I can feel it. It is creeping over me, slowly, with every ounce of bad news or bad decision. I am slipping into my dark place. I am trying to pull myself out, but I feel like I just keep slipping deeper. It is like trying to climb up the side of a dark muddy hole, the harder you try to grip and claw the farther you fall, and the hole gets just a little bit deeper.
This was supposed to be the year of Harper, this year of empowerment and good things. I keep making decisions to try to prove I am living my life for me. I dyed my hair red. I said it was because I always wanted to, which isn’t a complete lie but it isn’t the whole truth. I needed to know if the blonde bombshell persona I have been hiding behind all of my twenties was the only thing that made me me. Am i more than a Marilyn Monroe wannabe? You might be saying to yourself it is just hair, but our society puts a lot of emphasis on hair. People spends ungodly amounts of money to color, cut, and protect their hair. People sew and clip in someone else’s hair to give them the look of full abundant hair that society has told us is beautiful. If I added up how much I spent on the salon and products every year it would probably make me sick. So, how did going red make me feel? At first I didn’t even recognize myself. I worried that I had just taken away the one thing that helped make my features beautiful. I found myself worried about what every person in my life thought about it. Would I still attract the same men or any men at all? It has been a month and I have decided to keep it red, at least for now. I think in many ways it is making me face some of my fears. Which is good, because the rest of my life just makes me want to run.
Why do I want to run? Why am I slipping farther and farther? This is really hard for me to talk about. I am just going to blurt it out. My mom is going to leave my dad. At 29 years old, my parents are going to get a divorce. Or at least my mom likes to talk to me about the selfish things my dad does and tell me she is looking at houses online and thinking about divorce attorneys. I want them both to be happy, and if that means they need to be apart, then fine. I know my life will turn upside down, but I am an adult; I can handle that for them. It’s more that my example of love is broken. No wonder I can’t find a healthy loving relationship, I didn’t exactly have the best example. I date men like my father. Men who only give you the little part of themselves that they want to share. Men that never think about you when making decisions that will inevitably affect you. Men who are selfish. My mom tells me to break the cycle, to find someone who will adore me, but I don’t know how. It is true, women end up dating their fathers.
I also am still not talking to Bee. I sent her a message a month ago. I know it was probably too late, but I meant what I said in it. I love her, and I miss her. I know that doesn’t change that we have things to work through, but it does mean that I want to try to figure things out. I tried all summer to find the right words to say to her, but I never could figure out how to say how she has made me feel all these years without reliving every terrible moment. I was too worried about my parents, and my job and just kept telling myself that it would keep. We would work it out eventually, maybe we, maybe I, just needed some time. Instead of time bringing us back together it has dissolved what we had. How strong could our friendship have been if we can’t make it through this? 10 years, maybe that was the time limit on our friendship.
I try to forget Evan and the fact that when I tried to make something more of our causal relationship he just disappeared. I try to brush away how deeply hurt I was. I had really let him in, let him see all the parts of myself I try to hide. Somehow he made me feel safe, and wanted, and alive. I had given him more power to hurt me than even I had realized. When he disappeared, the aching was palpable. I wanted to feel anything else, anything but what I was feeling. I have slept with boys to prove to myself that I am desireable, and to mask that I still care about Evan, still think about him.
When he texted this weekend after 3 months of silence, there was a little part of me that wanted to believe the “I’m sorrys” and the “I miss yous”. At least in that moment I was able to call him on his shit, to not let him off easy, to find some little ounce of strength. I deserve more. I was just starting to really be ok, and he had to pop back up, to remind me that my feelings for him are still there, fading but not yet gone.
I try to grip a little harder, and I slip a little farther.
