Como luceros fríos

Sobre el olivar hay un cielo hundido y una lluvia oscura de luceros fríos.

05 May, 2008

He said a lot of things when he was drunk. And he was drunk a lot. When he was sober, he would make these terrible jokes about how if so-and-so gave his relationship with me the veto, that would be it. Comments like that always made the pit of my stomach kind of turn. On one hand, he'd tell me I could lean on him, I could trust him. But on the other, he made an awful lot of comments that seemed like they were intended to keep me off-balance. So, yeah, he said a lot of shit when he was drunk. He said that none of his friends liked me when we met. Guess they must've given it the veto, then. And the only reason I can think of as to why they read this blog on an almost daily basis is because they find it entertaining. Refer to the image on 5 April.

He also said that I wasn't even worthy of my name, that I was just a fucked up, broken, shitty version of myself and that the real me had been killed off a long time ago. He said that he'd fallen in love with those flashes of potential, of what could have been. I think that may be the second worst thing anyone has ever said to me. It's in the top five, at the very least. Truth hurts, and all that. I think about it a lot. I wonder what I would have been like, all the things I could have done. I wonder how my life would be different. And I hope that alternate universes exist so that somewhere, there's this awesome girl who is really smart and really happy and can do just anything. It's why I tell my students so many of the things I wish someone had told me when I was ten.

I have a cold heart, he said. A heart of iron and that I had no mercy. I wish that one were true. I wish it so bad.

He told me that he thought I had manipulated my father into abusing me because I wanted power. Now that is the worst thing anyone has ever said to me.

He told me that I didn't know him, that I didn't know anything about him. He said he'd been all over the world and he'd seen so many things that I couldn't begin to understand, that only a handful of people had ever seen. He said that I thought he was easily fooled, but that he'd done too much and he knew too much, and, besides, I didn't know him. Yeah. I didn't. I didn't know why he had gotten so distant, after months of being so happy that he was coming to be with me. I had to ask him. He never talked to me about anything. When I asked him what was going on, when I asked him if things were okay, when I tried so hard to give him an opening to just fucking talk to me, he lied. Everything's fine-- everything's great, he'd say between drinks. He lost his patience with me and insulted me a lot. I was watching everything unraveling and he just wouldn't talk to me. He wasn't looking for work and he quit talking about the things he wanted to do with me. I had to ask him if he was leaving me because he wouldn't tell me. And one of the reasons he gave was because I didn't trust him, because he felt like he had to prove himself to me. Only, he was doing all kinds of things that gave me reason to feel uncertain. He was doing none of the things that people do when they're planning to stay somewhere. He didn't love me enough to tell me what was going on.

I had to ask.

And then he wouldn't tell me when he was leaving. He lingered six weeks. I guess he thought he was keeping me from harming myself, or something, whatever could assuage his conscience. And he just kept on drinking. And saying all those things he said. And when I'd ask him about them, he'd apologize and say it wasn't true, none of it was true, he didn't really feel that way or think those things. And then he'd get drunk and say even worse things. He was moving his things around, putting them in boxes and packing up. Every weekend I'd think, "He's going to leave this weekend." But he didn't. I'd ask him when, and he wouldn't tell me. He'd snap at me or walk away. I didn't know when he was going until the day before he left.

He made me want. He made me think I'd be okay and have a good life. He made me think I could have things I'd scarcely been able to look at sidelong, I thought they were so, so far out of my reach. He made me hope. For the first time ever, I thought things might really turn out well for me, that I could be safe and happy and wanted and loved. He made plans with me. But all the sudden it was gone. And I still don't know exactly why. He won't tell me. Just like he wouldn't tell me he was unhappy. Or that he was planning to leave me. There was never any working things out. There was never any trying to make things better. There was just this six foot, implacable stone wall that still shared my bed at night and held me in silence when I cried.

He said that I could be angry with him, that I could hate him if I needed to. But I don't. I mostly just miss my friend. And wonder why. I think about how the only person I've ever let in, the only person who has ever really known me, thinks I'm broken and fucked up. And how he's right. Everything I was so scared of is all true.

Just after he left he said that he'd always love me and that everything I had to say to him mattered. He said he missed me and that, with time, we could be healthy towards one another. I don't know what he meant by that. He wrote me a long letter about some of the things that were going on with him and told me nothing was my fault. His communication with me turned into mild, disinterested, polite one-liners, if he responded at all. There were years of being able to tell him anything, of having him want to know everything, of seeing or reading things and thinking how much he'd like it and then showing him and he would light up. I blew up on him a couple months ago and it's been silence ever since.

He couldn't have done a better job in hurting me if he'd planned it, years ago. If he'd set out and done everything deliberately, it wouldn't have been as masterfully executed as all this.

Now, some of his friends who-- how did he phrase it? who were "definitely unimpressed" by me, they read this blog every day. I wonder if he stonewalls all of them, too. Probably. He told me once he thought they read my blog to get a window into his life. I guess that means he doesn't really talk to them either.


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