The Battle Within a Battle

The hardest part of letting someone go is knowing that you'd do anything to have them stay. The hardest part of letting someone stay is knowing that the relationship will die if they don't go. But it ends if they do, too.

All fights aside, the biggest issue I face is the one that resides inside of me. Everyday, we wake up not knowing if today will be full of laughter or screams, whether it will be a day of contentment or a day of regret. It's as if a ghost of a mischievous child continuously flips a switch that determines our moods, and no amount of effort or begging can stop him.

How do I control my emotions? How is it, that when he's at work, I'm perfectly at peace preparing for valentine's day, blowing up 40 balloons of pink and red, and painstakingly threading them together to decorate the stairwell, but as soon as he is home, as soon as he sits down on the recliner next to me, I'm beyond furious. You might as what triggered my anger. I'll tell you. Nothing.

Over the past few weeks we've both exhibited a large amount of decreased effort. He doesn't do this, I don't do that. But the specific reasons don't matter. We've developed horrible habits that we both hate, and every fight results in us placing blame on each other. I want to say that I'm the bigger person and I try to blame us both equally, but that would be far from the truth. The truth is, I don't think he's the same man I met. He's not the man I agreed to go out with. He's not the responsible man that promised me all these things. He's turned into the man that spends money on real flowers when I tell him to make me fake bouquets that are less maintenence and cheaper. He's the man that bought an iron because there hasn't been a single time that he's remembered to get his clothes out of the dryer. He's the man that claims to be trying, but nothing has changed. He's the man who hasn't made good on any promise, big or small.

So why don't I leave him? Because I'm stupid and I stupidly believe in a thing called love.

It's Been a While Dear Enemy of Mine

There's a kind of hustle and bustle on a University school campus. Everyone is busy, talking to friends in between classes, skateboarding to their next destination, sporting a not-so-stylish Dining shirt, or scanning the HUB for the shortest line so they can cram whatever sustenance into their bodies before the next meeting.

I get busy too. I got up at 6 this morning to print out stuff for classes, slides and notes, and even did some yoga and basic step exercises. I watched Eureka with breakfast (I love pumpkin flavored anything) and reconnected with a friend I had neglected for a while. All that before 9am! I felt like superwoman, not even the sky was my limit, and in the comfort of my own home and baggy sweats, I'd say it was a swell start to my day.

Lately though, I've been battling this feeling of overwhelming doom. That may sound like an exaggeration, but I assure you, it's doom that I feel welling up in the pit of my stomach. I have all these great plans for my day; much like going to class, doing my paper, kicking ass at work and basically being awesome; then I find myself sitting somewhere, surrounded by notes, laptop out, and doing nothing. Do you ever wonder how cats can just sit there and stare? I don't, because that's what happens to me. It doesn't matter what it is, whether it be a grease speck on a counter or the stain on the carpet of the library or the automatic doors opening and closing as people walk into the HUB. I just stare off into space. I get lost in a world of hustle and bustle and although I planned to join them, I feel like such an outsider. I remember that my friends don't put in effort to hang out with me, that his friends misjudge me, that he doesn't seem to care, that my mom thinks I'll fail. I wonder what it's like to enjoy a Wednesday nooner with friends, I just kinda tag along with a group that acts like they have better things to do than talk to me. I wonder what it's like to get ready with all my girlfriends for a party we were all invited to, to drive home buzzed craving the nearest McDonald's.

And all these thoughts bring me down, into this eerie rabbit hole. And I don't know which way is up and I don't know what to do first. Sometimes I fight these thoughts and push them back just enough for me to do my work, and focus on class. Other times, I stare. And the thoughts consume me and I just can't continue. All I want to do is go home and sleep, curl up in bed and let my heart and mind battle it out without my conscious mediating. Everything seems impossible or too hard and I just can't bring myself to get anything done.

Sometimes I do laundry. I guess that's a start.

Lovebug

In every relationship, there are things that we can handle, and there are things that we can't handle. We set standards for ourselves and each other. We all know those things, those REALLY IMPORTANT things that make or break the relationship. It's like you only have so much space for bullshit, and then that one little straw will break your poor back.

