It was a rather cold January night, about 4.5 years ago. I had been tossing and turning in my bed for about one or two hours now, and I already gave up on ever getting some decent sleep done that night. My mind was stuck on something. Something was wreaking havoc through my brain. Tapes, coming out of ears, sticking me to the roof of the attic room that I slept in back at my parents’ house. I decided to do something that I usually did when I get stuck.
I jumped out of bed, put on some jeans and a shirt, and walked downstairs, through the kitchen, the storage rooms, and into my dad’s office. It was around 1am, he was sitting behind his computer, probably working on some poetry or one of his longer stories.
Dad, what if I don’t like her? What if those feelings that I think I have are nothing but an illusion? What if I’m interpreting this all wrong? It came out a little blunt.
Son, you never really know, my father reassures me. It’s nothing to worry about, we all go through this at one point in our lives. It’s perfectly normal.
I looked down. I started to explain. But I feel guilty, I say, what if she loves me more than I do her? What if I’m just doing all this for the sake of doing all this? Just to be able to say, look, I love that girl - just to be able to say it?
So what? My dad replies matter-of-factly. That’s nothing to feel ashamed about. We all want to pretend we feel something even when we don’t when we’re as young as you are. It’s called life. Learning to understand your feelings is more or less what life is all about. And when you die? You still won’t know for sure that all those things you felt were actually really true.
—
A few days later, it ended in tears, followed by a few big bangs. I did what I usually do whenever I don’t have a clue as to what the hell is going on: I blame someone else. Pointing fingers is something I happen to be really good at, you see. Pointing fingers moves the spotlight away from yourself, forcing it to focus on someone else. But it wasn’t solely her fault, as the people around me said. She was a weird piece of human, that’s for sure. An odd-ball, different than any other girl on this planet, but she wasn’t wrong. She was sweet, intelligent, and dealing with some really difficult things in her life - just as I was (and still am) dealing with some really difficult things in my life. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong people, wrong everything.
Oh, and she started dating someone else, which, oddly, kind of didn’t help the situation. And to make matters worse, I wasn’t in love with her at all, just as I feared. It took me a little while to find out, but there was another girl in my life. A girl that made me forget everything that I had learnt up until then.
—
I’m not an easy person to live with. Sure, on the outside, when you first meet me, I’m all easy going like The Beach Boys on Sunset Blvd, but when you want to get too close, when you want to know more than just the 5-10% that’s stuck to my outer self, you’re in for a hard time. I don’t let people in easily. It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that my past left such a big mark on me, and seriously damaged the trust that I should put in those close to me, that I’d much rather build a little wall around me, with just one door that opens from the inside only. No windows.
That is, until I met her - and more importantly, her. The former fixed the door so it could open from the outside too, and the latter put in windows, and removed the lock from the door - in fact, she tore down the door, put a big sign on the doormat that reads “Welcome!” in Trebuchet MS, brought in a postcard with a ‘thank-you-for-being-you’ note, and then cosily put a comfortable chair inside of it for her to sit on whenever she felt like it.
The first girl? She was the one who I mentioned earlier, the other girl, the girl who I was actually in love with. This wonderful woman made me realise that I had so much more to offer than I gave myself credit for, she tapped into that sense of playful arrogance and pride that was lurking deep within me. She opened my door, and allowed me to be me for the first time. And I loved her so much for it.
But I didn’t want to know. My friendship with her was so close, and it meant so much to me, that I didn’t even realise that I was actually in love with her. The girl who I talked about with my father? She was a surrogate. And a surrogate that couldn’t even hold a candle to the real deal, no matter how hard I forced myself into believing that she could.
It would take me years to figure all this out. Surrogate girl didn’t become surrogate girl until only about two years ago. My friendship with non-surrogate girl (blogging without names sucks major ass) watered down rather quickly when she changed schools. I’ve been effective at pushing her away, and she has been effective in accepting that.
By the way, she never knew. And still doesn’t.
—
The tearing-down-doors-and-bringing-in-postcards-and-comfortable-chairs girl? That’s a completely different story, and she actually has a name.
—
I look back upon the last five years as somewhat of a revelation. I’ve changed dramatically - for the better, I think. I’ve become more open, outgoing, and I actually learned a whole new word, a word that opened so many doors for me, a word that made me realise there’s more to life than doing what people ask of you: no.
Still, I’ve got a long road to go, a lot of things to learn. But like my dad said - learning what your feelings mean is more or less what life is all about. More than ever, I now understand what he meant when he said that. I’ve got so many years of learning and mistrusting my feelings ahead of me, and you know what? I’m looking forward to it now more than ever. What’s happened has happened, what’s coming is already on its way, with a role for me to play.
I’m me, I’m open to suggestions, but I can’t guarantee I’ll take them into serious consideration. That’s life, peanut!