IMPASSE

More or less than 5 months had passed since his grim goodbye. 150 days approximately, have I suppressed the pain that threatened to explode from my chest… It is a mean feat, as you could guess. A broken heart is probably the most painful suffering anyone can go through. And yet, here I am, typing this document as if I’m conversing with my best friend.

Oops. Wrong thought. I miss my best friend so bad. That term was out of the question… (I miss you BEH-st friend! L)

Okay. So perhaps this is more like talking to myself. Yeah, that’s better.
So, here I am, typing, awaiting his text message, pretending to be oblivious of the fact that he didn’t reply anymore, trying to contain how much that hurt.

GOSH.
How can I be so stupid??? How in the world can I still love him after everything he has done to me?

I hate myself for admitting this. I’ve been spending the last few months hiding what I really feel, practicing numbness.
What happened?! L

Maybe I should explain this more clearly.
Hmm. I’m not really sure what happened. More so, how it happened. But I’m going to try really hard to put myself into words. Maybe I’d understand myself more that way… Maybe after that, I’d know where to go from there.

Well, as you can tell, I am hopelessly smitten to someone we will call Edward. Agree? (This isn’t really a question. I’m the narrator here so don’t you dare disagree. Haha.)

We were juniors then, taking our 3rd year in high school. He courted me, I agreed (honestly because of curiosity.), and it spiraled downward from there.
He was “a prince on a pedestal,” as I once put it. And I was, well, insignificant. His popularity seemed to be malignant though, every moment I spent with him. It seemed that people noticed me now, talked about me even. Girls envied me, I was aware of that. His fans resented me, some up to the point that they criticized me.
It was hard time. I don’t like it when people have ill feelings towards me. That’s exactly why I’m always so nice to everybody. Being nice in their eyes was everything to me.
Nevertheless, I was thrilled. In the back of my mind, I rejoiced over the impression that someone so admiring could like me. It didn’t take long for me to fall. I am human after all… a girl… who, by the way, is in puberty, experiencing all these hormonal rushes. After that flip-flop that my heart involuntary did after that first kiss, I realized I am madly in love with this creature. After exactly one year and one month, I gave him my precious “yes.”
So now you’re thinking I’m insane for making him wait that long. I guess, reality speaking that is quite a long time. I have a few reasonable causes for doing so and I wish you would hear me out.
First, and most obvious, I was testing him. I waited to see if his patience would endure, if he loved me that much. Second, I admittedly had a hard time committing. He already stole away most of my firsts (You might not understand but my first are truly a big deal to me.) and I was hesitant to give him that “first boyfriend” title. I know it’s crazy but I wanted my first love to be my last as well. High school romances barely continue to college and so on (Ahem.). Third, and I know this is very ridiculous, is that I didn’t know how to say “yes.”
I am impressed that he lasted so long. I couldn’t put off my “yes” any longer.
He was ecstatic! I was hopeful then, when I saw the brightness of his face when I told him, that we would last though all the drama that high school provided and the distance that looms with college.
Having a boyfriend wasn’t the fairy tale we girls hear for bedtime stories. It was more of a roller coaster ride.
Sometimes it’s great. But other times, it’s hell. I hate it when he has less time for me. I despise all the girls that are chasing after him, fearing that he will find one more attractive than me.
Everyday, I feared that he would not love me anymore. That made me crabby. I always doubted him. I realized that my plan is backfiring on me.

Maybe… the long time I made him wait lessened his affections for me? I loved him more now… More than he loved me.
My friends, my darling friends, empathized and sympathized me. My situation was pretty much an impasse. I had no way out. One way or another, I would be hurt.
And then… That faithful day came. April 8th, 2008. He told me that he didn’t love me in the same way.

I was crushed. My heart crumpled. I tried to stop him, forgetting my pride, just wanting to keep him…
Obviously, I lost that battle.

It was a long night. I cried a lot. I texted a lot too, seeking comfort from my friends. And as usual, they were loyal to me though I did not deserve it.
You see when Edward was still committed to me; I tend to exist as a moon and he, the earth. I had less time for my buds and seeked only their refuge when he has hurt me in a way. When I am angry with him, I throw it all at my friends. I am aware that that deeply irritated them, but I was in love. I couldn’t help it. My world was he.

That night, I cried a lot. Half the tears I cried were gratitude to my friends. I apologized to them for acting insane. I thanked them for being my sanctuary.
I consoled myself, by thinking that at least it was over with. I knew that day would come, I expected it, though hoped it wouldn’t.
I tried not to feel the pain. It was foolish, I knew that, to cry for someone so undeserving. It was stupid to feel the urge to run off to his house and plead him to stay. I am repulsed at myself for loving him so much.
I slept uneasily that night, with hope of waking up and realizing it was just a dream.
But it wasn’t.

Two days later, Edward came over. We talked. And I asked him the question that’s been burning me… Was there someone else?
I was still innocent at that time. He looked me in the eye, and said that there was no one else and that he just didn’t feel the same way anymore… The same excuse he’d used two nights ago.
I was a fool. I trusted him, and therefore, I believed him.