I have a lot of little straws like that. Anyone who knows me can attest to my temper. But I can normally deal with it. I try not to yell or lash out unless I feel like I can offer a solution or at least I know that I was definitely and completely wronged and they have no way of turning it around on me and making it my fault. I have my own issues and problems I attempt to sort through, but sometimes ( a lot of times), I just don't know what problem to fix first. And so, as I've done since the dawn of time (aka birth), I focus on fixing other peoples' problems first. This becomes, in itself, a problem because my own defects are never addressed.

Back to not my problems. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's hypocrisy. If there's a single most confusing situation in a relationship, it's accidental hypocrisy. Now, one might ask, how does one accidentally be a hypocrite? Well, since I'm not the hypocrite, I HAVE NO IDEA. But I'm trying to stay calm and put the pieces together so that I don't have to end a potentially beautiful life with a wonderful man. Ready for a story, guys?

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Some of you may think that going through your significant others' phone is just unacceptable. Well, before you go telling me that I shouldn't have been on his phone in the first place, understand that we basically share phones. We share emails, have access to each others accounts, including facebook, and constantly borrow each others phones. Friends will normally text/message one of us as a means to contact BOTH of us. He is just as welcome to go through my phone as I do his, we have no secrets, especially when it comes to who we talk to (since we have so many mutual friends).

So, I was on his phone looking for pictures of him and his little brother to put in a frame, and I went into his kik to see if any family members may have sent him any over the years (however long he's had the account). Needless to say, I didn't find any pictures, but I did see a conversation with this girl, Deleana. I didn't know who she is, but I guessed that she was one of his Call of Duty buddies that he games with on his ps3.

I almost knew that I didn't want to read it. He was working on applications for jobs so I just opened it up to see how their COD team was doing online. My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach and for split moment before anger overwhelmed me, I felt what it was like to feel completely betrayed.

How can someone call a COD buddy "lovebug", "sweetie" and send kissy faces after a "love you" while you have a long term girlfriend? After telling me very confidently that if I EVER cheated on you, you'd walk out the door with no regrets, you turn around and think that there's nothing wrong with the way you speak to her?

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It's been a few days, and I've had time to dwell on the incident. He deleted his kik account and let me have his ps3 for a while to prove that he was willing to cut ties with her. I never want to be the jealous girlfriend that doesn't let him have any female friends, but my confidence has definitely been shaken. He claimed that he didn't realize his words to her were such a problem because they always talked like that, and after a very emotional conversation, we agreed that it was a mistake on his part, and that I should see it as cheating. I'm still pretty upset, but I don't want it to hinder our relationship any further. We're already going through a rough patch, and I really want to see us make it through. I know I left the story pretty short, but after a few days, I really just didn't want to talk about it anymore.

I know if roles were reversed, he'd be crushed. How long until I should put it in the past?

What a Jerk, Not a Jerk

Why is it that girl's just can't accept a compliment from their boyfriends/husbands/significant others? Is there a difference between a stranger telling you how pretty you are and your boyfriend telling you that you look stunning? Personally, I think there is, but only on a very deep, paranoid level.

I work on my University campus at a small convenience store near the medical building. Most of our customers are staff, though dormers come through pretty often too. Now, our uniforms can be described with two very simple words: NOT FLATTERING. We wear black t-shirts, tiny half-aprons, a black visor, and jeans with chunky, black non-slip shoes. (Personally I think the all black attire was meant to help us hate our job in the desert heat because our store is outside). My hair is always up in a messy bun and we aren't allowed to do our nails or wear dangling jewelery. I'm also not really the 'wake up super early to "put on my face" and do my hair' kind of girl either. Most of the pick-up lines that come my way are on social networking sites like facebook or Instagram, because pictures are so much nicer than my real face apparently.

So it's a Wednesday, one of my longest days, and I'm trying my best to keep up a smile and make every customer feel welcome (we don't get too busy so connecting with customers is a priority). A customer walks to my register and I flash him a simple smile and ask him how he's doing today.

     "Wow, what a smile! You have the smile that could make someone's day," he says.

HOLY MOLY! I've NEVER heard anyone say that to me, especially looking like I just crawled out of a dark closet dressed by my blind wardrobe adviser. It took me by surprised, and naturally, made me smile more. I held a conversation with this customer for a few minutes, and properly thanked him for his kind comment and transaction. Can you guess what kind of day I had?

I had a great day. I kept my smile for the next 7 hours of my shift, even while my managers outwardly complained about their day to their customers. I received 3 more compliments that day about my shining personality and genuinely happy attitude.

