The New Normal

I sat on the floor thinking about how rediculous I must look. Chest to the floor, pajamas on, no bra, and hair that must of looked like hell wound into a tight bun. My ear was pressed to the crack under the door, listening to my parents argue back and forth. Every now and then I found myself closing my eyes and feeling the breeze come through the crack.

Are we all this fucked up? Am I as doomed as the predecessors that gave birth to me?

I chuckled as I thought to myself "and my dad wonderd why I never brought a man home". If only he actually knew that I'd never even been in a real relationship before. "Hmm I wonder why."

I shook my head and continued to focus on the relationship that was unraveling before me.

"I don't understand how you can't see this. Don't you see that you never fall through?" my future step mom choked through her sobs. "You promised me two weeks ago that you would buy a ring. You promised me. And what have you done since then? Nothing."

I could hear my dad focusing on something other than the conversation. It felt as if I could hear his thoughts. "Say something, Daddy. Stick up for yourself. You don't want this." I chanted in my head. Instead he did something that will remember forever.

"Okay. I'll go to the jewelry store today."

I think my eyes almost fell out of their sockets, I rolled them so hard. I turned to my back and looked up to the ceiling. I focused on it's perfectly manicured paint job. I turned to my left and tried to focus on something, anything really, that was not here. I racked my brain for an escape route that couldn't include the front door. My stomach started to growl.

What woman would sit there and basically push a man into buying her a ring? I understand that we all lived together, and that the wedding has been paid for, blah blah blah. But really? If someone is obviously holding reservations you should be running straight for a therapy session.

I thought back to my previous thought to whether or not fuckedup-ness was hereditary and if I was doomed from the get-go. I always wondered why I ran from any man that tried to keep me somewhere for too long. Yet at the same time I hungered for proximity, for want. It ended up just turning into pointless sex.

I lay my hands under my head and cross my feet at the ankles. If anyone where to come through that door they'd find themselves crashing straight into a 115 pound doorstop. Not that anyone would come. No one ever comes in here. When I close that door it's like I'm miles away in my own little safe haven. That is, until I hear screaming and sobbing about wedding plans with no ring. Blah blah blah.

I shook my head again. Picturing an Etch-A-Sketch and giggling. Yeah, I was fucked up alright. I began to think about my life, and what I thought it would be like. My job- event planning, hopefully for a small but popular company here in San Diego. My house- a small apartment shared with a close (and highly organized) friend, clad in the latest Ikea home furnishing. My love life- (queue screeching tire sound) that is a whole other story.

I knew I wanted to be a wedding planner ever since Jennifer Lopez got that heel stuck in that pothole. I've known, for what feels like forever, that I'd be creating woman's number one fairytale day sometime in the future. When I thought about my own special day, however, I always found myself standing alone at the alter. Everything is planned down to a T, but instead, I'm standing by myself, as if not a single thing is missing.

My family upbringing was not something to be desired. A seemingly fucked up child coming from a nasty divorce and an even nastier mother. The thought of marriage both frightened me and comforted me. Deep down I knew my marriage would be a beautiful one. That I would wait, a long long time, and be absolutely sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life with that man. Those gorgeous thoughts were chased away by the other part of me that just keep thinking: "how is it possible that amount of crazy that is your parents, didn't give birth to something more fucked up?" Gee, thanks other me.

I hear the opening and closing of multiple doors and the sound of my dad's voice. "I'm going to go now" he said. They sounded quiet, comtemplative.

"Okay," she said "make sure you close the sliding glass doors."

And just like that, he was gone. He's probably going to tell me some bullshit excuse about how he couldn't break her heart later on. About how she's such a good person, just with insecurities. "We all have insecurities, Daddy" I thought to myself.

I lifted off my back and looked around my perfectly designed room. I really need to get my shit together. But how in hell am I going to get myself out of bed before 12pm?

Hope.

“Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?” -James Patterson

There's something about hope that both angers and fascinates me. It reminds me of a wheel. Continuous going without end. The anger and frustration comes from my inability to end things. I always find myself deciding to do something, and then somehow talking myself out of it. All these emotions I fall victim to will surely be my downfall. Why is it we continuously fall into the same acts over and over and over again. Obviously I'm referring to my relationships with the opposite sex. They can treat me so horribly and do so much wrong, but with the snap of a finger (or the discovery of a tweet to be exact), I'm sent back into the day dreaming stage. 'What if he is a good guy deep down?' 'What if he didn't mean that?'

The fascination part obviously does not even equal anger. But it is there. We know something is bad for us. We 100% know we shouldn't do something, or feel a certain way. But we do it anyway.

I don't want to want you. Hands down I know you will bring nothing but toxicity into my life. But for some reason, I find myself yearning to learn more about you. To be around you. To be with you. You have given me NOTHING. You have not given me an inkling of a reason to continue on pursuing you. Yet, here I am. And although I'm not physically seeing you, texting you, asking you to hang out, I still find my mind wondering to you a little to much. Still day dreaming scenarios and scenes where you miraculously get to know and learn to love me.

Which is worse? Actually acting knowing you'll bring nothing but trouble? Or laying in bed, thinking up a million ways on how we would meet and you would fall for me again.

I think the latter. Because if it were really happening, despite the fact of it being a treacherous idea, at least I'd know...

..and wouldn't be left to wondering. And hoping.