the power of silence.

Hi. It’s been an eventful couple of days.

Not actually eventful, in that events have happened. Perhaps a better word is busy, and then crazy. As in, I’m the crazy one.

Sometimes I find that my best writing comes when I am angrily texting Derek about something I don’t understand. Not having a fight, you understand. More like venting.

And the other night that was happening, and this is what it yielded, omitting his responses and also some other context-specific messages I sent.

And in fairness, I am not actually reluctant to get my heart broken again. I would love to have a longer, awesome, meaningful relationship even if it meant a nasty breakup down the road. What I’m sick of is getting crushed by people to whom I mean little and who also mean little to me.

My last two anythings have been so empty and I want something full and overflowing.

I’m not mad that I seem to be falling hard. I’m scared it’ll be another quick-and-easy, don’t-have-to-talk-to-each-other-more-than-necessary crash-burn-and-walk-away kind of thing.

I want to f—ing feel God damn it. I want him to drag my heart through the dust and give it back in three pieces like those Swedish cookies you’re supposed to wish on if they break that way. I want to hug him and cry. I want to hug him and laugh. I want him to cry because he loves me so much. I want us to never have known a better love than this. I want it to pull our worlds wide open. I want us to cross oceans and state lines and streets to see each other. I want to call him whenever I have news, good or bad. I want us to need each other before we even think of anyone else. I want us to feel it all. All the shit, and all the stars. All the heaven, all the hell. And I don’t even know who I’m talking about but that’s what I want.

It’s true.

Basically, the conversation raised a lot of questions about whether or not Derek’s and my friendship is good for our respective romantic lives, if I am actually capable of trying to form genuine connections without becoming romantically attached, if my method of focusing romantically on the fictional Will Lindstrom is healthy or not, etc. As I said to Derek, “If there is a real person in the picture and I channel my romantic energies toward the imaginary or the unattainable (celebrities) instead, I will not become hopelessly attached to a transient person,” which I do not like the idea of doing again.

Derek had the idea that the more you (well, I) think about someone, “what they are to you becomes warped. They become this big wondrous magician! And then you meet something that is close and real, and the illusion breaks.” Which is precisely my issue, and I don’t know how to fix it. For all that I talk a lot about accepting people as they are, I appear to be pretty bad at it.

Anyway, I discovered also this week that there is more of Clara Oswald in me than I thought, and also my mother, and when things are making me crazy, if I shut off all the lights and the screens and set my phone timer for twenty minutes and just lie still and think that everything will be okay, my brain will straighten up and fly right and I won’t go ballistic over things I can’t control, like my stats project partner never texting me.

I guess this is life now, as a mostly-functioning adultish sort of person. (Also, elections are making me crazy.) But twenty minutes of quiet had enormous effects. Also playing the piano. I guess I just need to do what keeps me sane once in a while.

So that’s good.

 

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