Hopita (hopita) wrote,
Hopita
hopita

Being a grown up sucks

Nearly 2:00 am and I'm just recently arriving home. I'm somewhat stoned and otherwise intoxicated, so this entry will likely be brief, or incoherent, or both.

unixd0rk and I talked. Not under the best of circumstances, I'll grant you, but yea, progress. It feels like a lot had to do with miscommunication (imagine that), and I'm trying to fix that, at least as much as I can. To that end, you may notice that I'm at home. Yes, it was a kind of painful extraction, but in the end, he admitted that he didn't want me to spend the night and I sucked it up and left. It's funny -- for this whole ... what, "relationship?" -- well, whatever the fuck it is. At any rate, this whole time I've had this running stream of songs from the movie Some Kind of Wonderful in my head. Last month and in those early weeks after, it was "She Loves Me," and, specifically, the line "... the first kiss lasts forever ..." Now, though, here, tonight, it's the sounds of "The Hardest Walk" that are playing inside my brain. "The hardest walk you can ever take ..." I'm feeling that right now, in this moment. Feeling like the walk out his door and down his steps was an incredibly hard walk to take.

But here's what it came down to, and I actually tried to explain this to him (who knows how successfully): We were on his bed, talking, and he was upset and emotional, and I kept saying that I didn't know what to say (because I didn't). And then this huge wave of love swept over me. And I realized, I can't do this. This boy is going through so much, suffering under the weight of so much, and I simply can't make his life more complicated. So I leaned down and put my arm around him and told him: I would do whatever he needed. And I remembered a moment from last summer, at Colin's house in Athens. We were sitting in his kitchen and talking -- about H.W.S.R.N., as a matter of fact, and about how much I didn't want him to leave, but how much I knew that I couldn't stand in his way. And Colin looked at me with such tender eyes and said "That's a very loving thing to do." That's what I want to be, that's who I want to be.

So when I asked if I was staying or going, and he replied with his characteristic "I don't know," I fucking dragged it out of him, even though I knew that I would probably not like the real answer to the question. And he hemmed and hawed, but eventually he said it in a strong, clear voice: "Maybe tonight is not the best night ... maybe you should go home." And I thought: OK. So I knew I probably wasn't going to like the answer, and now that it's here in front of me, I have to respect it. I have to act like a grown up and go the fuck home.

And I had him hold me for a little while and we made some vague sort of plans and then I forced myself down the stairs and out that door.

Which brings me back to now. Now I'm home, alone with the cats, and feeling sad, but not crying anymore. Still smoking, yes, and no clue what tomorrow will bring, but ... well, fuck. I guess I feel a little bit better, and a little bit worse, and all in different ways. He feels he's being selfish. I feel I'm being selfish ... I feel like my online temper tantrums are the pinnacle of selfishness, but they're also genuine and real.

So I guess that's it for now. I'm going to go to bed and try to remember that I'm hopefully doing the right thing here. That I'm a big girl now. That my Father's histrionics are not the relationship skills that I want to carry with me any longer. Wish me luck.
Tags: crying, dad, love, movies, music, smoking, unixd0rk
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