, my new faithful companion in this trying time.

For Chistmas I’d like to have given you one of those instax cameras that prints the picture on the spot. Joe has one but his was fucked right out of the box. I’d have broken it out of the box to test it first because fuck that. I’m not good at gifting. But I mean I didn’t get much chance to put in more thought. I knew the Gaypot would have a role but, yeah.

I spoke to my coworkers from store, I let them know what had happened. I didn’t need them asking how you were doing while I’m at work. I don’t know how that would have blown over. I did get better advice than I got from the guys. We talked about all my previous questions and my worries. How I’m not supposed to give exes Christmas gifts, to give it time, how best to establish contact at some point.

“Send her a card.” 

How convenient.

I had already ordered one a while back. It was from a kickstarter that makes LGBT cards and was based in the UK. I needed this one specifically because it had 2 gay ass foxes on it. It was perfect. Don’t think I would have guessed how it’s purpose would change... 

I drastically underestimated how long it would take for me to receive a card from the UK in the mail. I think I ordered it on the 3rd of December to go with The Gaypot, a la The Office S2E10 “Christmas Party.” I don’t think you got the reference. How could you? Yer fake news.

Anyway, I thought this was a solid plan. It gave me a time frame, which let me pretend there was an endgame, a goal. Something to look forward to. This being because everyone at the fort is gone already and there’s no way I would get my hands on that card until January, right around the 14th. A month. At least. Right? I don’t know. There isn’t much precedent. My self control can’t fuck this up now. I need to be patient.

How will I get this to you?

You’re supposed to be leaving your coworker’s place and moving in with Jared from Subway. Where can I send the fucking card if I don’t fucking know where you and Jafar are moving because I. Can’t. Talk. To. You.

I need to establish communication to establish communication.

Sounds like communist propaganda but okay.

Maybe I can send it to your mom, she might be able to get it to you. I hope she’d do me this favor. That might also give me an excuse to double envelope it because I’d lose my shit if it got fucked in the mail. Exterior to her interior to you, with a note inside the first asking her to please relay the card (and Hi, how are you, by the way? Is Lux still fluffy? Tell her I love her. I officially have 0 cat access. I’m going through withdrawal. Please send kitty pics.)

I’m overthinking this.

It’s not unusual, but I mean, hey. I have time. Forced time. is gud

I’ll figure it out. It’s a start.

I saw your Instagram post today. You looked like you belonged a renaissance painting. Beautifully draped across the couch.

I stared at your expression. 

It seemed familiar, the same one I’ve worn these past couple days. 

I felt it. It hurt to look at.

It’s not your fault. I don’t hold anything against you. You were only doing what you thought was best for you. For me. 

I wish I could hold you and tell you that it’s okay. That I understand. 

I hope you know.

Today I changed your contact and snap, “Bri” it says. I backed up text messages as I typically went back and read them, deleted the conversation. I cleared the Snapchat conversation, I thought about excluding you from my stories. I don’t know if I want you to have to see them. I didn’t do it now but it may be for the best. I deleted instagram. I see the USS Fuckhorn is gone, oh whale. Not that I ever really went in there. I never really felt as if I should, I was only invested in you. I uninstalled discord from my phone, it sits on my desktop as of now but maybe not for long. I removed you from my phones’s edge favorites thing, slid everyone up a tile. Accidentally opening that useless slidy bit wouldn’t suck. I closed the ex urna resurgam and oh my god im gay tabs that were permanently open on my phone. That sucked, but I knew leaving them there would dare me to look at them every time I used chrome. I put all the pictures I had of yours and your creations into a safe style app. 

I’ll miss those.

For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to unfollow your spotify. I guess I felt that occasionally being able to see that you were listening to some happy music meant that you were okay. 

I can’t let go of that.

I had Joe erase the “cunt” you had hidden on my whiteboard which I had kept, put away the rainbow dragon I held against it, take down the hiss cylinder, get rid of my collection of reeses cups I had been stockpiling, which are and have always been gronst, and cleared my room of anything that could punch me in the throat upon arrival.

Clear it.

Queen, Metallica, Bowie and Low Roar are going to be my lords, at least until I can bury my head in what’s left of my degree.

