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Published: February 11th 2011
Gen and Ted's HS Friend
Walking in some Alberta hick town
July 25, 2010.
I was vomiting blood into my sink.
I slammed the faucet on.
I grabbed my tee and swiped it over my bloody mouth, my bloody nose, and hurled it into a corner.
I crawled to my bed. I need to straighten myself out.
I flung my laptop onto the bed.
Typed in my credit card number, clicked “Buy” and passed out.
April 25, 2010.
She had said wait while I make my decision. How long, I had asked. I’m insanely busy with work, and school, and finals, Miss KO had said. A month she had said.
A month? I had asked incredulously. A fucking month?
It was so obvious. She wanted to break up with me. She was going to break up with me. But she didn’t have the guts to do it. So she had dropped everything on me, hoping I would initiate the break up.
A motherfucking month? I asked again.
But she was the first girl I truly loved, one who I could actually see myself living with forever, one who I loved so much it blinded all her faults. And
Gen and Bridge
Still in hick town
she had been the same with me. But obviously that had changed. She now needed a month to decide whether to break up.
A fucking month? I shouted into the phone.
Yeah, she whispered. A month.
She could change. She still had to love me. I still loved her. She would turn around. She wants me to breakup with her, but when I don’t, she’ll come back. She has to.
Ok, I had whispered back.
By the end of the first night, I wanted to call her. Please come back, please, I would’ve begged. Come back.
But I didn’t. I had made her promise to update me and keep in touch during the month. She would call. She had promised.
The first week crawled by. I had managed to stay relatively ok. She pervaded my every thought, but I forced myself to drink stupid amounts and hang out with friends and study hard to distract myself.
But still…not a single call. Not a single email. Not a single text. Not a single AIM/Facebook/MSN/Skype message.
The second week was when I started becoming neurotic. She hasn’t called me yet, but
she’s going to call…now! Glance at phone…silent. Now! …nnnnnn—Now! Now! Now!
The day and nights started blurring but I still had school. And friends. And partying. And drinking.
But by the end of the second week, all sanity left. I can’t take a shower because she’ll definitely call me while I’m in there and I won’t hear it and won’t pick up and mess everything up…and she might email me, or Skype me, or, or, or
I stopped going to school. I stopped talking to friends. I sat with my back against the wall, laptop in front, cellphone to the side, both plugged in and charged and my hands on both, instantly ready to pick up. My left hand constantly hit ctrl-r and refreshed my email.
I stopped sleeping, staying up for days that merged into nights, invariably nodding off when my mind gave out, but instantly waking to the slightest noise. Was that a phone ring? Was that a text alert?
I would fumble with the phone, trying to stop my hands from shaking. I would hurriedly hit keys to make my screensaver turn off. But she’s going to call….now!
Undoubtedly, I stopped
The Morning After
High School Friend and Teddy hungover
At first I would hurriedly run down the steps laptop and cellphone in hand, whip something up with them close by, scarf the food down then run back up and plug them back in. But then I ran out of food.
I don't remember how many days I went without food. I remember I woke up with my head smashed into the laptop, my head spinning and then puking up blood. I sluggishly wiped it off. It might destroy the electronics. And she might email me….now. Ctrl-r. I needed to eat. I wasn’t awake as much and I might destroy the electronics.
Every day or two, I would walk to the Chinese restaurant a few blocks away, throw some food down my throat and hustle back to my room, back against the wall, laptop in front, cellphone to the side.
Minutes became hours and hours became days. I was probably sleeping Napoleon cycles or sleeping every second day because I vividly remember tracking the sun as it crawled across my floor.
It would start from the far wall, glaring against the white paint. Then it would creep over a pile of clothes, then onto
New Yorker ignores picturesque Rocky Mountain Range
the futon, then over my legs and as it faded, it would hit my laptop. And then the whole process would start over again as the far wall slowly would come to life. She was going to call me…now.
And then it was a month.
Maybe she was really busy and would email me later in the day.
The sun inched across my room.
Maybe she was really busy and would email me tomorrow.
The sun crawled back and forth and back and forth and when I lost count again, I finally manned up and faced my biggest fear.
I sent her a tentative message. “It’s been a month…you promised to keep me updated…what happened?”
Her response: “Sorry, I had forgotten about you.”
What followed was tragically cliché.
A few attempted suicide attempts with glaring loopholes so I could pussy out last second. A bunch of halfhearted attempts so that if the attempt succeeded, she would hopefully realize how much the relationship meant…and in the more likely outcome, it would fail and I would hopefully gain a better appreciation of my life.
I kept spinning in circles. Let the emotions build up, break down and hang myself from a structurally insecure wooden beam or…jump in front of a bus too early so it braked in time…or etcetera, ecetera, ecetera.
Then I finally realized I was too pussy to take my own life. It’s pretty easy to buy a gun in America and guarantee death by blowing your brains out…I guess I couldn’t do it. So I started completely wrecking my body.
For the next three months, I started binging alcohol. My life looked like Days 440-480 from 500 Days of Summer. There was a stint with hard drugs. I would completely offend anyone I met in bars, clubs, parties, streets. I would make out with whoever I could then push them away and tell them they were sluts. I was a belligerent and sloppy mess.
And it was during this depravation I bloodily surfed to Orbitz and bought a $800 ticket to Calgary with my credit card.
I stumbled up sober enough to realize my mistake (my bank account had $500) but drunk enough to say fuck it. And I needed to try and get my life sorted out with one of the few people who could throw me straight.
A week later I was in Calgary.
But this time Teddy couldn’t work his magic.
He had a minor role in the drama surrounding Miss KO and I. Besides a few incoherent rambling phone calls I made to him when I was breaking down, there wasn’t much reference he had.
And for once, he was in a stable relationship. Considering Teddy’s relationships are as stable as the government in Egypt, this was unexpected. He was in love, his life was together…no point ranting to a disconnected audience.
So the 4-day Calgary trip reads like any other time I’m with Teddy. Copious amounts of alcohol, hot asian girls I never have success with and hungover discussions about the amazingness of America.
Since it was Canada, a dash of weed slowed things down and since it was Calgary, we drove to some campsite. Drinking, passing out, drunkedly stumbling around some hick town, drunkenly making out with Teddy’s high school friend in a tent and then it was time to leave.
He treated me to lunch in Calgary International Airport. Extravagant sounding, extravagant costing but piece of shit tasting pasta graced our extravagant plates.
He pointed his fork towards me. “I know you’ve had trouble dealing with Miss KO.”
I didn’t even bother nodding at such an obvious fact.
“Coming from someone with experience…”
I looked away.
“…I find what helps…”
Nobody could understand what I’m going through.
“…is writing about it.”
I dismissed his advice and got on my plane back to California. But when abusing alcohol, acting like an asshole, indiscriminately making women feel like shit and getting into fights didn’t change my depression, I tried writing this entry on October 19th. I wrote three sentences about her, broke down, hurled my laptop into a wall and didn’t touch it. Until last night.
Even though I wanted to shoot myself in the fucking head and even though I wanted to down a mickey and even though I just wanted to cry and slam my fist through my laptop, I forced myself to write this entry. I didn’t edit it because going through these memories once was enough. I want to forget it. I want to get over her.
When I got online this night to upload the photos and publish this entry, I felt just a microscopic bit better. The depression is still there and heavy. But hopefully this is the road back to the old me. Hopefully Teddy is right and writing about it will help.
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