Teenage Love or the Lack-there-of

I never considered the kind of love that I'm experiencing to be either juvenile, or fleeting. I never saw it as so-called "teenage love" or "highschool romance" because in my mind it was never anything close to that. It was something to joke or play with... ever. It was something that him and I both knew was going to be forever, or for at least such a large amount of time that it replicated the meaning of forever. We spent our days playing out the scenes of romeo and juliet. except we didn't die. and our families never fought. okay not so much romeo and juliet, I guess but you get the idea. We were meant to be. destined. and i believed that. believED. funny how one silly argument changes that. how suddenly your entire world is off kilter and you are forced to question everything you stand for. everything you've fought for. everything you've lost. we'd never fought before this, nothing huge anyway. we'd make up, kiss, and hold eachother before bed. that didn't happen this time. it has yet to happen. so i have to question what we're doing here. is it really just young love? is it the relationship that will eventually get left behind because we've grown so far past it? i hope to god i'm wrong. i hope to god we can overcome this because i don't know how to live without him. i don't want to. but at the same time i dont want to hurt anymore. i don't want to keep getting thrown full force into this depression, but here i am, chin deep and choking. i'm drowning again. who'll save me if he doesnt want to be around anymore.

this wouldn't hurt so much if i didnt have to question our future. but those 3 children, two girls one boy, are fading fast. the house is changing shape, disappearing. there isn't a chocolate lab, or a white picket fence. we're not together. we're not happy. i haven't lived past us either. i'm dead, and buried without him, i wish he'd see that.

i can't lose him.

i can't live without him.

i can't breathe.

my heart would burst if it hadn't already broken.

lovesick in the dieing sort of way,
Jenny

Final Destination Depression

The doors are all locked and shut tight, the covers drawn, and lights down. The music’s softly playing in the background, but no matter what happens I can’t settle my mind on this particular night. Not that there’s anything outstanding about it really, the same thing has happened on countless other nights. To be honest, the same thing happens every night. I’m never completely settled, the feeling is just magnified because I don’t have those strong protective arms surrounding me, or the calming sound of his breathing. I don’t have his warmth, or his calming presence, and it kind of hurts. It brings the demons in a little deeper knowing that he isn’t there to ward them away. At the same time though, I know that I need this. I need this time to reflect because night after night I’ve been thinking these exact same thoughts. These exact same problems keep wreaking havoc on my mind and on my concentration. They are consuming me as surely as they are completely strange and unknown to me. I mean, I don’t know why I’m thinking the way that I am lately. It’s weird. I’m resigned to that fact though, I know that I’m eccentric, a little out of the ordinary tonight, and it’s okay, because I’m here alone with my thoughts. The music has been silenced, the dryer is filling the void. I can still hear it though, still hear the sounds of the soft singing, if only in my head. It makes me wonder, crazily if maybe I’m hearing it in another somewhere. That probably doesn’t make sense to you, and that’s okay. I’ll explain, just give me time to process what I’m feeling. I think somehow it’s profound, maybe it explains more about me than I ever deemed worthy of figuring out. Final Destination is my favorite movie of all time. Not because of the hot actors sitting center stage in it, but because of a single scene. A scene, that in it’s entirety didn’t change or warp the movie in any way, it didn’t move the plot along, or explain anything that you couldn’t have otherwise figured out. It was just there, waiting to pull me in. I can hear the words in my head of that scene. I think somewhere deep down I know it by heart. Devon Sawa’s character looks at clear and asks her if she thinks that somewhere out there their flight was still flying to Europe, if maybe in some alternate timeline they had made it safely there. He wonders that if this tragedy took place in his time, if maybe somewhere else happier it didn’t. She in return says sure I wish there was that place, a place where her father hadn’t needed cigarettes and had stayed home the night that he left and got killed, a place where her mother didn’t run off and leave her to deal with the aftermath. But they don’t have that place, all they have is the here and now. That scene captured me because that’s the question I had been trying to ask myself since I lost my father. I wanted there to be this place where he didn’t get sick, and he didn’t die and we were all happily living together as one fucked up family. I want that place more than I’ve let myself admit. More than I will ever let anyone know. Anyway I started reading this book called From the Corner of His Eye, and in this book every single person was interconnected and woven together to generate this ultimate goal, that has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m trying to say here. What I want to explain is that in this book there are hundreds of thousands of planes of existence. Every single choice in one’s life branches off. There is a place where my father chose to stay with my mother, but he still got sick and died. There’s a place where he never got a sick, and a place where it was worse. There’s a thousand shades of gray in a thousand different characteristics in each world, but each in turn has it’s tragedies. They are separate, removed, do not effect one another, but they all have their traumas, and their terrifics. The problem with entertaining these ideas, is how much I want to be in another reality, one that parallels my own, but not to the point where I can recognize it. There’s so many variables that you can’t really pinpoint what you want to change you know? What if I had kissed TJ on that grand day that I can’t seem to forget when I ended up at his house in tears and in his bed with him caressing me? Would we have ended up together, or would I be more broken than I am now? What if I hadn’t betrayed Jessi’s trust? Would she still have moved to California? Would I still have David? That’s the ultimate question. If my father was in my life, if TJ was there solely as a friend, if I had never ever gone to the lengths to betray Jessi that I did, would I still have ended up with the love of my life as closely woven into my heart? Maybe in some somewhere. I dunno if it makes it better or worse if it’s possible, but will never amount to happening. Is it comforting to know that that place is there? Would it be better to know that my father could walk me down the aisle at my and David’s wedding in another place, but he can’t here? Maybe I’d miss it more. Maybe I’d be dead today, I don’t really know. Freak car crash with my father at the wheel, possibly. Maybe I never would have gotten close to TJ at all, and he would have killed himself when he had the chance months ago. Every event in my life succumbs to the moment that I lost my father. If I hadn’t lost him I wouldn’t have gained the friends, and love that I have in my life now, but it isn’t a welcomed loss. I will never step back and see it for the greater good that was intended. He didn’t need to be taken. He was the most kind, generous, misunderstood, but still loving man that I ever knew, and he deserved better. He deserved a full life. Maybe he got that. Maybe in the years he had he gained everything that I think isn’t possible in 36 years. But then again maybe he didn’t. I hate the fact that I’ll never know. Unless there’s that somewhere, where all wrongs have been righted and I’m as happy as I can possibly be. I only wish someday to glimpse myself in that kind of glory.
Broken, bleeding into the existence of the what-ifs of my dreams,
Jenny

Here I go again, off the rocker, off the floor. I'm hurting from these numbing pains, that aren't existant anymore. If I were just a fraction more, deluded, or self involved, maybe I'd have a factory named after me, and the puzzle could be solved. But I'm no inventor, no self-representer, or attention hog. I'm simply me, please no recognition or applause. I'm the leader of the followers, what's the next turn i should take? I'm the ringleader of the disillusioned, what secret entrance must we make? And if there are no answers, or simple solutions, or gradious causes, simply lead us to the dragon's quarters, there will be blood, but no honor or safety clauses. We'll self destruct at any minute, stay clear of the gun. The only thing we were ever taught was stay put, and never run. Run run run away, but never have the nerve to stray. We like to think we're poets, writers, or just creative bets. But we're simply rhyming fools, with tics to keep our imaginations wet. Speaking in the form of multiple personalites always makes me feel less alone, but the only thing I can think to remember are the sins for which i must atone. Stay back, don't worry, I'll get to the end of this sad sob story. the path to this wonderful ending has been under construction for quite some time, there's a detour, but believe it's not worth your time.