For now it’s just me and RDR2.

I hope you’re doing well.

There’s only up now.

[sofreeupthecheaperseats-blog]

Day 01 [12/14/18]

I had to go to the DPS today, I need a new ID. Maybe a license.

 This bracelet. What does it mean right now? Do I keep it on? Is that healthy? What does it represent? By keeping it on am I willing myself to continue, a reminder to be patient? To wait.

Commitment.

Should I remove it to get some distance and clear my head? 

Try and forget, move on?

I couldn’t take it off if I tried.

Which I did. I had to know if it was even possible. One hand won’t cut it. You made it look so easy. 

I remember when it smelled like you. When you first put it on my wrist. 

What’s become of your necklace, I wonder? It doesn’t matter right now. The bracelet.

A problem for another time.

Went in, got a number, filled out a form, forgot my registration. Drove to CVS, got mom medicine. A display. Fox socks. I held them.

“This is us.” I think to myself. The brown ones with the green heart between two foxes.

You’d like these.

“A stocking stuffer?” the cashier says.

Yeah.

 I thought maybe this would be the year. Where I could stop Christmas from being shit.

It’s not possible right now. I can’t.

I need to give us time.

For you. 

I drove home.

“Para quien son esas calcetas? Para la chamaca esa?” She hadn’t heard the full story. I hadn’t told her anything except what had been done.

“It’s not her fault. She didn’t do anything. It’s for the best.”

I explained in more detail. Why.

She nodded in understanding. I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t hold it in much longer.

 Drove to DPS, still waiting, don’t have my written exam certificate. It’s still in Cstat. Fuck this. I’m going home.

Not even mad.

This morning was better, mindlessly driving around, occasionally holding back tears. I yell. Beating my steering wheel. For a while I could just focus on the stupid cunts in front of my car. Skipping over the songs I knew I couldn’t listen to. Blasting music to block out my own thoughts.

“I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black” oozes from the speakers. 

I’m home.

There’s fox socks in my glove box.

I wish I’d hugged you goodbye.

Will I ever hug you again?

Will I ever see you again?

 “No.” My outreached hand closed on the table.

I try to sleep. My pillow is wet now. I can’t keep doing this. I have to try to understand.

If I were in your place I would have probably done the same. I would not want you to suffer because of what I can’t be right now. What I am. I have to get through this and I don’t know how long it may take. I don’t want you to wonder if I’m okay or to go days without hearing from me. To worry. I don’t want you to wait on me. To hold you down instead of raising you up.

“No.” I pull away. I wish I didn’t have to. But it’s for the best. For both of us. I hope you don’t hate me.

I love you.

Because I do, I want you to be happy.

Even if it’s without me.

Because I’m not sure I can make you happy. Not as I am. Not now.

Not without getting help.

 Will you be here when I come back?

  ...

[sofreeupthecheaperseats-blog]

Day 00 [12/13/18]

“No.”

You pulled your hand away from mine. It tore me apart inside.

Fell apart as soon as your car left the parking lot. I drove home A la Jesse in Breaking Bad. Broke down in front of Lechuga as soon as I walked in the door. She thought I crashed my car judging by the look on my face. She didn’t even know I had left and drove to OK so she was pissed but I mean what didn’t matter? Took to Spotify and made a playlist, “SAD!” like the xxxtentacion song. Cried all day trying to understand, to see logically. It’s for the best, I say. The guys said I need to move on, Ira agreed.

“Don’t wait.”

“She dumped you, get over her.”

 I can’t.

I know I shouldn’t wait forever, in hopes that a day will come where I can say it was all worth it. That I have you. I’m happy. Because I know that day may never come. How could I possibly attach a number?

 Brah said something that hit me pretty hard.

“Even if yall get back together, you have to be prepared for the fact that things will be different. She could start to associate you with this period in her life, what she’s healing from, excised.”

Do I want to be a walking reminder? Is that what I’ll do to you?

Am I already?

I don’t want that for you.

 “You can cheer me on from the sidelines.”

I never thought I’d end up there. But here I am. How long do I stay here? Is this what’s best for either of us? How long before I hear from you? Will I? How long should I wait? When do I reach out? Do I?

Should I move on?

When.