Real Life: Diary of an Addict Detox Week #6
We catch up again with Pochantas who is going through the excruciating phase of missing someone so bad you want them back but knowing that everything is wrong. Her Mr Unavailable is on her case, bombarding her with calls, messages and even a request for a visit. Pochantas feels so lonely in NYC right now. Can she make it through without giving in to his demands?
I hate missing you. Although I’ve been doing if for quite sometime. Somehow, doing it from a thousand miles away hurts far more. Right now I’m lying in my PJs (you know my monkey ones that my mom gave me in college), eating chunky monkey ice cream just because that’s what you used to call me when I wore them. I hate chocolate, but, on the other hand, I do love banana ice cream. I miss you so much it hurts. Physically so. I want to cry so badly but I can’t. I wish I could just release all of the built up tension, pain, and frustrations with a long tearful episode but all I’ve been able to siphon up is one solitary tear that coursed UP the side of my face and into my hairline. Not a respectable journey at all. I need to know that I did the right thing. I need to grieve. I need closure.
That all elusive word of which we’ve spoken time and again. Your idea of closure was allowing me two weeks of peace before you decided to barrage me with incessant phone calls, emails, and requests for continued friendship, never-ending devotion, and, eventually of course, sex.
I know that you thought it was all right. I’m aware that it’s my fault. I do realise that everything that you are your mother made you, and I’ve condoned.
My mother warned me about you. Well, not you specifically, but first-born sons with over possessive mothers. And yours is more so than most. Actually, if I had to sum her up in one word you probably wouldn’t like it (p.s. it would be “psycho”).
I don’t know if you ever believed the things that you said; all the lies that you’ve spouted to get me to stay. To keep me hanging on to something that can never be. Because, you see, you and I were never really meant to be. It’s just the truth and I can’t deny it any longer.
The longer that I am away from you the more I can acknowledge your faults and the inherent flaws within our relationship that would have prevented us from ever really working out. It’s not that we are so different, because, the funny thing is; we are the same, you and I. It’s how we found each other; it’s what bonded us so completely together. The truth is, that as like as the two of us are, we need the unlike to make us what we truly are meant to be. I know this won’t make any sense to you, probably not to anyone else either but the truth is, after trying to kill this relationship for two years, I finally realised that I can’t just deliver the parting shot into the medulla oblongata, no, not even by leaving. I’ll simply have to sit here and suffer the agony of impending defeat as the cancer of life destroys every spark of hope that I once had for the future of you and I. No therapy, drug, or “miracle” cure can save us, and of that I am nearly certain. And for that, I mourn.
You’ve started in again with your pleas for closure. I know that you don’t want closure; you’ve never even used that word except to echo it in disbelief once I’ve said it.
You’ve asked my permission to visit me here, and I can’t say yes.
Not now.
Not ever.
I don’t want you here.
This place is mine, and I can’t share it with you.
It will ruin the memories. More likely create memories that I cannot forget. Memories of you and I.
Those passionate sagas have ruined just about every place in Atlanta for me. The stolen kisses, embraces, and secret trysts have occurred in just about every place that we’ve frequented, and, if not, just the thought that I was there with you. Well, that’s enough to rip my heart out every time I hear someone asking for you I just want to SCREAM, more like cry, but truthfully, I don’t think I even have any tears left.
Remember “A Man Apart”? I know you do. I finally saw that movie with J last night. I think I’m glad that we didn’t see it. I can’t remember how I ever got anything done with you around. Truth is I probably never actually did. You reminded me of this just yesterday in your email. I wanted to reply, I really did, but it’s just not right. I can’t subject myself to that, no matter how much you beg and plead.
You say we are meant to be, but I think that we’ve just been trying to hold on to a comfort zone, a cocoon in which we’ve ensconced ourselves, to prevent the world from changing what we’ve grown to accept about our lives and ourselves. Have you ever thought that maybe we need change, are meant to change. Everything in life changes, and the knowledge that maybe we are not meant to be is something that perhaps you should consider, eventually at least.
You say that I’m still the one. I know that, in my heart, you have only ever been the one. My Heart. My Love. My Precious. My YOU.
But you’re not mine and somehow I’ve started to wonder if you ever were. Did I imagine the love, the laughter, the life that you brought into my dismal existence? Were you ever really there or were you just my imagination running away with me?
I want you here. With me. Right now. I know that it’s a terrible idea, but it’s all I can think about. Everything here is so nice, so easy. But I’m still lonely. I still have a deep and impenetrable void. A piece, a cornerstone, of the puzzle that is my life is missing, and it is, most certainly, you.
I know you were real. I know you are real. I now know that I cannot see you. Cannot allow you to come here into my sanctuary. Here to help me to create another memory that it will take me a lifetime to forget.
Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday to you.
I do. Still. Love you.
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Pocahantas is a 23 year old fiesty female with loads of common sense and yet an unstintingly healthy dose of cynicism when it comes to men and relationships. Tune in weekly for her reality check on single living in the great US of A.
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