Well... This Is Awkward

I find it somewhat amusing that “Make Me Wanna Die” by The Pretty Reckless is one of my mother’s favorite songs. She can’t hear the words, she can only feel the beat, so when her body is moving and her fingers are tapping I tell her it’s her “special song.” I feel like a bitch and a bad daughter for a hot second until she tells me how fat I am, or that Smart Water might increase my brain capacity allowing me to “make better choices in life,” and after that I have no shame. This song is for you, mom. This song is for you.

Let me try and explain

I’m walking down the street where I may have broken your heart (it is still up for debate). You didn’t know it, so you lay in my bed that night, crying, thinking I was angry at you for something you had done. 

I think about it every time I get in my car to (maybe) buy cigarettes. Remember how many cigarettes I smoked that night? I smoked them with her. You stayed inside, drinking, laughing, not knowing that I kissed her every time I looked at her, and I fucked her every time I smiled at her. This wasn’t because I wanted her; she wasn’t prettier, smarter, or funnier, I just didn’t know how else to make you leave.

I needed you to leave me.

“Pinky promise. Pinky promise right now that you’ll never do it again.”

I wish I could have seen the incredulous look on my own face. I couldn’t promise you that. I tried to prove how unworthy I was and I failed. How do you fail at highlighting your own shortcomings? How do you fail at being a c-word kind of person?

We became friends, some semblance of it anyway. We still hugged and kissed and slept in your bed until two in the morning. You would tell me how much you missed me, and I would get angry at you for caring. Then you didn’t care as much (or maybe you did and stopped telling me about it), and I got angry at you for not caring. I wanted it to be your fault. You were supposed to leave me, but it never happened that way. I made it seem like it though, didn’t I?

I don’t know where that winter went. There was Christmas and New Years (we didn’t speak), there were birthdays (we did speak), and then there was everything in between. 

The last time we got drunk together I screamed how much I love you. I don’t remember that. Apparently I explained in detail how much I love you to someone else many months ago. I don’t remember that either. I don’t say “I love you”. I could blame that on any number of things: my mother (she made me get rid of any living thing I showed love to), 9/11 (the day I learned what hate really was), middle and high school (for taking away the innocence of love), the summer of 2009 (it killed whatever love I had left for myself), or her, we all know about her.

I’m not saying I don’t know how to love. I do. I realized this the day I felt both joy and sadness, whispered love in all the right places, and everything changed. Once you love you cannot take it back. Love can fade, but it cannot be retracted or replaced no matter how hard you try.

My point is, and I do have one, I moved right down the street from where I tried to convince you and myself that everyone leaves and no one gives a shit. You’re still here. Drunk or not, I love you for that. It cannot be retracted. It cannot be replaced. No matter how hard I may try.

everyone: are you okay
everyone: you look tired
everyone: you look upset
everyone: you look confused
everyone: are you mad at me
everyone: what are you mad at
me: IT’S MY FAAAAAAAAACE

(via tell-mummy-im-s0rry)