[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.
