I began a process. The attempt to shut Crush out of my system. What would typically require just a couple of days without talking. I needed something stronger than absence.
I’ve willingly, unknowingly, comfortably let her in.
When my crushing on her would resurface I could close it off or she’d have me snap out of it. This was different. This was an odd balancing act. Now, it’s both of us. