Jennifer, Veronica (everything, all of the time) October 14, 2009

[Actual passages out of my journal for the past year...I know, ridiculous, right? What would Jennifer do? Take a shot and move along. What would Veronica do? Take him for all that he's worth, and flick him away with a long, dark painted fingernail. But what does Molly do? Dwell...but I'd like to grow my fingernails long and sharp and scratch it all to hell, leaving my mark, not on some asshole's back, but on the entire world. I think Molly has yet to be determined...don't let the labels fool you, dear reader...)

10/12/08: It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Cutting myself is not enough — I want to slice myself wide open. I did what I had to do, and if there was a reason, it was you.

10/14/08: Did you see me walking by? Did it ever make you cry? What is he thinking? Does he miss me? Does he remember? Does he miss loving me? Does he remember that time at Six Arms?

10/15/08: You broke my heart. Please forgive me my trespasses, and I’ll forgive you yours.

10/18/08: You said you’d always love me. I started looking for excuses.

10/29/08: Why depression and why not me? Why sorrow and why not love?

11/1/08: What’s there to write about when the scars on my legs say it all. The pain rose to the surface, even if I was the one who had to help it out.

11/6/08: I love him so much. Alone is the last place I wanted to be.

11/11/08: Oh, it hurts. It still hurts. SO BAD. Why? Why? Why?

11./18/08: I want to forget him. But I can’t. Because forgetting him is forgetting me.

12/3/08: I loved him, and he broke my heart. All the hurtful, painful fucks aren’t going to fix this heartache. A thousand other fucks won’t erase the memory.

12/10/08: Trying without luck to forget the damage inflicted on me…and trying to ignore the damage I inflicted. But trying hardest of all to walk that line.

12/14/08: It’s your birthday. I miss you. I might still love you. Is there hope for us?

12/18/08: This hurts SO MUCH. Do you know how much this hurts, God? It hurts SO much.

12/26/08: Saw “Benjamin Button” today. And thought, he would like this movie. I hope he gets to see it.

12/28/08: Why didn’t it work? It needed to work. Why didn’t it work? I hate this. I hate this. It’s all a mess. But maybe it’s a mess I can fix.

12/29/08: I’m healing, and it’s hard. But healing takes time. Learning takes time.

1/2/09: I still love him. And I know he still loves me, or he wouldn’t try.

1/5/09: Unfinished. An unfinished life. An unfinished love. He called our love not unrequited, but unresolved. I said unresolved is the wrong word. Unfinished. And we paused. And his voice cracked.

1/6/09: Be here with me, keep me warm, keep me sane, love me as I love me, but more, differently. Keep me safe, and let me keep you safe.

1/9/09: Love is the most important part of life. Because why bother living without love? I don’t know what will happen. I don’t have the answers. But I have love and I have hope and I have honesty.

1/20/09: I love him tremendously, but I cannot lose myself again.

2/2/09: My beautiful boy is back. Molly, Dave loves you. So DON’T fuck up.

2/10/09: I love him. And I’m not scared at all. I trust him. I can give myself to him

3/12/09: Everything all of the time. How I hate you, Thom Yorke. How I hate you.

3/15/09: I miss you. I feel your absence like a phantom limb. Almost four years. Thank God I still have you.

6/3/09: My God. It’s been this long since I’ve written, spurred on by melancholia and the first random song on my sad  bastard shuffle: The Engine Driver. How apropos. His depression, even the slightest bit of it, affects me tremendously.

8/16/09: Here I am, expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded…difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed, passed over…but I look right on through, see you naked and oblivious. You don’t. See. Me. This song makes me come and cry. Eyes of a fallen angel, and a tragedy…oh well, oh well.

8/17/09: I feel so alone. How could you love me this way? I’m so fucking sick of dating a lie.

9/11/09: There are so many things to say to you. Namely, I still love you. I sleep in your shirt, using your pillows, wiping my tears over everything. Who do you love? If I were lucky, it’d be me. If I were the better person, I’d leave you alone. But I’m small and selfish and miss you and want all of your time.

9/23/09: Something is wrong. My head is splitting wide open. Is it some sort of existential crisis? (A work of art…a work of art…)

9/25/09: Keep me safe — even if you’re not here anymore. Because I wake up scared, wondering where I am, wanting to be safe.

10/5/09: Everything reminds me of him. Even this. Especially this.

10/6/09: Why would I want him if all he does, if all he remembers of me, all he thinks of me is that I’m trite and immature?

