Emotional Holocaust

Let's all go back to the beginning, and do a biopsy on this. It was high school. I never kissed a girl, dated only once, and that girl ended up asking me to raise her child.

But I had some friendships. Like this one with Siofra. [Thanks, Random Name Generator.] She was nice to me, she didn't tease me. She listened.

I felt like when I was around her, I was funnier, a better person. I wanted to be a better person, and I felt like I could be. I mean, a lot of times I do things to get a reaction out of people. But with her, I felt like I actually got a reaction. That she listened.

And I liked so many things about her. How she was smart, ambitious, rambunctious, loud but not partyish, confident. I liked how she didn't drink, that she didn't party like so many other people. She was classy, and I was a puppy dog to her. And yes, I'm using that metaphor to denounce me.

Is puppy love real? When does it end, if that's what it was? If it lasts years, then is it just psychotic?

She'd probably say yes.

We started talking on MSN. I felt something. I felt better after talking with her, giddy, dancing with myself, like a loser, like a bum. It was only online.

We kept on talking, and I just felt more and more for this girl. I wanted to show her, because the conversations always ended so quickly.

So, of course I had to tell her. I used the word "cherish." It seemed to me that it would proclaim something. It wouldn't be telling her I loved her - it was close enough, I felt. I didn't want to scare her off. It was a bit of writing that I'd been working on. I'd got it on, just as she left.

The next time she was on, I asked her about it. How she reacted. She didn't. And I felt so shocked I made the worst decision I ever could have made. I typed in the following words.

"But, I basically said I love you."

She told me I didn't, that it was an infatuation. We argued. She was about to tell me everything horrible I ever was, but I ended the conversation.

Close to three years later, I'm writing about it. We are not going to date, we are not going to talk, the romantic dreams are dead. It's this zombie in my heart. It gains no nourishment from this, it simply wants to consume, out of instinct. I want to talk to her, be her friend.

You know, just to completely keep any armchair satirists on their guard, I realize this is all emo crap. People go through bigger problems than mine. I know. Now, if we can please get back to my emo bitching? If you don't want that, try googling something else. This is me bitch time now.

If she's out there reading this, I know I've got it all wrong. I'm not a very smart person. You were always the smartest one out there. You had a clear head about it.

You could have just said no, and left me in my fantasy world. But you didn't. This wasn't cruel - this was you bringing me out into the real world, away from the fantasy.

And I can't go back to that moment to know if I really do love you, or if I'm just watching a tape that I've edited in my mind, trying to make myself seem like the unrequited love hero.

This post has been edited, by my subconscious, trying to justify itself. This writing has been edited. All that I've written has been edited by me before I type. I could be bullshitting myself again.

But I'm writing this post, so maybe I can figure out the question you left me. Did I love you, or did not I? And when I answer that, I can stop trying to figure out, and try and find someone.

Is love determined by length? By emotion? By knowledge of someone else? I'm trying to figure it out.

I told you, Siofra about this blog. I think I've been writing it for you. This is how I'm trying to talk to you.

I don't know if I'm in love with you or emo unrequited romance. But I do want to talk to you.

I started this blog after this conversation. I'd heard about it, it seemed nice. But I don't know why I kept on doing this for two years. I think it was because of you, because I told you about this blog, because you said you liked it, in the morsels of conversation.

This will be my last post on this blog, just so you know. I'll probably switch it over to No More Pi for the meanderings. Benoit, if you want Nothing Important To Say, it's all yours. But I'm done.
It seems more appropriate.

This entire blog is the last sentence I always wanted to have with you in that last conversation.

It's over.