I tricked myself the hope that we can still be friends.
About a week passes and my hope rekindled. My elementary classmates and I were going to have a reunion. Conveniently enough then, he was one of my elementary classmates. I wanted to be with him, to see him that it ached.
During that outing, he asked the unbelievable. He asked me if I would take him back…

I was in heaven. My happiness was apparent. I felt whole. And somehow, all the embarrassment seemed worth it. At the time.
Night dawned, and, well, he broke up with me again. Words will never be enough to express how devastated I am at the second time. I was stunned. Does he even have a heart? Does he think this is a game? Doesn’t he think of me at all? I asked myself over and over again.

That time, he “hinted” the involvement of a third party.

And what a timing it was! I was not in the house. I was in a resto-grille, with my mom and siblings, with nowhere to crawl into and cry myself to sleep. I broke into hysterics.
I had no choice. I told my mom about my stupidity, for the second time. She knew about us, about the first time…
“Ang tanga, tanga mo, anak!” my mom mumbled. She said it with such intensity that I cried even more. It was hard, to hear her say that. Harder, because I know that it is true. I cried because I knew that this was exactly the kind of mistake she didn’t want me to make… the mistake she had by loving my father.

From that point on, I pretended.
I realized that if I continue my remorse, I am not only hurting myself but also those who cared about me. My mom, my friends. I focused on keeping the hurt to myself.

Everyday, I kept myself preoccupied (with only a few slips.). Like I said, I suppressed my pain. I guess I was quite good at that… I think they believed me. My mom and my friends. I think they really thought I have moved on.
Sometimes, I deceived myself too. I do seem to think about him less…

Or not. I did not voice it out but in my subconscious, I am waiting for him to text me. I take pleasure in remembering him, the way we used to be. I longed for his touch, his company.
I flipped when he greeted me during my birthday. It was a consolation, although it was equally disappointing to not have him with me as I turned sixteen.
Dot. Dot. Dot. I had fun during my birthday. I truly, from the bottom of my broken and battered heart, enjoyed that day. I was special to my friends and my family, if not to him. What was Edward to all my friends and family combined?
Uum, okay. Wrong question.

Back to the tuning out the throbbing of my heart…

College pressed on. I liked to think of it as a new opportunity. Endless possibilities lay out in front of me. I will face them, with or without him.
But perhaps, if I become successful, if I was significant, he’d regret his leaving and want me back?
Er. Bad thought.
I hate this.
Why does my hidden agenda always have to be about him???

But I seriously and honestly did think that, however embarrassing it was.

I was surprised.
I did become successful. Quite.
I was president of the class, I am getting excellent marks and, most shocking, boys are queuing up in line. For me.
That was weird; I only had a handful of experiences with boys and this was new to me. Boys meaning Edward of course.

Hope surfaced.
He seemed troubled by that…
Or maybe I was imagining it? Seeing what I want to see?

Well…
Bonus?
He woke up (finally).
He acknowledged the delusion, the infatuation, he felt for the girl he left me for.

Another bonus?
We were friends.
Close friends.
Best, probably.

The simple moments we shared brought me so much joy that I became elated. I shifted through everything he did, any news about him that I can connect to myself.

I still can’t understand it.

THAT is where my dilemma now develops in to.
Are we or aren’t we? Does he or doesn’t he? Friends? Or more than friends?

Those very bothering questions were not satisfactory though. I had “why” as well. Plenty of them.

You cannot imagine how frustrating it is to restrain myself from asking him those questions. I am afraid.
I am terrified actually, that he will opt to go away again than answer them.
He seemed sincerely guilty… At times.
Ugh. I don’t know.
I really don’t know.
I do not know what I want him to feel, what I feel, what the truth is…

I am deliberately going with the flow now, making hasty decisions on the way. I cannot see, do not want to see, where this new stepping-stone will take me.
I am mortified… to have my heart broken again.
But I am hopeful… that my heart will heal as if there had never been a wound in it if he becomes mine again.

Noticeably, I am currently incoherent.
My head is racing with questions, and yet my heart is fearful of the answers. Answers would mean a definite course. I wasn’t sure which that was… And I’m afraid of making that choice. Or not having a choice at all because everything that gave me hope in the last month was just something I wrongly perceived.
Ouch. That was possible.

I am sentient that I am tempting fate by allowing this to pursue. Surely, something else will go wrong along the way and I will crumble to pieces yet again.
Shit. If that happens again, I will NOT know how to handle myself.
Or maybe I will? Is heartache something you can get used to?

Oh, I hope for coherence soon…
I really, really, need an epiphany here.
Wait. Maybe what I need is a hard bump on the head.
Possibly then I’ll regain reality.

Oh my.
Where, oh where, is my happy ending? L

Sigh. I should be honest with myself. This exercise helped little.
It did not give me the road I hoped to see once I put my pain, as best I could, in words.
Impasse. Yet Again.

//End