10/7/09: Neither one of us is either thing the other accused us of. We’re both heartbroken and petty.

10/13/09: I miss him. Every single day. I paid the price, I certainly did. I never held you in real life.

These are all passages from my “diary,” the very personal thing that I write the worst of the worst in, from a year ago, when he first began tearing my heart into pieces. You will read these items, and think, Molly, you did it to yourself, you did, and that’s what really hurts.
Sure, I’m a very stupid girl. I don’t, however, believe that I am either “trite” or “immature.” Immature people don’t overdraw their own checking accounts to send the love of their lives money so that he can eat. Trite people don’t actually post their own diaries for the world to read. I am many things, but “trite” and “immature” are not words to describe me.

In fact, even when I don’t feel like loaning things out, I do. Because why do I need money, movies, music, books and so forth, when my friends ask to borrow them? I would give any one of my friends the shirt off my back, I would give them my last four dollars, I would offer up, at the very least, my sofa to sleep on, and I would offer to make them dinner. Even the people that have screwed me over? I take them back, into my loving arms, and forgive them, and apologize for the trespasses I made against them.

But I still suck at a lot of things. Like, expressing my feelings in a cohesive way. Or having the patience to wait for someone to heal. Or having the knowledge to know that they’re not going to heal in my arms. I could’ve sacrificed myself, willingly, waiting for him to find stability. But I did once before. This time, I tried a different tactic. And the heartbreak exploded in my face. At least I know one thing for sure. No one will ever, EVER, love him like I did.
But I am worth loving. And I WILL find someone who knows that, and treats me appropriately. And maybe I won’t have to scratch at the walls, trying to figure out how to deal with someone whose wounds weep more than I ever thought mine could.

Think what you will of me. But I am sitting here, my journal sprawled on my bed, as I type in passages from the depths of my soul. I have been called a lot of things, but I am nothing if not honest and open, and willing to expose myself.

Because I know I’m not the only one. I’m probably not the only one who has ever loved you to the point of destruction, or maybe I am. But no one will ever love you as much as I loved you. I truly believe that in my heart. No one will ever love you as much as I loved you.

But maybe, my dear readers, you’ve felt the same way. Well, as you can see, in the past year, I’ve repeated patterns and ended up worse off than before. Read my story. Heed its lessons. Promise me that my heartbreak has not been in vain. Don’t follow my example. Do better than me. Teach me how to live. Just, whatever you do, don’t live like this.

Dear Ben Gibbard: Go fuck yourself October 7, 2009

Here’s my favorite riddle:

Am I a sad bastard because I listen to Death Cab for Cutie* or do I listen to Death Cab for Cutie* because I am a sad bastard?

*Also see: The Decemberists, anything that’s ever been on a Grey’s Anatomy episode, Elliott Smith, and many, many more.

So. Here are my playlists on iTunes:
Best of Pearl Jam
Breakup Music
Goodnight Moon (sleepy-time music)
Hardcore shit
Sad Bastard tunes
Sexy songs
You Know What**

**Denotes vibrator music

The underlying theme? I listen to a lot of sad music. In fact, the playlist I listen to most is “Breakup Music,” because I was going to make The One To Whom We Try Not To Refer To (aka Voldemort, aka The One That Got Away, aka The Love of My Life, aka The One Who Broke My Heart, aka All 130 Pounds of Him) a breakup cd, but I think making him two get-back-together cds (Aptly named “Dave Now” and “Dave Valentines,” in addition to making him the Best of X, which is sometimes sad bastard) was probably sufficient.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t do this. I already had my mom “yell” at me earlier (more of an [sigh] “Oh Molly. Just MAKE yourself get over him.” Thanks, Ma. What helpful advice…at least she is sending me a few scarves and hats for the forthcoming winter) for dwelling on and second guessing this whole breakup. Well, fuck. I was in love. I still am. It doesn’t just disappear like the many Newcastles I had tonight did.

You know what really kills me? My eyes. They literally hurt. Whenever I close them. I think it’s my subconscious, because when I sleep, I dream of him. All sorts of hims. Usually good ones. So I’m reluctant to fall asleep, because when I do, he’ll be there. When I wake, it’ll just be me and the pillow body next to me (I’ve always HATED body pillows, but more than once this summer, I’ve considered getting one). And Chester. God bless my bear.

So what do you listen to when your heart turns to black and all you can do is smoke cigarettes, do shots of his whiskey and drink “your” beer? Use your raspy voice to sing along in the mornings, when no one else is around, and take a long time getting dressed, trying to remember to wear lipstick, because you can now, there’s no one’s face or lips to smudge it on. And not know whose white undershirt it is exactly when you go to sleep. And try to sleep on both sides of the bed, or at least in the middle, although a queen is a lonely thing sometimes. And try to forget, forgive and move along.

