H is for Heavy
So, in discussing the letter I will never send with a friend yesterday, she said that I should never send a letter that only seeks a reaction. I want a reaction from JY; I want to hear him regret. So, I will never ever send the letter I will never send. But, I do feel like I need to mark the occasion. In the past, I've burned sentimental letters. Maybe I should just burn the letter I will never send.
I still have a problem with food, so I wasn't completely being honest in the "letter." Although, not eating out all the time and drinking has certainly helped with weight loss. I still obsess, associate good eating with being good; bad eating with failing.
But, I feel an entirely different weight, a heaviness that has nothing to do with size. Weirdly, it does have to do with loss. Strange how loss can create such emotional weight.
L is for Letter (I will never send)
Dear JY,
This is the first letter you ever sent to me:
July 17, 2004
Hey there.
They made me take "Orion" down when there was just a picture of just him on there... I guess I forgot I still had his profile on here. Here's the url (is it visible to you?):
To tell you the truth, Orion belongs to a friend of mine. I was exploiting him for the purpose of meeting women while I was cat sitting for a week. I'm actually quite allergic to cats (according to the allergist), but Orion and I got along great. He had no problem adapting to the life of a bachelor.
The Plymouth/Northville downtowns seem quite similar on the weekends; the old folks and families come in to window shop and eat ice cream. It's not quite as interesting for people watching as a corner in Royal Oak or Ann Arbor, but it's entertaining nonetheless.
I moved to Northville about a year ago. The daily commute from Pontiac to Ann Arbor was starting to wear me out (plus, I outgrew Pontiac). Northville seemed like a sensible, almost-half-way point. I wasn't ready to fully commit to Ann Arbor life... Though I still feel somewhat like a tourist after living here for a year.
I'm pretty sure I ran across your profile before and thought for a moment you were admiring some early Communist propaganda/art in the second picture. I'm also wondering if I saw you at the Heidelberg once. Maybe dancing Salsa or Bachata? If not, I can imagine you there.
Have you been sledding in the Alps before? I haven't been sledding in years (unless you count snowboarding as "sledding standing up". It doesn't seem like the cold would bother you, but do you prefer winter or summer?
Your twice mention of an unelected Bush warmed the cockles of my heart.
Nice to meet you, M
J
I thought that it may be apropos to sever any remaining ties with a letter from me:
I put the last of your things in a yellow envelope today. Using my favorite sharpie, I wrote your name and address from memory. The package sits near the door, and I will mail it soon. The contents are as follows:
1. The battery from your mother's camera. You lent me the camera, a large, unwieldy and expensive model that took crisp photos that made everyone look beautiful, like campfire light. The battery must have fallen out of the bag - the bag I returned on the night you broke up with me. Here' s the battery. I apologize for the 30 pictures of my cats that were left on the camera.
2. A postcard from the local pub. This postcard came shortly before your birthday offering you a free t-shirt and meal on your b-day. You must have thought it would be easier to remember to use it if it was sent to my place. However, getting mail with your name on it is rather upsetting. We never lived together. So, could you call them and tell them you've moved on?
3. Your Dr. Strangelove DVD. I tried to watch this movie, but thought that making out with you would be better entertainment. We ended up entertaining ourselves before the movie ever reached climax . I never finished the DVD; I don't want to. Here it is.
You asked for a rain-check for the lunch I offered to buy you on your birthday. You said let's have lunch later on in September. It's almost October. Rain-checks expire. Mine just did. We've reached our denouement.
But, I still have a few things to say - things that for whatever reason I want you to know.
1. I don't have an eating disorder. (Update: I'm not so sure I'm telling the truth here) I thought I did. But, amazingly once I wasn't eating out and drinking all the time, I started to shrink. Then I started to channel all my anger into going to the gym. Although weight loss is going slowly (as it should), I feel stronger than I ever have and am 30 lbs lighter. I biked 38 miles on Saturday on my mountain bike. I can run a 8 minute mile (although, then I have to walk for a bit). My knee is completely better. My body is so different that I wake up in the middle of the night and can't sleep because I can't get over it. I say this to you because you said in so many words that I was inadequate. I want you to know that I am far from inadequate. I didn't let you down in Switzerland; I had an accident that was devastating to me.
2. I'm not a liar. I don't know where you got off thinking that I was. I didn't hide anything from you. I'm just human. If anything, I shared too much with you. But, I thought you loved me and that I could share what I was concerned about, my fears and my insecurities; I was wrong.
3. You spoiled me too much. And this is not my problem. You said that you received satisfaction from being able to buy me things and take me places. I never asked for anything that you didn't offer. Even the bike, you offered to help and I said no; I wanted to pay for it. Sorry it took me longer than I thought.
4. You violated my trust. I know you had a problem with my weight. During law school when it started to creep back up, I asked you about it. You said it wasn't a problem. But you lied. You came back at me again with the weight issue a few months later. I said I thought I had a problem and I would get help. You said you loved me and wanted to support me. You did both only in words. I should have listened when you said that even if I lost weight, my body wouldn't be your ideal. I should have kicked you out of my bed then. The night before I packed my things from your place - the night you said my affections felt contrived and the music sucked - you broke my heart and my trust.
