Cupid’s an Asshole.

Oh please let this day end without me doing something that I will regret. Like eating a slice of cake then purging it out. Posting something that could potentially “out” Mr X and destroy lives on my social media. Breaking down into a collapsed heap of salty tears and broken dreams.

Okay, I mean besides those things. We’re not unringing any bells here.

I don’t know what has come over me lately. Desperation has taken a firm grasp of my thought processes. I have done everything that I “should” be doing in regards to Mr X, up to and including avoiding a conversation with him once this last week. Yes, once. Baby steps. And it didn’t matter. He tracked me down anyway to ask why. I can’t fucking win.

I told him that there were times that I wished he could hate me. “Good luck with that,” he told me. “You could sleep with my best friend and it wouldn’t change how I feel for you.” Great. Where does that leave me?

It leaves me waiting. Waiting for him to sort through his emotions and intentions. Waiting for some kind of reprieve from the constant wonder. Waiting to exorcise him from Heart, if she would just please stop for one moment.

I have allowed him to hold all of the cards, and it turns out he’s a shark. Even though my conscious mind knows that he is simply holding me at bay, I haven’t found the strength to exit left. I can only hope that he knows what he’s doing, because I sure as hell don’t.

Valentine’s Day is living up to its’ reputation. Torturous.

New Year, Same Love

Eleven minutes into the New Year. He called. It took me completely off-guard (I hadn’t expected any contact until at least Monday), and I have been half hysterically laughing and half crying ever since the 8 minute, 31 second phone call ended.

It was Mr X that wished me my first Happy New Year,  his voice. The forbidden call. I am still reeling from it. His proclamation of a difficult journey on this vacation. His knowledge that he shouldn’t be calling, but his  admission that he could not stop himself. He needed to know how I have been faring.

It was so magical for me. For once, I didn’t mince words. I told him exactly how I have been feeling. And he was so receptive. I hesitate to use the word “impressed,” but that is the impression I received. He seemed fascinated by my demeanor. Shit, I was too. Who knew I could come off simultaneously as assertive and coquettish. Generally, I fall all over myself trying to find the right words to say. But tonight, language was on my side.

That’s all, really. There is really no change in circumstance, other than the confirmation that Mr X is still caught between his vows and his own heart (at least that is my interpretation). But it is certainly enough for me to begin this New Year with hope.

 

And the Heart Came Back. The Very Next Day.

No sooner than I hit “publish” on my last post, did Mr X show up at my door. To wish me a happy Christmas vacation. To reassure me that he cares very deeply for me, but is trying very hard to do “the right thing.” To warn me that she knows who I am, and to please be careful about what I post on social media. To steal a tight embrace and a candy cane from my tree. And to carelessly and foolishly return a barely beating, battered and bruised Heart back into my chest.

I tried to send it back with him. But his soft way and loving words left me holding Heart closer than I ever have before. Here I am, days later, nursing her back to health – and pushing my recovery back farther with each increasing beat.

There is nothing that Mr X has done that has guaranteed ANYTHING. Yet here I sit, reliving the moment of surprise over and over again. He still came to me. He didn’t have to. He could have let all of this boil over, then cool off. I know that I am being kept on his back-burner on purpose. Why don’t I mind? What on earth is wrong with me?

There has been no contact since that moment, and yet I know that there will be contact in the coming days. I have been mentally preparing myself for the eventual conversation that will occur. Heart could swing into a (temporary) complete recovery, or be thrust into a sudden paralysis. Either scenario will inflict damage, either immediately or over time, so I’m honestly not sure what to root for. I’m just so tired of thinking about it.

There has also been no sleep. I think about everything, all the time. At most, I am half-invested in a conversation. The other half is reliving a memory, or laying the framework for the next conversation, or wondering if she has posted anything new that could give me fresh insight. There is no escape from thought. But try to pin just one thought down and my mind jerks into defense mode; fragmenting itself and spiraling into so many different directions that I can’t make sense of anything. Just when I think I have a solution, I find myself trapped – inside myself – all over again.

I can’t seem to gather my own thoughts quickly enough to lay them into this blog. Everything that I say feels wrong. It’s as though I’m so distracted by the feeling of anticipation that there isn’t enough energy left to care about the words I write. So nothing makes sense.

And here Heart is, still barely beating, but conscious enough (delirious) to know that it was her Love that carried her back to me. And that is enough for the fool to stay smiling through the lacerations that Mr X himself inflicted. But does she remember that? Of course not.

I find myself once again shaking my head and wanting to apologize for the crazy that this post is offering, but I don’t think I will. The ship that held intellectual and poetic intent for this blog has sailed long ago. You enter my rabbit hole willingly at this point. And I’m sorry to say, we have only just brushed the surface of my crazy. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.