I had a busy week and yet I’ve still been thinking. I didn’t really feel like writing late in the evening even though I would have had the time. It would have only made me depressed.
I started retelling this story as a way to find a new perspective. To answer some questions I’ve been asking myself for so long already. But recently I’ve been second guessing this idea. Why should I continue to linger on old and hurtful memories? Can’t I just finally try to forget? Why should I continue torture myself?
I guess my answer to that is simple. I don’t think I ever will forget. … Sure. Memories will start to fade. I already struggle to put our seven dates in the correct order sometimes. A year from now I will have forgot what might have been said on those days. In five years it will have all blurred into one unified experience. But the emotion is too strong to leave me forever. This has been a way too integral part of my emotional life. This will stay.
So I might as well try to backup this correctly to my long term emotional brain storage. I will not run away from my complex problems and difficult feelings. I will try to process them. I will try to be a grown up. Try to save myself therapy five years from now. xD As if that’s how it works:)
This one was mediocre. And yet, it started with the second weed experience I ever had. She’s a more or less regular smoker and we had often talked about how I had only tried it once and it never really showed a significant effect. So she had promised to bring some next time we see each other so I could try again.
So, its a warm summer day, we meet in a big local park in my home town, sit down in a wide field, lots of people all around us, yet nobody seems to care or notice as she lights the first joint.
The nicotine shock hit me like a brick wall. I started coughing, my eyes immediately started to tear up and snout was running down my face. I must have looked sexy as fuck. Still, I continued to inhale properly, she joined in and I think we ended up smoking at least two joints in total. We watched all the other people in the park, giggled about random nudist stripping down naked in front of us and just talked. I didn’t really feel any different. It was basically like the first time I had tried. A sore throat, the disgusting taste of tobacco in my mouth and that’s about it. Nothing seemed much funnier and I din’t feel unusually relaxed.
We planned to see Yesterday later that day, you know, the movie about the alternative universe guy who suddenly starts hearing Beatles songs and becomes famous by playing them? So we went to the cinema. But the moment we had arrived, we saw this really nice burger place right next to it and Yesterday was no more. We had awesome burgers, she kept giggling a lot, while worrying that people might notice that she had smoked. Which as I now know, is SUCH a weed thing! I wasn’t worried at all, just glad my eyes had stopped to tear. We continued to talk, we had fun, but somehow less fun that usual. I don’t know what happened, but after the food her mood got a bit less positive and she started to get a bit silent and depressed for some reason. In retrospect I should have just asked her what’s up. One of the many things I learned this year.
Just. Fucking. Ask.
Maybe it was this weird moment we had, when our hands touched for a second while walking next to each other. I wasn’t sure if she wanted to hold hand or not. I remember grabbing her for a second, she pulled away, so I let go again, then her had came back and because I found the whole thing confusing I just started ironically patting her hand. God that was awkward. Again. I should have just fucking asked her if she wanted to hold hands. In retrospect she might have interpreted my silence as a rejection. And in my defence, I had up to that point never held anybody’s hand in any romantic way ever. It just made me very nervous.
I started walking her back to the train station, we stopped at a McDonalds for a coffee, she got scared shitless my some random dick who suddenly started screaming into his smartphone. Five minutes later she was apologising about suddenly being so nervous, her mind immediately went to “terrorist attack” and her heart was still racing. I tried to comfort her. I wanted to hug her. Tell her that I would never let anything happen to her. But I felt like I would have overstepped some red line by holding her and the “I am a man and will protect you.” -act is kinds cheesy isn’t it?
Anyways. Finally at the train station we ended up having to wait for a while, she had the idea to sit down (on the ground, of course;) and watch vine compilations on youtube. It was great fun, we laughed, we cried, we cringed. We also ended up being pretty physically close to each other, awkwardly not really hugging each other, but clearly touching a lot. As always. I only do weird. You should know this my now. Still. It was nice.
Finally the train came, we hugged each other goodbye and that was that. I think she was glad to finally be on her way home that day. Although she did mention later that she hadn’t had as much fun in many many weeks as she did watching vines with me. That made me happy.
I took my own train back home, practically fell into my bed and couldn’t for the love of god fall asleep that night. I was just completely unable to lie still for more that ten seconds in my bed. I was constantly rolling around. from left to right, on my stomach, on my back and everything in between. It was excruciating. My body felt like I was running a marathon while my mind just desperately wanted to finally go to sleep. Only later I would learm that that must have been my only significant effect of the weed. It just sent my heart rate racing like crazy. So much about the supposed relaxing aspects of that weird herb.
I’m still considering writing her. I’ve already outlined like three and a half different letters to her. I’m considering handwriting her a physical old-school kind of letter-letter. Because it’s the best way to make sure she actually receives it, it requires a certain lever of work which shows that I give a shit and it’s kind of romantic … I guess. But is that a good idea? To be romantic? The thing is. Even if she started talking to me again. I don’t know if I even could or how I would proceed from there. I still have a lot to think about I guess.
I recently “stalked” her instagram and her user doesn’t exist anymore. She would always do this for some reason when she had a panic attack or was at a particularly bad place mentally. She never deleted but often deactivate/suspend all her social media accounts. So. Maybe. She’s not feeling much better that I do without her these days. Or maybe that is exactly the kind of thinking that got me into this whole emotional mess in the first place. Did I ever only feel drawn to her because I felt like she needed somebody? Idk. That was definitely part of it. … I just want her to be happy. … And I fucking miss her. But I want to be happy too. I also deserve to be! See? Now I sounds like I maybe shouldn’t write her, don’t I?