Obsession: The Curse of the Blog

This blog has become a curse. How so? Well, it allows an obsessive girl with a broken heart to maniacally read back over EVERY DETAIL of every conversation and every encounter that Narc and I have ever had since Christmas. That was his first appearance on this blog--Christmas. We were broken up at the time (kind of a strange concept for two people whom he claims were never "together,") and I texted him "Merry Christmas" because I knew he was alone for the holiday. B called me "hapless," but Hammer commented that communications had improved after the 20th and that the guy was downright sweet to me. (Do you remember that, Hammer?) Then there was that flood of communication and time spent in January, during which we were "reestablished." On January 22nd he told me that he "adores me" and on January 31st he said that he "loves me" (for the first time since we split in December). Of course, you all know that things started to go sour in February. Even still, the only weeks we had absolutely NO contact were the first two weeks in April. Strange, right?

I can't help but think about all this. I wonder what would have happened if I had handled things differently on Thursday night. What would have happened if I had gone to meet him at Cheers when he was there waiting? Or what if I had called him and said that I was having dinner with friends (which I was) but that I would meet him later? Why did I have to attack him and confront him with my anger? What if I had just held it in and then at a more appropriate moment told him that he had hurt my feelings? Or what if I had just accepted him for who he is and not complained about things at all? Then maybe I wouldn't feel like everything were collapsing on me... closing in around me. The whole fucking world is collapsing and I can't breathe.

And what if I were to call him now (or soon) and apologize? Would he still refuse to talk to me? Should I not be thinking this way? Is it better that he told me never to speak to him again? (As an aside, it's kind of interesting-- he didn't say that he wasn't speaking to me, rather he told me not to speak to him. Even til the end, he's still giving me orders, but he's free to contact me as he chooses!) I can't stand this though. It's the last thing I think about as I fall asleep and the first thing I think about when I wake up. I feel nauseated all the time. I couldn't even go out partying this weekend. I just didn't have it in me to smile or socialize.

So what did I do?

For the rest of Friday (recovering from a hangover, and reeling from his text), I spent the day in misery. I felt like my head was spinning and like I said, the whole world was crashing down. I spoke to Hammer for a little while which helped restore a degree of normalcy. Sometimes I feel like I'm just losing perspective altogether--losing my fucking mind. I was sad, sad, sad. I was also exhausted, as I had only slept three or four hours the night before and the fighting with Narc caused a lot of emotional stress.

I took a nap from around 5:00-7:00, and when I woke up, set about getting something for dinner. I made myself get dressed and went across the street to the market to buy spaghetti and strawberries (for which I had a craving). While over there, I bought Toblerone chocolates for NDN and Oc (he prefers "Oc" to "Tav," so I'm changing the name back), just to thank them for helping me stick it out Thursday night and for being good friends. Also, I feel something strange coming over me. If I don't have Narc to spoil and to do things for, my "nurturing" instincts are going to have to come out in other ways. I need someone to spoil. Last night NDN, Oc and I were having dinner, and NDN commented when I got up to get everyone tea, etc. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Let's get back to Friday.

I ate my spaghetti dinner and watched Point Break which I had rented on Netflix because back in March, Narc had wanted to watch it with me. (It was the first time I had seen him since our February "breakup." I had sex with him, but refused to sleep over and he was mad at me for it.) I found the film entertaining, but ultimately, not that great. Later, the boys from next door came over to hang out. I was home being morose, chain smoking with the Christmas lights on and listening to my Aria CD. Honestly, I was wiped out from crying and throwing up all afternoon. The food had done a little to fortify me, but I really need to learn how to get my emotions more in check!

NDN had ruined his ex-girlfriend's grandmother's tables (which she left in his apartment) with a little too much partying (mostly cause by the hot coals from the hookah), and had gone to price the repairs. The repair man was a strange Russian who hates liberals. I showed Oc my blog and he enjoyed reading it, laughing that he was "that guy"--the one who strums the guitar and makes "rhyming commentary on life."

