Special comment response to Miriam (referring to her comments from yesterday's post):
Look, to be completely honest, I know that Ryan was capable of a high level of fuckfacery. And I'm sure plenty of my past boyfriends, faux-boyfriends, weird casual bed partners, etcetera, would say that I can be a ridiculous crazy bitch sometimes. And they are probably right. So I can't really hold his mistakes against him.
I have been reading a lot of old journals recently. At the very least, it's an agonizing experience. It turns out that I was (and probably still am) incredibly insecure, neurotic, and obsessive...and oh yeah, really, really terrible about honestly communicating my feelings with everyone. I can accept these faults because I feel as if they are commonly encountered flaws. I can ascribe at least one of these attributes to each of my closest friends. And I love these people to death.
But this is the single thing that fills me with a near-toxic level of self-loathing: the very idea that I tolerated all of the shitty things that Ryan said/did with very little protest. Because (if you didn't catch on to this yet) I like to present myself as a total hardass. If I were half the version of Amanda that occupies my imagination, things would have ended after the first break-up (before I went to NYC). And at some point I would have hit him in the balls.
My mother raised me to be tough and self-disciplined. But the notebooks in a basket under my desk prove otherwise. Two simple facts present themselves over and over again in my laughably girlish handwriting:
I can't escape drugs.
I can't escape Ryan.
In fact, I'm practically running back to both of them, even though I play these games to TRICK myself into believing that neither matter to me...that I somehow control both situations.
My concern has been that I am not presently an even picture of him...that maybe some subconscious need to punish him is skewing my vision into an ugly caricature. But reading your comments--particularly about the pockets full of pictures--gave me a feeling of accomplishment...I realized that I am painting a compelling portrait of this guy...this guy RYAN that totally changed my life. He was neither a saint nor a monster...but definitely a cocksucker on many occasions.
And yes...despite all of his shitty statements and weird mixed signals...and despite his unwillingness to let me free myself from our fucked up druggie lifestyle...I know that he loved me. I have never doubted that. What if...what if.
I have spent the last seven years swimming in a sea named What If.
In conclusion, knowing that words I have typed are actually moving intelligent individuals to feel something more than "ugh...this is some bad writing" validates everything that I am doing.
So thank you, Miriam...and everyone else that has been supporting me via comments, emails, or just checking frightened by bees. on a regular basis...thank you thank you thank you.
4 comments:
I have been reading your blog for months now, and from the perspective of somebody who does not personally know you, I think its obvious how complicated things were between you and Ryan. You are the mother of his child, you were devastated by his death - and you are obviously very intelligent and possess some level of self respect.
Point being - even though you let him be verbally/emotionally abusive to you, you were young as shit and he HAD to of been special for you to have put up with him.
i thought that the old journals you inspired me to find(well the acid letter led to the journals) would make me laugh. i even wrote towards the end of one of them: "you'll probably read this ten years from now and laugh." well there i was in the car, well over 10 years later reading it by the light of my phone - not laughing. i didn't find any of the things i had written silly or overly dramatic. what i felt back then was real and it hurt. i actually found myself feeling sorry for teenage brooke. i still do. this has nothing to do with your main topic, but i just had to share. old journals. i should write about this, but i hate everything i write.
i hope it's okay if i jump in on the 'old journals' discussion. i actually took out my old journals one night last march. it was a really good experience.
when i read all that material that spanned almost ten years, i could see a larger pattern of my life and who i am. and i realized, in a way i hadn't before, that i really like myself. and it put me back in touch with a lot of things i value, but had let fall to the wayside.
it's kind of amazing that i sometimes dismiss writing in my journal as not valuable, but there's a chance that chronicling things now will help me later on.
i love you amanda! thanks for commenting on my blog so often. i'm sure you know that frightened by bees occupies the one number spot in my BLOGSVILLE bookmark folder and i tend to check it at least once a day.
xoxoxo
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