November 2, 2009

• I Fell In Love With Him

  I know this post is very long, forgive me. If you have the time, please read it =]

  I fell in love. I fell really hard, and it bruised me for years.

  About 4 or 5 years ago, I was working at this place. It was the worst job ever. This temp walked in and changed my life. His name was M. At first, I just thought he was really cute. After a few months of working together, we started flirting back and forth. He threw paper clips and rolled up balls of paper at me, aimed the office stapler at me and bombarded me with staples. He got to know me and my moods so well. And would always try to cheer me up whenever I was sad or depressed. We talked quite a bit all the hours we worked side by side.

  Somehow, I don’t remember how, but we exchanged phone numbers while we worked together. We would text each other sometimes. After about 8 or 9 months or so, he found a better job and quit. We continued talking. We texted a lot. It got to the point that we would talk on the phone for hours. So many hours we talked. At least once a week we would talk for at least an hour at a time, late at night. Often I would be laying in bed talking to him, so tired, but not wanting to give him up.

  When I realized I was in love with him and it wasn’t just a crush, I was so upset that I didn’t speak a single word for 2 entire days. You see, I had never been in a relationship at that point, and I was 19 or 20. Also, I think in the back of my mind I knew I never had a chance with him. We were still working together, and he knew something was wrong with me. He tried to get me to laugh, but I couldn’t. I knew he was relieved when I finally snapped out of it.

  Anyway, every time he called me, I was eager to hear his voice. I was happy to get a text from him. For a couple days after talking to him, I walked on a cloud. The smile never left my face. We talked about anything, everything, and nothing. Nothing not meaning silences, but nothing as in the things we talked about didn’t matter in the sense of life. We told stories about co workers, we talked about our hopes and dreams, what we wanted to do with our lives. Talking to him gave me a euphoria like nothing else. I kept my mouth shut about how I felt about him.

  Throughout the time, I think I made him into something he would never be: my knight in shining armor. That someday we would be together and he would be gentle with me because of my childhood and he would save me from myself. I wanted it so much. I dreamed about it.

  After a while, we talked less and less. He never answered my calls, and he never texted me back when I texted. Our relationship was strictly on him terms. I always answered his calls and eagerly texted him back.

  But M was a depressed person, an alcoholic. Many times when I talked to him, he was tipsy or drunk. He was never happy with himself. But deep down, I knew he was a good person. Don’t they say you can tell a man’s character by how he treats his mother? I never met her, but I could tell he treated his mother very well, and he loves her very much. He’s half Italian, and family is very important to him. I could tell whenever he talked about his family, he loves them all very deeply.

  He was a scarred man. He had dated this woman for a few years, they had bought a townhouse together. He proposed to her, and in his words, “she freaked out.” I asked him what that meant, but he never explained what exactly happened, and the subject was never breached again. He’s never trusted another woman again like that.

  One night, he called me and he was talking about committing suicide. It scared me so bad. I tried talking to him and talking to him, trying to talk him down. He kept talking crazy. He was drunk, and I was begging and pleading him not to do anything. He said, “well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” And he hung up on me. I tried calling him and calling him and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where he lived.

  That night I didn’t sleep. I cried. I was scared. I kept a vigil over my phone. Waiting. The next day when I went to work, I got fired. I tried calling him again. He didn’t answer. I left him a message telling him that I had been fired. Thankfully, he called me back a couple hours later. He was okay, and I was so relieved.

  Anyway, one night, I drank half a bottle of tequila and called him. He actually answered, imagine that! I told him how I felt about him. Me and my fat, stupid mouth. Fucking tequila. After that night, nothing was the same ever again. We talked less and less. I was lucky to get a phone call once a month.

  Well, I haven’t seen him in about 2 years, and I haven’t talking to him in about 8 months. For years, I had stupidly kept my dream about us, hanging on his every word, tearing my heart up every time I talked to him. I tortured myself for so long. I kept that dream alive for so long.

  The reason I did it was because I knew that he felt something more than friendship with me. He already had a best friend that was a girl, so there was no reason to talk to me like he did. I knew because he told me things that I know he didn’t tell many people, if anyone. I knew it from the way he said things to me, the tone of his voice. I knew it in my soul. That night with the tequila, I was sick of waiting. One of the last times he talked to me, he had bought a really nice, new house and he was having a party. Instead of hanging out with his friends, he was in his bedroom, talking to me on the phone.

  

  That’s on my 21st birthday. He’s much more good looking in person. His eyes are fucking amazing. They’re green, and they change colors. This is the only picture I have of him. He always said he hates pictures because he doesn’t take good ones.

  I think I know why he stopped talking to me. One time, he gave me a mixed cd that he had made for me. Almost every song on it was a sad rock song about someone not feeling good enough for someone else. I think he felt like I was a good person and he didn’t want to taint me with his past and his depression. He felt like he wasn’t good enough for me. That or even though he cared about me, he would never date someone as fat as me. I don’t know. I made a mistake the night I opened my drunken, fat mouth. One that I can never take back.

  I’ve cried so many tears over him. So many.

  I still worry about him. So here I am, Blogging World, baring my soul for all of you to read. Why am I doing this? Because I wanted someone to know just how much I loved him. Because no one really knew. My chest still hurts when I think about him.

  • 7:48 pm
  • 31 Comments