NDN and Oc had been discussing the term "Schadenfreude" and it became a conversational key point of the night. Oc took to playing some chords on the piano and wailing out a catchy little chorus about "Schadenfreude." Then, each of us would take a verse, giving an example of when we took "joy" in someone else's pain. I tried to be "Schadenfreude" about Narc, but I couldn't. I really do just want him to be happy. Later, Oc went next door to get my guitar which I had left over there. He showed up at the door as a "wandering minstrel." It got the three of us laughing.
NDN made us mate and Oc and I smoked a lot. He's trying to quit and NDN has been working really hard to get him off the cigarettes, but I told them that my house is a "den of sin," and that anything goes. All vices are celebrated. (That way, I don't have to feel as bad about my own!) NDN invited me to join them on some Latin club/party cruise that they had planned for Saturday night. He texted his friend to ask if they could get me in, but the event was already sold out. Just as well. I wasn't really up for it.

Of course, we talked for a while about me and Narc, as it's virtually the only thing on my mind. The boys went home at around 2:00 am. I had only had one whiskey or so, and decided against drinking more (I desperately need to avoid drunk-dialing). Eventually, I just collapsed into sleep.

On Saturday morning my stepfather arrived at around 10:45 to pick me up for stonecarving. He was cranky about being in the city and about losing a day of work around the house. As we were driving up to the church he kept complaining about the city in general, pointing out how many confusing traffic signs there are and grumbling about how there are just too many people here.

"It's ridiculous!" he exclaimed. "They should make a rule about who can come here and when. It's not natural for there to be this much..."

I didn't bother trying to defend the city, or the concept of "cities" in general. He's a farm boy at heart, and I knew I would never get anywhere with it.

We ended up getting there early, and he was hungry, so we got lunch at a deli across the street. The Cathedral of St. John the Divine is right in the neighborhood where I did my undergraduate work, and my stepfather laughed because he hasn't been there since those torturous days he helped me move from dorm to dorm. After lunch we wandered around the Cathedral for a while, taking it in. Like I said back in May, it's one of my favorite places in the city, but ever since it was damaged in that huge fire back in 2001, it depresses me. There used to be a glorious altar, but now it is covered by a stark sheet or some kind of board. Because the church is dimly lit, and there's no light coming from behind the altar, the board looks black and it creeps me out. It gives off an undeniable message of "anti-meaning," if that makes any sense. It left me feeling empty, and I still couldn't get the Narc-nausea to subside.

Anyway, at around 12:30, the stonecarver came to pick us up and led us to an enormous outdoor tented workspace adjacent to the cathedral. It was filled with the dust of rocks and hundreds of odd figures shaped in stone. He began the class by showing us the three primary tools that we would be using (the point, the claw and the straight chisel). Then he showed us the basics--how to break away at the stone with a hammer and chisel. It's the same techniques that have been used since the Middle Ages, and let me just say this--now I fully understand why it takes around 1000 years to build a Cathedral!

We each were given a chunk of limestone (which is heavy as hell!) and were told to draw some kind of simple design for a relief carving. I chose a fish, as the shape is simple and it reflects my obsession with the sea. (Some of you may not know that I think I used to be a mermaid in my former life, and two of my three tattoos are sea related--one of two fish linked together and another of a mermaid, both on my right ankle.) My stepfather chose a more complicated leaf design. For the next 4-5 hours we stood there swinging our hammers at the stone. It was fucking hard! There were chips of stone flying everywhere--down my shirt, in my hair and everywhere in between. My clothes and hands were covered in white chalky dust. Raising the image out of the stone was hard enough, but what was to come next was even harder. We had to conceptualize its three dimensional shape and sculpt it by cutting away at our original design. When I finished, my arm was aching, one of my fingers had been crushed by the hammer, I was sweating and tired, and I had a carved fish that looked like a third grader could have modeled it out of clay. All in all, though, I was proud of my work. My stepfather had a great time. I've rarely seen him happy and relaxed like that if he's not watching baseball or puttering around his garden. He didn't finish his piece since his was larger and more ambitious, but he seemed to be pleased with himself nonetheless. At around 5:15, we lugged our stones back to where his car was parked and he drove me home.

