I just called to say

“Hi, it’s me. The heart you broke two weeks ago? I know you blocked my number because my calls go straight to voicemail. Perhaps that is the single best decision you’ve made in our relationship because your voice was all I wanted to hear at the end of a long night, when I have no one else to talk to. I’m sure all of my friends -you included- are tired of my sadness charades or spells in the weeks following that fateful e-mail.

But you’re a hard drug that’s difficult to quit. My brain may be able to take the break-up for what it is, but my delicate and agonizing heart is screaming and sinking. The constant nagging and tugging for a dose of you, the outbursts of tears and the feeling of emptiness all point to a ‘withdrawal’. And there’s nothing I can do to get a fix… except maybe hearing your cheery greeting that is all too facetious for my intents and purposes.

Hi, it’s me. I know there’s nothing you or I can do to calm my mourning heart, but I just needed a fix… there’s so many things I want to say to you, but never will I spell them out in written form because some things are better said in person than not at all. So I guess I’ll just have to hold on to those words until I forget.

Hi, it’s me.”

Phone Conversations

I said something very mean to Mirela tonight. I was frustrated with editing and being swamped with work. There’s just so many things to do and not enough hours in the day to finish everything I desperately need to!

Yet there I was, just settled into the computer lab at SFU and ready to fine-tune my edits when she called. I’ve never liked talking over the phone. It think it’s a tedious task, especially if someone called only to chat – like Mirela often does. It’s not that I mind talking to her on the phone but that we always seem to be talking about the same things in each conversation. Always the usual, “why don’t you want to be with me?” or “are you going to be with me ever again?”, and I always give the same answers. Except maybe this time.

Perhaps I was still frustrated from editing or that talking to her on the phone gets me frustrated more than I’d like, I wasn’t very pleasant to talk to. Basically I insinuated that I wasn’t with her because of her illness; that I’m the most selfish and arrogant person in this world because I have a prejudice. She’s emotionally unstable (thus immature?) and has been battling her mental illness (or whatever baggage that has resurfaced), for some time now. But, as sad as it is to say this, I am relieved that I am not constantly helping her fight her battle.

On the other hand, I feel guilty for not caring or doing enough to help her. Guilty for not being there when she’s having panic attacks, or guilty for having a good night when she’s in the dumps. Why is it so hard for me to just care a bit more? Or have more time in my day so I can spend some with her? Why can’t I picture us together again? Why am I not giving her another chance to right all the wrongs she’s done?

There are so many more questions and not really any answers. It is quite the dilemma. I just really hope she’s courageous enough to walk out of the tunnel. Or at least have a couple more friends who are willing to help out -talk to her, keep her company, hang out and do things with her- because frankly, I can’t be 7 people all at once!

Nights like tonight when I know she’s crying herself to sleep, life is a gamble. I can’t stop thinking and worrying about her.