But, dear reader, if you find yourself wallowing in pity and trying your damnest not to myspace-stalk someone whose heart still hovers in yours, listen to my breakup songs, and see if you find some comfort, some answers, and the realization that other people hurt, too*.

*But not in that gay, Michael Stipe-R.E.M. “Everybody Hurts” way. He’s just whiny.

The Scarlet Tide – Allison Krauss
Breath (2 AM) – Anna Nalick
What Can I Say – Brandi Carlile
Stay or Leave – Dave Matthews
Highway One – Dead Rock West
State Street Residential – Death Cab for Cutie
It’s Just That Everything I Try to Do, Nothing Seems to Turn Out Right – The Decemberists
The Engine Driver – The Decemberists
Jolene – Dolly Parton
No Name No. 5 – Elliott Smith
Good to Go – Elliott Smith
Sullen Girl – Fiona Apple
I Know – Fiona Apple
Know When to Walk Away – Jay Clifford
Last Goodbye – Jeff Buckley
The Fear You Won’t Fall – Joshua Radin
Love Will Tear Us Apart – Joy Division
Nowhere Warm – Kate Havanik
Clean Getaway – Maria Taylor
Inside Job – Pearl Jam
Hold On – Pearl Jam
Crown of Thorns – Pearl Jam covering Mother Love Bone
3 Libras – A Perfect Circle
Paint’s Peeling – Rilo Kiley
Please Read the Letter – Allison Krauss and Robert Plant
Feel It Coming – Sara Melson
The Difficult Kind – Sheryl Crow
Three Seed – Silversun Pickups [OUR song. Goddamnit.]
Where Does the Good Go – Tegan and Sara
Getaway – Train
Around My Heart – X

everything reminds me of him October 2, 2009

Elliott Smith has a song titled, “Everything Reminds Me of Her.”

Well, I have a statement. Everything reminds me of him.

[Jenny Petite Newman: I know, I know...but this is the way I purge. And my purging may take a long, long, long time. I hope you understand and can commiserate.]

So I’m watching “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” while Nate snores away on the sofa, and Meghan’s in the other room, also asleep. I’m enjoying (well, I don’t know if “enjoying” is the right word for this) a Bud Light, watching possibly the best show in the history of television.

And there was a new episode of “Sunny” on, and I laughed, and I wondered, is he laughing? Does he have an opportunity to watch this? And I thought, one of the crux(es?) of our relationship was our friendship, and our friendship bonded partly over the TV show that I (underline “I”) brought into our lives.

And I messaged Heather today. I realized one more thing of mine that he has, and I suppose for every one thing of mine that I’m missing, there’s two of his things that I have. And Meghan tells me, give them back. Give them all back. But how is that possible? Our apartment would be void of so many things. And then think about all of the things that remind me of him (i.e. Everything), and then I’d be left of nothing.

I said I had nothing left of Paul, but that’s not true. One lonely double-sided mirror that we all use to tweeze our eyebrows and check the back of our hair, that he probably got from his ex, I have kept. Not because it’s ugly or because it reminds me of him, but because it’s useful. I suppose I’ve saved myself a good dollar-fifty over the years.

But The Love Of My Life? The One That Got Away? What am I supposed to do? Get rid of the beautiful chandelier he bought for me? The mugs we had in Seattle? The clothes I bought that he liked? The shelves, the tables, the picture frames, the bed? Am I supposed to dispose of all of this and start over? I think his life is too imbedded in mine. Sure, I could throw it all away, but what would I be left with?

This is the thing I hate the most. That everything reminds me of him, including the things I refuse to dispose of, the things I love the most.

But more than that? More than that? More than that! More than that.

I’m not ready to let him go.

Not at all. And if that means drinking until I pass out, blogging until I cry, straddling the edge of contacting him and holding some sort of dignity within myself, and looking like a sad bastard to all of my friends, not to mention nearly crying about it to my friends, even though they’ve heard it all before, I will. I accept that. I accept my pain, and I may not handle it well, but it’s MY pain, and I’m doing the best I can.

Friends, I need you. I need you to help me keep my head on, definitely. For sure. A lot. Always. But I need you to understand that this love does not end easily…and the biggest fear I have is that it might not end at all. And then what will I be left with?

Hopefully you. My friend. Reading this.