The stonecarving (and hammering) had been good for getting my mind off Narc. I had hardly thought about him all day (except to be ultra-aware that he was off somewhere white water rafting). Once back home, though, that feeling of sickness returned to tie the pit of my stomach into an enormous knot. I showered, as I was covered in stone-dust and then watched TV for a little while, trying to gear myself up to get out of the house. I applied my makeup carefully and changed my clothes for a night on the town. NDN stopped by and asked if I wanted to go with him and Oc for dinner. I agreed.

Before the dinner, though, I lost momentum. I changed out of my "going out" outfit and back into a t-shirt and jeans. I just had no energy for it. Besides, where would I go? We left for dinner at around 9:00. NDN and I shared the Peking Duck. After dinner we came back to our apartments and NDN and Oc changed for the party. NDN modeled some outfits for us (and momentarily considered accessorizing with my pearls. ;-> ) I took off my makeup, obsessively backread my blog, smoked and contemplated what to do with myself for the night.

Any energy I might have had began to fizzle. I just wanted to get into bed and cry, which I eventually did. I ended up crying myself to sleep during Saturday Night Live.

I wonder if Narc is as miserable as I am. Probably not. He's probably still furious with me. He's probably busy being all self-righteous, constructing some narrative in which I am irrational and hysterical and make unreasonable demands while he's been clear "all along" that we're "not in a relationship," and he just doesn't understand why I don't get that. Well, I've tried to represent things as honestly as possible. Has it been clear to any of you? Certainly not to me!

I don't think he's going to start missing me at least for another week. He'll stay angry for a while and then lose himself in his work (once he gets his computer back), but he still won't feel the loss that badly. Eventually he'll start to feel it, but it will be masked by his anger and he'll call it "depression" and deny that it has anything to do with me. I honestly don't think he's ever going to call me again unless I make contact first and show some sign of remorse. He has to act as if he's the one in control, and unless I break first, he'll never cave. Part of me wants to. Part of me wants to wait a week and then send him a text saying something like:

"I hope you didn't mean what you said, but I'll assume that you did. Sorry for everything, and good luck."

I know him. He wouldn't write back right away. He'd wait another week or two, but it would have been just enough to give him permission. The thought would be back in his head, and then one night when he's drunk, he would cave and call. Part of me wants to do that so badly, but then I stop and think, "What's the point?" I can't handle this "non-relationship" thing anymore, and that's exactly what I'd be getting.

I can't live with the fact that he's disappeared though. I don't have the energy to do anything. I just want to vegetate with the television and pretend that I'm not here anymore. But I can't let myself do that either... C'mon, Hyde! You can't give into that! I have to fight it with everything in me.

Today I'm going to try to clean my house. It has become a pig-sty over the past week or so and I think it'll make me feel better to do it.

God, though... I still love him. It feels even stronger now, like there's some kind of psychic backlash thrashing against the idea of letting him go for good. Something inside me is screaming at me to hold on to it. I'm trying not to listen, but it's such a fucking powerful force that it's nearly impossible. I'm exhausted and sick from fighting myself on this one...

Just now, as I was writing this blog, my grandma called from Jerusalem. I haven't seen her in 7 years. She hardly speaks English. She always cries when she hears my voice and talks about my dad. She just told me that my dad loved all three of his children but told her that "Hyde has a special sensitive heart." I don't know why, but that just made me cry. I feel so guilty that we haven't seen her in so long. She's getting old. She asked me if I was getting married yet and I told her "no." She asked me if my sister was pregnant yet, and I told her "no." She sounded disappointed. She said she wants another one of my dad. I can't imagine what she went through losing her son, and all of a sudden I feel like a bad granddaughter.

Anyway, I need to do something with myself today. Maybe all of this isolation is bad for me. I think I'll try to go call a friend. Just find someone, anyone to get me outside of all this for just a moment or two.

I wonder how much time it's gonna take to heal.

(It's time for all my enemies (if I have any) to have some Schadenfreude.)