Completely off topic, but see how ONE compliment can help to brighten someone's day? And in turn, that person can brighten other people's day? It's a wonderful train of happy, people! Jump on it!

 On the complete opposite end of the happy spectrum, is what happens when Alex compliments me. I become a raging bitch who won't believe that anything nice out of his mouth is anything more than obligated, sugar-coated crap. He will tell me how beautiful I look, or how every day he falls more and more in love with me, and my only response is something along the lines of "Yeah, sure."

Why don't I believe him? Would I believe him more if we weren't dating? Is it that I believe that he's now only "supposed" to tell me these things as opposed to before when he was "just trying to get in my pants"? Oh the inner turmoil. Why can't things just be simple again.

He wants to be my knight in shining armor.

He wants to be my knight. He wants to be my hero. He wants to be my man. He wants to take care of me, make me smile, and make sure that I live as comfortably as possible. He cooks, he cleans, he gets me a glass of water when I'm too lazy to march up and down the stairs.

When the Past Hits You in the Face like a Rabid Raccoon

I'm not going to lie. Sometimes I think about Robby. I wonder if he's doing well, or if he thinks about me. After two years, you'd think he'd stop tiptoeing to the forefront of my mind. Sometimes it makes sense, like missing that he would always be willing to drive any distance for me.

     His house was all the way on the other side of the hill. A measly ten miles, but took twenty minutes to drive. It was only seven in the morning, about three hours before he would even contemplate leaving his comfortable down feather pillows and surprisingly cozy spring mattress. I'm sure he didn't want to hear his phone ring. But it was my personal ringtone, so he answered.
                "I left my homework at home! I'm freaking out and I 
                 don't have any way of getting it! Both of my parents 
                  left for work and it's too far to walk and I need an A 
                  in this class and I don't know what to do!"
     What a way to start the day, huh? There was never a moment of resentment in his voice though.
                  "When do you need it by?"
                  "Third period, at 10 am."
                  "Okay, I'll be at the front office at 9:50. Calm down, 
                    everything will be okay."
     And at that point I thanked the heavens for such a patient man. For such a generous man. For he took that twenty minute trek to my house, then the five to my school, all before he even wanted to be conscious. Still in his pajama bottoms and an old Pink Floyd t-shirt his mom had given him to sleep in, he stood there yawning with my papers in his hand, waiting for me to get there. 

He may have been a monster at times, but I do miss his sweet and gentle side. And to hear that he's been hanging around Riverside... well... it just irks me so. He made the effort to keep in touch with his friends here. Friends, might I add, that helped me to get rid of him because of the mistreatment during the end of our miserable relationship.

I wish I could stay fantasizing that he yearned for me; that without me, he felt like less of a man.

But that would make me selfish right?

-Annie

Paint Splotches

It's 2:00pm and it's a relatively beautiful day. So why am I sitting here typing away to what seems like nothing? I'm trying so desperately to get back into writing, even if it's about the most mundane things.

From my room is a view of my backyard. My room sits on the second floor overlooking a mostly dead patch of grass and dirt. Surrounding this heap of earth are three foot tall cement walls, separating the grass from a patio and gardener's corner. These walls are the location of wars and love and relaxation and anxiety; these walls are the lizards' world. Everyday I choose to open my blinds, shining the light of day into my bleak and messy bedroom. And each time I sit here, on Facebook, or studying, or watching Prison Break I get the chance to witness life unfold before me. There, on the left corner, a big lizard is chasing a smaller one. Even with short legs, they resemble snakes slithering across concrete waters. I like to imagine that the smaller lizard (Marten) has offended the bigger one (Bubba), possibly moving in on a mate or trying to take over small territories of my backyard.

Marten gingerly steps up to the highest point of the wall, creeping around the forever stuck sprinkler that won't retreat back into the ground.
     "Hey! Where do you think you're going?!"
Bubba spots Marten and races towards him, stopping only a smidgen away from Martens nose.
     "It's not what you think.. I was.. I was just trying to tan!"
     "This is MY tanning area! Find your own pipsqueak!"
Seeing the anger in Bubba's black, beady eyes, Marten squiggles off as fast as he can, over the broken sprinkler and into the grass below. Bubba runs after him, never far behind. All I see are shuffles in the dead grass, every once in a while seeing a tail whip around a flower weed. And then they vanish into the brush.

Poor Marten. I hope he's still alive.