5. I don't know what you needed to convince yourself about me to treat me like you did when I came to pick up my skis. Were you really that upset over two t-shirts? Or did you just need to grasp onto anything to make this break-up easier for you? It was so sad for me to think that I'd spent almost two-years getting to know you and in a night you became someone I did not recognize.
6. I still feel pain. Maybe I have trouble moving on, but I don't think this reflects poorly on me. I remember writing you a letter on Valentine's Day. I felt those things to the bottom of my heart. I'm intense. I gave you everything I had to give.
I offered to take you to lunch; I offered you my friendship. But, I feel like you aren't respecting the courage and sincerity that stood behind that offer. Your silence leaves your feelings open to my interpretation, and I'm not inclined to view silence in the light most positive to you. Maybe things in your life are difficult or busy or incredibly happy. Maybe you've met someone else. Whatever the reason for your silence, I hope the best for you.
MAM
S is for Sleep
I'm not sleeping. Last night I was up until around 4 am. I'm not so sure what I am worrying about.
There's still JY. I told Age that as of Saturday I'm not talking about him anymore. I'm sure that my friends tire of hearing about how I feel. I suppose I still feel broken, like I've simultaneously lost my best friend and discovered that he was never really a friend at all. September is flying by and JY's lunch rain-check has to expire sometime. I probably won't tell him that my offer of friendship will expire too. Although, that's probably what he wants - to let silence bear the responsibility of rejecting me again.
There's school. I still wonder if this is where I should be. The things that interest me about the law tend to be purely intellectual pursuits and not legal practice. The intersection of race and the law, gender and the law, sexuality and the law fascinate me; however, I look at my legal career options and feel less than inspired. Unfortunately, my school isn't "good enough" for me to go on to be a law professor even though that's probably where I might excel most. Oh well. There's always an LLM from somewhere else. Or practicing. Who knows. And, I'm behind and have a busy weekend.
There's my body. Still "in progress" aptly describes it. I asked a friend if she thought I could call myself "average" in size. She said yes, but I still feel huge, like everyone must be looking at me because I'm so gigantic. Reality: I'm not gigantic. But, my body image has never been about reality.
B is for Beauty
A question: how does one cope with unrequited love?
Another blog I read offered some ideas that made me feel good:
"I think it's the only thing besides time that can heal the ache of wanting something you can't have: take care of yourself, date other people, be kind to the people around you, do something that makes you happy and do something that makes you feel beautiful, like your best self, once a day if you can." (http://civpro.blogs.com/)
My answer: I'm still figuring it out. Time, of course, is the healer of all things. Although, I don't have eternity to let time heal. I do love the idea of doing something every day to make myself feel beautiful. I don't think that I've ever done that before, consciously. Whether it's breaking out the fancy undies more often, or just taking the time to put on makeup and do my hair. I think maybe a little external effort will help heal the internal hurt.
C is for Cat Bite
I had a feeling he would be weird, but was pleasantly surprised when our first date when well. We met for drinks, chatted, and then said good bye. I invited him on a pub crawl for the next Saturday. He called me just to chat.
He was sweet, but late for both our dates. 20 minutes for the second one, which was pretty inconsiderate because I had saved him a parking spot out front and was waiting outside for him to arrive. He showed up with a bunch of electronic equipment in plain view in his car, which is about the worst idea when one is parking in downtown Detroit. I gave him a sheet to cover it up. I will not be getting it back.
The pub crawl was fun at first. We chatted with people, even though he was rather awkward in social situations. He was way too into me - in that way that's just a bit too clingy and a bit too 7th grade.
The pub crawl came to an end, and, as planned, he came back to my place. He wasn't in any condition to drive. I went to the bathroom. When I came out he was holding his hand and dripping blood on the floor.
Apparently, Etta, my cat, bit him. He tried to pet her once, and when she hissed, growled, and tried to bite him the first time, he thought it would be a good idea to try again (because cats like him). Etta was in a state. He was trying to be tough and cool about it. I cleaned his injury and gave him a band aid.
We decided to watch a movie. He wanted to cuddle. He wanted to kiss me. These things are fine, but when I told him I don't want my clothes to come off, he proceeded to try to take them off. When I told him I didn't want to show him my breasts (or, as he called them, "boobies"), he pestered me about it. When I told him that I knew exactly where his cock was, and if I wanted to touch it, I would; he thought it was funny to try and force my hand into his pants. Then I told him I was pissed. He didn't get it. I should have kicked him out, but he was drunk and I didn't want a drunk guy driving. So, I rolled over and eventually he passed out. Once he did, I got up and slept on the couch. When I discovered this, he kind of freaked out and left. Because I was sleeping on the couch. Jesus fucking christ. He whined. He tried the puppy dog approach. I just wanted to kick him in the nuts.
