I met a girl back in high school. I met her before I knew who I was; back when I thought bisexuals were just horny, back before I knew sexuality was a sliding scale, back when I believed in the Christian god.
She made me happy. I wanted to be around her, always. She quickly became one of my best friends. We bonded over poems of teenage angst and a mutual love for a very stupid guy. Yet, in a very short time she became as important to me as he was, if not more so. I wasn’t to realize until years later that I was in love with her. “How can you not know?!” (yes, I can hear you) Love isn’t that easy. And it sure as hell isn’t that easy when people are shoving their beliefs down your throat. (Good ol’ Bible belt…)
After high school she moved in with a man and slowly started changing. At least that’s the way I saw it, some of my peers say otherwise. She became kind of selfish. I can’t give you a blow by blow because my memory is poor but I continued to be blind to my love of her for a while. Until one night, full of booze, I convinced her we should make out. I won’t say that’s when I figured it out but it’s when the fire was stoked and any hope I had of forgetting her was gone. Through time I found out that she used to crush on me back when I was stupid about love. She mentioned that the timing was just never right for us to be together. For me, she is the one that got away.
“If you loved her for so long you must have been single for a long time…trying to work through those feelings and all…” muttered random blog reader. That is not true, aside from the fact that she eventually married the man she moved in with after high school, I do not believe that you can only love one person at a time. Being polyamorous isn’t a choice I made, it is just something that is true for me. While I was in love with her I fell for two other people and not necessarily separately. I believe that you never love the same way twice. This means that I love my husband with a very different love than that which I gave to said girl. The love that I gave to her I can never give to anyone else because loving anyone else will inevitably be different than loving her.
She met a very nice man and I finally saw what some had been trying to tell me for so long. She was selfish, and not just a little bit. But to tell you the truth, I didn’t care. I loved her, gigantic flaw and all. But when we would fight or when she would do something awful to me, I found myself talking about it constantly, to anyone that would listen. It began to affect my other relationships, all of them. I went back and forth for a couple of years, talking about how mistreated I felt, while still seeing her when she would call. She moved far away and wouldn’t talk to me for months but when she was home I was there whenever she wanted. The last time I saw her I asked her to be a bridesmaid. She stood me up after accepting.
One point that I want to bring fully into the light, without beating around the bush is that I both loved and hated her. There are three emotions that are said to be tied to the heart. Three feelings that can exist simultaneously even though you would think them to be opposites: love, hatred and fear. This is why people can still love their abusive partners; why people sometimes fall for their worst enemy. This is also the reason that the opposite of love isn’t hatred, it is indifference. It is so easy to transfer all of the passion from loving someone to hating them, when it is over. All that does is switches emotions but both are still very powerful and both can still cause you to loose control of yourself. It is when you have control over your emotions and your actions around and about a person that you are truly over them.
The problem is that I still love her and it claws at me everyday that I don’t try to contact her. I’m done and it sucks. There is such a very specific part of my set of needs that she fills. (I do not know if this is because she’s a soul mate or if because I’ve loved her since I was young and for so long.) Even my husband, beautiful man that he is, doesn’t fill the same gaps she did.
I pride myself on being someone that people turn to when they are in emotional need. I’m good at helping in that way. I’ve helped women in abusive relationships escape from men who treat them like she does me. But at night, when I should be sleeping for class, I lay awake arguing with myself about putting things into public places hoping she finds them. I am strong enough, to not message her directly but that doesn’t stop the wheels in my head. This post is my insurance to myself that I won’t tell her about my latest adventure in writing. She comes home again this winter, if you see this post disappear then my will has failed me again.