White Text - 05

whitetext was a private livejournal account I kept following a breakup in 2004. The entries came from a deep depression. They have been recollected here for data preservation.

why do we do the things we do? a few hours ago, a friend left a message on my IM telling me that she had run into a very old friend of mine whom i haven’t talked to in over three years. she left me the other girl’s e-mail address too. i must have sat there staring at it for a solid five minutes before i could do anything.

when i met her in 1994, she was in the library at my high school. i can’t recall what book she had in her hands, but i can remember her face. that has always been important to me, since i don’t remember faces very well. she and her boyfriend were often around the library after that, and i made it a point to say hello when i saw them. i didn’t know her name yet, or anything about her, but that would change.

after a long debate with myself, i copied the address into my contacts folder in outlook… just in case. i stared at it there for another minute, though. it had been so long, i wasn’t sure i wanted it at this point. i had been quite happy out of contact, but these days are different. single again, and lacking in close friends, my desire for someone worthwhile in contact is strong. a weakness, perhaps.

in the fall, my sophomore year, i had a trip planned to borders (the bookstore) to see a local band play. a new friend from school said she’d take me there since she just got a car. she was older by a few years. when the car pulled into my driveway there were already four people in it. as i slid inside, i found myself squished against her, the mystery girl from the library. i can remember her smell, thick and bitter like dried coffee. i never knew anyone to have that smell, not even her sister.

i had wasted so much on that family, on her and her sister both. time, energy, love, all of it. i weighed and measured, and found it wasn’t worth it to continue. some loves aren’t meant to be, no matter how intense. i wanted to get away from them both, to push them into oblivion and never speak again. then, magically, randomly, her address is in my hands.

time grew my attraction for her, blossomed and refined it until i was ready to burst. and then, the twist of all fates put me into a relationship with her sister. i never desired it, not from the start. she was a watered down version, a second rate copy, struggling to be as wonderful, powerful, magical. don’t get me wrong, though. she was a fantastic girl, but it was comparing the moon to a photograph. why did i continue? why didn’t i stop it? i look at myself from that time and see another person. i have no access to the memories, thoughts, decisions. i see the actions and pity them, then pity myself.

i sent the e-mail a short while ago. it wasn’t flattering, nor powerful or even eloquent. it was a struggle to write and a struggle to click send. she will find no pleasure in reading it, but perhaps find a hint of my regrets, of my pain. i could have approached her differently. i could have worked my way back into her life. it was masochistic enough to send the mail as it was, let alone to have burrowed my way in the filth of that pain. perhaps that masochism will prove cathartic. or perhaps it will prove deadly.