Figuring it Out

How do you waste the most time every day?

I waste a lot of time giving energy to problems I don’t have. For instance, I can’t just wall off my feelings about said Internet friend, so I’ve spent way too much time asking the universe to make her go away so that I don’t constantly give her rent in my head. She has a palace, and I want only a desk with a drawer that locks.

How do you get rid of a muse that has lived inside you for ten years, knowing that you’ll own a piece of them forever? How do I sort out how I feel about that? She’s not “just under my skin” anymore. She lives in my ink, bottles with many colors. Most of the time, she’s a spectrum. I see her as purple and orange, a taster in grape or citrus in which sweet and sour are inextricably interrelated. I cannot enjoy her without acknowledging it wasn’t all healthy. I’m also not saying that was ever her fault. It just is.

I feel like friends who hold you accountable love you more than the ones who just stuff things down, because they don’t care when they see you stagnating. There is worth in someone seeing you exactly for who and what you are. There is value in someone seeing all the good and bad inside you and deciding that you’re infinitely worth it no matter what lies ahead. There is a danger in love being so infinite and wild.

I think I can say it was the same way for both of us, because platonic love can go equally haywire. Every person alive knows how hard it is to make good friends, and I have read too many stories of women who are miserable because their husbands are so emotionally unavailable that their friends provide what their husbands lack. This is unsurprising to me when I look at my parents’ and grandparents’ generation. But thinking I can say it is different than knowing whether it’s actually true.

She said that I was part of her wild and crazy brain. My feelings ran just as wild, which felt like she was part of my wild and crazy soul. She’s a thinker, I’m a feeler. We are yin and yang, feeding each other when it was right. It just wasn’t the majority of the time because neither one of us ever really knew where the other was coming from. She never asked any questions, and never gave me any answers to mine.

Today, I have allowed myself the luxury of getting so angry my hair nearly caught fire. What is WRONG with me? How did I put up with that shit for so incredibly long? Why was she even interested in me in the first place? There are two answers to that question, only one of them good….. a question as important as “when silence falls, the question will be asked.”

Doctor WHO?

Everything I knew her to be blossomed and flowered and I fell headlong into the perfect trap, one I set up and decorated.

She won’t get this, but you will. I was willing to be Rory the Roman. Being him is what destroyed me, even though our relationship was The Doctor/Companion rather than The Doctor/River Song. Tell me that if Amy could have, she wouldn’t have stayed with The Doctor forever. I mean, you could, I just wouldn’t believe it. Even when they stopped traveling together, The Doctor still turned up at their house once in a while. I just don’t see that kind of break happening. And of course, now her husband (to me) is Rory and I’m little Amelia Pond……. still sitting on that fucking suitcase a decade later because she thought she’d done something that hurt me, and she did. It’s just not what she thinks it is, and she never will. That’s because she thinks my problem is with who she is, and it’s not. It’s over an action, one that is long forgiven and forgotten except when she accidentally triggered me and brought it all back, then accused me of being a little shit trying to provoke her.

I called her out on all of it, and she told me to go find new friends if I was so unhappy. I want her to choke on those words, realize she threw me away as if I was dog shit, but she won’t. She won’t even apologize for small things, why the hell should I expect better when the problem is large? That’s not her deal. That’s mine. I put up with it because I thought I deserved it. In part, I did, which is what made things so problematic. My rejection sensitivity dysphoria allowed me to accept that even after some years, I was still a piece of shit. Nothing was ever going to change and I ignored it because I wanted her in my life so bad I couldn’t see anything else. My rose colored glasses shattered, and the fragments are floating through time and space as I put together all the ways in which those lenses stopped me from seeing I was setting myself up for a lifetime of pain.

Young Amy is why I call her my Raggedy Doctor, when I should have called her Guffman and moved on. That didn’t stop me from wasting time on choreography.

I feel so stupid, and that anger that’s been buried inside me and struggling to get out is finally releasing from its mold…. a two inch pour that went REALLY badly. There’s epoxy dripping all over the floor, and I forgot to spray with mold release, so I also have a ruined mold……… and then that illustration becomes even more apt. She changed me in ways that are too unique to even write about, they’re so personal. The mold broke on her, and I could have had her for a lifetime in my gaggle of friends if I’d only been more patient and not said anything about the things she did that hurt me. Being more patient is valid. Wanting to keep a relationship even though it’s hurting you is not.

Until now, I have thought that the hurt was all my doing, and then I realized that eight years was probably enough to get over something. If she wants to hold a grudge and not let me in anymore because I’m such a terrible person, she has every right. I just thought she had more integrity than to hold something over someone’s head for their entire lives when she fucking told me she would do it. She told me she’d never let me in ever again and as time went on and she loosened up a little bit, I thought she’d said that in anger.

Nope.

She’s not responsible. I am deaf.

I’ve wasted a lot of time because there’s nothing wrong with my ears.