between date seven and breakup.
The idea to spend a few days in Paris must have stuck with her, so she started planning exactly that. I would have loved to join her, but I wasn’t in my home town and I was busy. More busy than I’d ever been the entire year. This was the last month before the final deadline to finish our movie, everything was getting very close and stress levels were extremely high. I started to have chronic pain in my jaw, sometimes it got so bad that I could only fall asleep with pain killers. Nothing was finished in time, nothing worked as planned, we ended up finishing the final mix three weeks after it should have been finished and it was bad. I’ll actually work on it a few more days after the holidays, just to make it more bearable.
So, while I couldn’t come, she had decided to spend one entire week there, to see some art, feel sorry for herself for being alone in the city of love and go on tinder dates. Turns out she also had a friend in Paris who she had never met, but had fallen in love with online. I think she mentioned her once or twice, never really detailing how much she was in love. I guess she really fucking loved him. Or at least the idea of him. She complained at one point about some mean comments of his about how she looks, I think. So she had already blocked him like five times only to then write him again.
But she wasn’t going to meet him in Paris. Why would she? That would only hurt and accomplish nothing. Right? She was so happy to find herself a cheap airbnb in the middle of Paris. Somebody even made her custom memes to celebrate her upcoming trip. I was happy for her. I really wish I could have joined her.
It must have been around this time things got more serious with me and the other girl I was dating in the other town. We had kissed, she had asked me if I wanted to be her boyfriend, I thought fuck it. Never had a relationship, I like the girl, we had kissed for the first time a few days ago, what could possibly go wrong? Right? We’ll get to that relationship a few blogposts later. So I told her. I told her that I have a girlfriend. And I think she was sad, because she realized that there’s not going to be more biting on trains to Paris. But I honestly think she was genuinely happy for me. Still. If there’s one sentence I learned to absolutely hate its: “I’m so happy for you.” I can never tell if it’s meant nice, ironic or full of self pity. It always sounds to me like: “Oh. So now you think you’re more happy than I am? Good for you.” I don’t want people to compare themselves to me, I dislike showing off my happiness. (I definitely like to show of my unhappiness though. Just look at this fucking blog:) Idk. I just don’t like the sentence.
One day before her trip she wrote me something about how she really hopes she’s going to see her child again and what if she’s never coming back from Paris. And then just never really explained what she fucking meant by that, which obviously scared the fuck out of me. But I guess those are the kinds on text messages you have to live with when it comes to depressive friends? She had also in the past from time to time just randomly mentioned how she’s thinking about killing herself or that she had recently hurt herself. And every single time it would hit me like a brick wall. I would be scared and very worried for her, yet unable to really to anything about it. It FUCKING HATE “Just being there”. It is the worst feeling, especially over the internet. And all that would always make me extremely anxious. frustrated and angry. Moodnotes (It’s an app, where you can take daily notes about your mood.) calls this thinking trap “Intolerance of Uncertainty” and suggests:
Notice the areas in your life where you accept uncertainty with respect to how things will work out. What does this say about your ability to tolerate uncertainty?
The thing is. I don’t tolerate uncertainty whenever I can avoid it. I’d always rather know and understand. Even if the answer is horribly painful. Isn’t this blog the perfect example for this? Idk. I guess it’s a thing in need to work on. I guess I’ve always tried to embrace uncertainty when it comes to creativity? Maybe I need more time to think about this.
Whenever she would write scary shit like that I would always ask myself why she’s even telling me this. I mean. Sure, it’s great that she’s able to speak about it and if she has no professional to talk to, I guess a friend must suffice. But has she ever considered how this would make me feel? How it would just make me worry for her whenever she wouldn’t text me back after more than a day? Constantly thinking that maybe … she had finally done it? And I would have no idea. I very sure I had at one point or another told her about how that makes me feel, but I guess it never changed anything. I haven’t had contact with her for months now and even as I’m writing this I worry about her. How would I even ever know if she had already ended up dead? If she had never returned from Paris?