Because work is taking over I will post a writing whose title has remained by my side since the day I wrote it
August 1, 2007
I hate the words I love you. A feeling of relief as a few moments pass. No doorbells. No returned anger. It is over. This war. His unleashing of anger in the elevator made my body shrivel, longing to disappear into itself. A part of me jumping, another trying to find some safe haven in which to hide. The moment of waiting for the elevator door to open, for me to quickly unlock the door—I long for Jamie to be on the couch serving as a convenient obstruction to this screaming match.
The moments are quick, abbreviated, like one of Mozart’s fiery staccatos. The feelings produced linger, the rest remains a blur. My soul chuckles and mocks, amazed at the drama produced from a friendship- an assumed relationship, however vastly premature. I want to crawl in bed and burrow my head in the covers. Jamie sits on my porch- finally stopping my actions- albeit a few moments late. I haven’t eaten. And I start. A hole feels larger. I stop and wonder, Why? Wasn’t I simply amused at the evening’s lunacy?
Searching for the hole. It brings me here. And I say to myself—– I hate the words I love you. I sit, part still, half empty.
Overcome with this fortunate problem of being loved.
Laughing at how others would respond to the prospect of such a problem. And I only feel emptier. I think of the picture that is so easy to paint. “He is in love with this girl. The chemistry. But she is afraid of her own shadow.” How convenient, no? What a pleasure it is to be told how I feel. I think about how this would seem from a distant perspective. Words from the argument float back.
Oh on the contrary! as I spew the facts. Resistance. The truth sits in the air and refuses to be grasped.
I stop the battle I cannot win. A battle where anything other than me having feelings, me making this person feel wanted, is a losing effort. The pressure. The manipulation.
This is crazy. Crazy. Crazy. I am still aghast at this evening. My thoughts travel to the moments before of I love you. And now I am hollow.
A false truth. Again.
I know. I know love is a fleeting feeling, fickle from the mouths that say it or the minds that believe they are in it. This night a testament to how false feelings are.
Love— And I am compelled to stop.
For now, I feel too much. More than the loss of a psychotic connection is the quiet message in all of this. I think back to the moments when I would cry at the words as a teenager.
How rare these three simple words; a childhood with a lack of them—–an adulthood with a false abundance. I can accept I am “loved”. I am lovely. I am kind and good and I love. I care. I long to not hurt others- instead I am paralyzed at the prospect. But I am not really loved.
And then a different feeling washes over me. I was overly aware of each daunting threat. My actions were all in line with my words. How could they not be—my actions, a carefully choreographed tiptoed approach. Another story was being told. I listened to this story. I listened to this painted picture and I am amazed at what a mind can create. I am amazed at this unwarranted drama. I am amazed at the threats, the volatility, the contingencies . .
the I love you . . . BUT.
floreta
January 15, 2009
you write so well! sometimes, the words i love you don’t seem genuine.
almost loved
January 16, 2009
I hate I-love-yous that don’t come from the heart. Sometimes it’s uttered as a habit, used too often and too lightly.
Errant Gosling
January 16, 2009
How familiar this is. If you wouldn’t find it egotistical of me, I’d say I understand and feel much the same. How opportune such damage seems for others. A way to “love” and be hurt by fault not of their own. Safe. Fond memories of love not really lost for their later lives. For me the stories are of love that couldn’t quite be had, again. And again. How fickle and fleeting indeed.
Or maybe I don’t relate as well as I think I do. But..
“How convenient, no? What a pleasure it is to be told how I feel.”
this at least I understand.
attainingme
January 16, 2009
Floreta- Thank you
almost loved- yes, a habit that has degraded its meaning. I suppose i feel lucky that no one throws it at me out of habit!
Errant- I doubt, I could find you egotistical. If so, than I suppose, I am extremely.
I take comfort in you relating and i know you understand.
LiLu
January 16, 2009
Hey there…
Just stumbled across your blog. I love the way you write! And this post is beautiful.
Um, my style is a little, um, different… but if you’d like to read how about how I say I love you… (at the most inopportune moment possible, apparently):
http://www.livitluvit.com/2009/01/tmi-thursday-those-three-little-words.html
I’ll be back.
Errant Gosling
January 17, 2009
You give me too much credit, Attaining. Don’t build me a pedestal so high that I cannot climb atop it.
attainingme
January 17, 2009
LiLu-I think your moment may have been the MOST opportune! And, I would trade all of my “I love yous” for one as raw, sweet, hilarious and sexy as yours. You are making me have a burning desire to do some pruning of my men and find someone that actually matters.
Errant- Don’t worry. A pedestal is only an object of which to fall off, it serves no other purpose. You do however, have me too intrigued.
And somehow I think you have some odd influence, and are taking habitat in my mind. I read http://goslingsaerie.blogspot.com/2009/01/anticipation.html and immediately felt you have her on a pedestal.
I wanted to comment and say to not hold her in such regard. I questioned as to why I felt that way, and had no good answer. So, refrained from writing it. Then I come here, and here you are . . . writing the same, about me to you. Too odd Mr. Gosling
Errant Gosling
January 17, 2009
I won’t worry. And I’ll always appreciate your advice, even if it’s unexplained. I said what I said here because it was beginning to sound as though you regarded me as a better person than I thought I could be. That would be a disappointment I couldn’t avoid, and I do not want to disappoint in such a coveted and rarefied habitat.
I don’t know what to make of the coincidence, if it is. I am always more inclined to see the good in others than to see any in myself. That post was more an attempt to capture my own excitement than an attempt to assign quality to another. But there is some there I admit.
It seems I’ve upset something, but I’m not sure what. I feel some regret nevertheless. Have I fallen already?
Anonymous
January 17, 2009
Aw, thanks! It’s worked out well for us- we moved in together about two months later. Crazy kids! I hope you find the same
LiLu
January 17, 2009
Oops- above was from LiLu!
attainingme
January 17, 2009
LiLu- I look forward to reading more! And i love your “different” style. It makes me feel that befriending you would bring stomach convulsing laughter.
Errant- Only fallen from the pedestal that was not built! Just kidding, you are still my crush.
I understood the post and you beautifully captured your excitement.
doeseatoats
January 18, 2009
Thank you so much for your comments about my writing. They really mean so much to me.
I love you is such a thing, isn’t it? There are, quite literally, limitless ways to say it, limitless ways to mean it. And then, the not saying of it can create a glaring empty space.
I just watched Shopgirl last night, and the line, “Ray, why don’t you love me?” is still making me so sad and sick. I hate wondering that.