Conflicted Love Chapter 3

Do you know what the number one leading cause of death amongst people between the ages of four and one-hundred and fifty is? Emotion. Emotion leads us to drink massive amounts of booze, smoke two packs a day, and eat fried food by the bucket. Emotion is our love, it;s also our hate. The same emotion that will lead someone to declare her undying adoration for the man of her dreams will also lead her to drive her car to the middle of a bridge and jump the f**k off. 

I started to feel better about 2pm today. I wouldn't call it happy, but you can. It was more just being preoccupied so that the sadness can be ignored momentarily. However, the moment the emotional pressure reaches critical mass, and can't be ignored any longer, the memory of those few hours of, almost, sanity make everything worse. Remembering the twenty minutes when I didn't hate myself just makes the current wave of self-loathing more potent.

Once the preoccupation gives into the negative thoughts the negativity pours in like traffic from the Lincoln Tunnel. The worst thoughts for that possible moment pop into my head and start stabbing my brain like a tiny little Spartan. Today the thought that decimated the dam of sanity was that I wish Katelyn would just tell me to get the f**k out of her life. It's not that I want to lose her, certainly not that. It's that I know she's going to forget about me some day, and I spend so much time worrying about it that I think, maybe it'd be better if she just did it, like ripping duct tape out of pubic hair. I mean, right now I spend every night wondering where she is. Is she at home reading? Is she out with some guy who's trying to f**k her? Or did she just skip all of that and jump on some stranger's dick, like a s**t?

F**k, why do I do that? First off, she probably isn't f*****g anyone, and even if she is it's not a bad thing. I have no problem with women having all the sex they want, I just wish I was the guy she wants. 

It's not that i'm an a*****e, I mean… I might be, but i'm just so frustrated it's hard to handle. I think one of the hardest things in the world is to love a woman more than anything, while she doesn't feel the same for you. Having to watch her meet new guy, old guy, any guy, and love him more than you, that's f*****g s**t. It's not her fault, I mean, I can certainly understand why she wouldn't want to be with me. I'm not a good looking man, I am a little under six feet, and a little over 300 pounds. I, as has been made obvious, do not have a personality that women would gravitate to. I'm, pretty much, an all around piece of s**t. 

I don't know if it makes things better, because I understand why she would never want to be with me. Or worse, because I know that the biggest reasons she has for not wanting to be with me are my own damn fault. It's not that I'm clueless, I know I should start working out, losing weight, maybe go back to school and actually earn a career. Maybe these things would make her look at me differently. 

However, the more I dwell on it, the more I sit in the dark counting all the steps needed to clean up this mess, the more daunting and impossible it feels. Maybe I'm just  a quitter, but once something reaches a certain plateau of infeasibility I lose all motivation, and  fall back further than where I started.

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It's Tuesday night, and i'm sitting on my computer, staring at the screen clicking through silly pictures and reading, somewhat, amusing anecdotes about… something. Then my phone lights up and buzzes, dancing towards the end of the table. It's a text from Katelyn.

"Oh my God, i'm so f*****g stupid." she said.

"Oh come on, you're not stupid, what's going on?"

"I went to Club Corte, and there was this guy there. He was chill and we talked all night." 

Ahh, Club Corte the loud, obnoxious, club where every guy who goes alone brings enough money to leave with someone.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, well, I really liked him, and we went back to his place and he tried to kiss me."

"How'd that go?"

"Alright, we hooked up, kinda fucked. I'm so dumb."

"What about having sex with a guy makes you dumb?" I gasp for air.

"I just know he's not into me."

"Oh, i'm sure he's into you." 

"I don't know, I am probably just another lay to him. Oh well, I mean the sex was  great, but it probably wouldn't work out anyway." I wonder if she'd stop if she knew about the pain in my chest. The pain that must've been the sensation that inspired the term 'broken heart'.

I could never tell her though. i can't tell her how much these tales of her relationships and forays hurt me. If she knew then there'd be the possibility that she wouldn't talk to me about it. If I can't be someone for her to confide in then I have no worth, then there is no reason for her to talk to me at all. 

"I'm sure he likes you, maybe he is just not sure you like him." I type into my phone, my fingers fighting against the words.

"I hope so, but I doubt it. How have you been?"

"I have been pretty bummed," time for me to open up, "I just get so tired and sad, I don't know what to do."

"Hey, do you remember the name of that movie Michael said we should watch?

There it is, I try and bear myself, just a little bit, to the person who i've held while she was crying about how she loved her boyfriend, but didn't want to date him anymore.  The person that i've listened to for hours, as she told me about her sadness, about how there wasn't anybody who loved her, how she should just disappear. I sat there, and I listened, and I talked, and I comforted, and when I would like the smallest of shoulders, she shuts me down. What the f**k!?!

"A Serbian Film." 

"Oh yeah, he said it was completely fucked up."

And here it is again, another cycle of me repressing my pain, shoving the rejection deeper, making room in my rib cage for some more loneliness and self-loathing. Perhaps I could fit some more self-pity next to my appendix. Because this is the way things are, this is the way my life is, and it's not going to change until it's over. God I hate emotions.