On a night like tonight with the cold, crisp air drifting through my window, and feet- hyperventilating under the warmth of my comforter; I think of the has-beens, the could-have-beens and the unwillingly, (almost,) forgotten.
I’m constantly searching for peace outside of myself- reasons that will never be given. I don’t know why I subject myself to everyone else’s happy endings- their promises and engagements that last more than 3 months.
I have a week before Easter, then the next two weekends are filled with evil, disgusting, white dresses, and rings and tears in churches. They’ll take each other in the old adage of sickness and health, but no one will take me.
I think it’s alright- the pain and the questioning that goes along with such relationship failure. 1 failed engagement hurts the heart, two damages the psyche and three? Three screws over the soul. Pretty soon, it takes large amounts of alcohol to stomach receptions, and I’ve all but sworn off dating. I’m in a clusterfark of settling for the sake of not knowing my physical health, and because it’s easier to fight with someone that you know knows exactly how to hurt you. There’s no surprises when you exclaim online how scared and lonely you feel, and he doesn’t call. It’s just a dull heartache- that you never visit the doctor for- because you’re too sick of the thought of feeling better, and damaging it all over again.
You know what gets me about Josh? I begged the man not to propose. I questioned him until he was angry about it. He always called me cynical. He always told me I ruined the silver lining. And then? He left me- for someone whose husband left her for someone else, a cycle that might never end. But he’s maybe happy, or maybe not- but it’s just another failure for me.
Let’s cut the bullshit, alright? I’m the girl who drives myself to surgery, or to the doctor. I go to work after the prognosis is given- because what the heck else will I do. And everyone at work has an, “I’m so sorry,” look on their face. But no one is here, fixing it. Workplace pity only goes so far. And? If it’s another surgery, no chemo- it only means it’ll come back. I’m a ticking, time bomb waiting to explode.
On the first wedding coming up, I get the pure and complete joy of seeing one the the people I hate, (i’ll lay it out- hate’s a strong word and the girl is unhinged, hate is entirely appropriate given the amount of malibu in my system,) most. I’m going to bring someone, because what the farking else will I do? Everyone else went to follow their dreams, do it correctly- meet a man, get married… and me? I just got knocked up. So joyous me will watch my child be the adorable flower girl, and smile as she goes up the aisle, again- all for someone else’s dream. And I’ll totally pretend to be excited to see these people, and reply when they ask what I’ve been up to, “starving myself to fit into this dark-colored-dress so I at least don’t look like a hefer single, mother,” while they smile politely and walk away.
I call this: Selling myself out. Because when he leans over last night and says, “maybe with my tax money I’ll take us somewhere, and we can have a weekend away,” it means that I have something of my own to look forward to. But then I factor in surgery and the fact that I’ll probably not be allowed to even fornicate for 6 months until after surgery, and the depression, plus the fact that he doesn’t put on his, “I care enough to call when you’re basically screaming that you’re in pain and hurting,” card, and I know- I KNOW, I’m ruining it all- my wedding alibi typing this. Fact is: I don’t even care. Know what else I think about? I think about giving Ava a father. Someone where when I’m on a first date and I mention her dimples or her red hair they don’t look down and say, “oh.. you have a kid.” I have enough surprises in my reproductive system, I don’t need them in my love life, (or lack thereof.) Do I think of ever-lasting love and the things I tried the first 3 engagements to maintain? No. I think that’s a falsity. I think the fact that I’m still battling single-mom-dom and cancer and inadequacy fears alone, speaks for itself.
And I have amazing people- who call and blog and talk to me? And I always have an excuse, because really- I’d like to fade for a while. I’d like to settle, and I’d like moments of peace that I’m seemingly incapable of finding. Mediocre dreams are better than nothing. When starving saltines are better than air. Dreams that never manifest and crying alone, is better than being at a wedding without someone to pretend with, right?