Sandwiches

I will take the time to buffer this blog entry because I know how annoying it is when I go to check someone's blog, and all they write about is their sappy gay relationship/ lack thereof, or the douchebag that broke their heart. I would have liked to have kept this blog pure of that horrid gay nonsense. But two nights ago I found myself teetering on the edge of the insanity mountain (located in a remote village in my brain), and it was fascinating, scary, humiliating and hilarious all piled on to one crazy sandwich. A breakdown is like a delicious sandwich full of sorrow, confusion, frustration and disdain. and mustard (mine had mambo sauce). yummy yummy heartbreak.

Unrequited love is one of the worst things that can happen to a human. Period. It is like chasing a rabid dog through a field of knives. Or trying to win a stuffed animal out of one of those toy machines with the weak ass claw that they always have in arcades. (whoever thought of that idea, you are a douche and I hope you're lonely and insane. because thats how you feel leaving empty handed after a day of shoving quarters in that got damned machine. Just when you grab the toy with the claw, it drops it. fuck you.) As humiliating and embarrassing as it is, unrequited love happens to everyone at least once. It has happened to me. I realized it had gone too far when I found myself in my car crying, and completely oblivious as to whether the vehicle was in motion or not (luckily i was parked). I had turned the music up all the way because I got tired of hearing myself think. So there I was. sobbing wildly in a baby blue civic outside my house, music buzzing through the entire car. phone ringing. face streaked with mascara and snot and pathetic. head rammed into the steering wheel. bladder full ( i didn't care that I had to pee either). And i looked up and thought..how did i get here?

It easy, i said to myself. You were unrequited. And that can drive anyone to madness. Loving someone takes a great deal of energy and ability to be vulnerable. Choosing to love someone (because it is a choice) is like deciding to stand outside someone's doorstep with flowers. completely naked. and with at least one embarrassing mole shaped like a penis. No one can love with clothes on. It's impossible. Because for someone to know you really, you have to be able to be vulnerable (or ass naked). The problem arises when you are the only one naked and with flowers. And the other person has on a fucking snow suit in the summer time. These one-sided relationships enable one person to give..and give..and give..and one person to take and laugh and take more. and laugh. because you're naked for them, but they're safe inside their clothes. This situation can make both parties complete nutbaskets. the giver gets used to giving and not getting and crying in her blue civic. and the taker gets used to getting without giving (which is also crazy) and using the attention (the "i miss your face" texts, the "i can't be without you" face, the "please don't go" sighs) to feed his/her hungry hungry hippo bastard ego.

it's a trickbag
and I don't wish it on anyone. not even the asshole that made the claw machine.

The most frustrating thing about dealing with a situation where your feelings have not been returned, there isn't much chance for closure that you want. It's difficult for anyone to accept that all the giving was for no reason. Or that he/she just didn't like you enough. Or that all your love was an engagement ring that was sucked down a sink drain. I am in process of letting a person go out of my life, and it is extremely difficult. At first, you feel like you're cutting off a leg. Then you realize you can still walk, so it couldn't have been a leg that you amputated. Then you feel like its an arm. and so on..untill you feel like you just filed your nails down a little because they were way too long.

I haven't gotten to the manicured part of the breakup process as of yet. But i am greatly looking forward to it because my nails have gotten out of control, and I don't want to again have the crackheads on my block peer into my car window and ask me if I needed "sumthn" for the pain.