This is a lesson in writing when I’m so hurt I don’t know how to write. I’m not really sure where to begin. Other times when I cover my hurt up with anger or sarcastic wit, I am able to pull some kind of funny shit out of my ass. That is only after the hurt settles in and only when it’s not…huge.
Last year I went through a time period of what I like to call, Meet the Girl That Replaced Me. Otherwise known as, Meet the Upgrade and Meet the Girl Who Won. I continuously got punched in the stomach over and over when I was forced to meet girls who are now dating my exes. How fate could be cruel enough to allow me to meet 4 of them in a period of 3 months is beyond fair. The dust finally started to settle from that sequence of Chinese torture and then I am subjected to the biggest one of all.
Through the glorious wonders of Facebook, I was able to discover through a mutual friend a treasure chest of pictures plastered all over some tramp’s page. These pictures were couple shots of my one and only soul mate and her. The “one” that I have written about a million times on my blog. Any time I write about anything deeply emotional and heartfelt, he is the one I am talking about. And he is the one in the pictures with some girl that is a comparable version of myself. My look is definitely his type, and he just found someone like me…that’s not me.
When I came across these pictures the other night, I went into shock. I was paralyzed, staring at them like an accident on the side of the freeway. When I finally came out of paralysis, I began to frantically click through all their couple vacation photos, as if the more I looked through them, the more answers I would obtain of why her and not me.
Before I realized it, I had spent 4 hours of my night staring at their pictures, and had to come to terms with the fact that I had found myself in the middle of a crazy girl obsession. I have never, ever, in all of my years been “that” crazy girl. I have laughed about her, and how she couldn’t control herself. I never understood how she could become that possessed by love for some dumb boy that would earn her the title of crazy girl. And now I was her.
I contacted all of my girlfriends for support, I made them tell me how much prettier I was than her, to point out all of her flaws and tell me how unhappy he looked in the pictures. As if I could rewrite the entire story of their relationship and therefore know that I would still have a chance with him. That they were not the happiest couple on the face of the earth and destined to get married and have beautiful children.
That night, when I finally was able to calm down enough to pass out, I had dreams about their picture perfect wedding, and meeting their perfect, beautiful children. I couldn’t even escape by going to sleep. She was haunting me consciously and unconsciously. The next day at work I would suddenly be snapped out of my life when a flash of one of their pictures would come back to me. And her name, such a horrible sounding name, would play on repeat in my head. That afternoon I dreamed of stalking them. I wonder what they do in the evenings. Where do they eat, what grocery store do they go to? I knew where he lived, if I just came up with excuses to hang around that neighborhood maybe I would end up running into them.
And then I could ask him the burning question: Why her and not me?
I’m not sure what kept me from actually doing this, but I didn’t. 3 days ago this happened and I still have not given up the struggle with my inner crazy girl. She wants to come out really bad, and all I’d have to do at this point is just open the door and let her in.
So I’m left wondering, going into this next week, is if she will make an appearance. And how do I keep her from making an appearance? Do I really want to be that crazy girl that gives up everything to make a fool of herself? The better part of me says no. But the part of me that exists when I look at those pictures says absolutely. And that’s how the birth of the “crazy girl” is born within a girl historically so “sane” and chill no one would have ever suspected a crazy girl even existed inside.
Let’s hope this story is not to be continued but I have a feeling I haven’t seen the last of my crazy girl, knocking just on the other side of the door.