Sunday, 05/17/09 - 8:48 pm.
I got an e-mail from my sister this afternoon, regarding my tattoo. She doesn't check her e-mail often, as you can tell. Her words are so soothing and reassuring, and she only sent it to me (instead of hitting reply-all). She said she'd have been disowned if she had said, even with a Bible in hand, what she wanted to say to me. That in order to not have our body as an obstacle, we have to un-learn many things we've learned about it (she even quoted the gospels, what's wrong is not what comes onto the body but what comes from the heart, something like that). I'll treasure this mail forever. She's praising me for declaring myself free.
***
I spent the whole day at home. Reading, drawing for other people. I was going to go for coffee with Victoria and Rod, another high school friend, in the afternoon. I got dolled up and waited, but something told me they wouldn't show up. And I was right. I found Victoria online a couple of hours later and I asked her what happened. They, plainly and simply, forgot. And that hurt me. "You forgot about me?". Tears piled up, as dramatic as that may sound. At times like this, I remember CR when he says my emotions are still severely wounded, and I blame my reactions on it.
I've been a little upset about today, given it'd have been my 5th anniversary with Joseph. He's long gone and I know he doesn't remember the date. Me, I don't smile at all, but part of me is glad to be without him. It's a really interesting, painful place to be. I'm still mourning the loss of him, but I know in my heart that it's for the best. I just would've liked not to be replaced and forgotten so quickly (and I...I shamefully hope that their marriage won't last more than my relationship with him did; which is a very fucked up thing to hope for).
The funny thing is that this is not the reason why I've been slightly tearful all day. It's Art. I'm getting unattached and it's not easy. Last night, or rather today, as I was saying goodbye to him, he brought up the topic of Ern, our friend who was killed five years ago. Ern was great, but to me he was a classmate, a smart acquaintance; for Art and his gang, he was a brother. I do not know what it's like to lose a brother, so I couldn't say much. Many of the boys still blame themselves: somebody was late for 15 minutes to pick him up, somebody was out drinking with him, somebody was too far away to give him a ride, somebody was having the farewell party that Ern was to attend.
I stayed for another hour talking to Art about this, though he was busy convincing another friend that it was nobody's fault; at least Art has had his guilt process sorted out. I went to bed at 2 am, crying. And you know why? Because all he said to me was "good night". No thank-you for staying longer (but then again, he didn't ask me to), no...no nothing. It's to be expected, since we're just friends. I suppose I kept harboring hope. I called him "baby" once in our conversation and that was a mistake. I should start acting as cold as he is, and I assure you that within this week, our regular communication will be reduced to a couple of hours of chatting. No more text and FB messages in the middle of the day. And he'll be ok with it.
This thing I had with him is fading away. I'll live through it, I guess, as hard as it is right now. It still upsets me when I see that girl and him leaving comments to each other. They "ended" their relationship a couple of days ago, but I said nothing. It didn't make a difference. I hope one day somebody will come along that he likes so much and will pull a similar joke in spite of him, so he'll understand a little better how I felt. Or maybe I'm the one who's being jealous and my sense of humor was blinded by my perception of having my feelings disrespected.
I hated it when she wrote "nice smile, babe", because indeed he has a nice smile and that's what how we used to call each other. It still shouldn't matter, because there's a picture of her in a bikini and him and two other guys (all high school friends, hers and mine) are commenting on it and my genuine comfort is that her flirty relationship is not exclusive with Art. Don't get me wrong, this girl is really sweet and cute and funny. I really like her and she was always nice to me. I just hate that she had to be part of the joke with him.
And I don't know why I'm being so bitter about all this. It's perhaps, as the White Stripes song goes, I built a house of cards and now I'm shocked at seeing them fall. And I'm hurt and angry and lonely. I wouldn't call this a state of misery, but indeed I am very sad. About Joseph, about Art. I know they're two completely different backgrounds, contexts and stories, but in the end I feel the same way. I can't do anything but let go, after having put my faith in these relationships. But doesn't anyone have to do this, at one point or another in their lives?
One of my favorite authors died today. I'm alive, and I'm struggling to write.
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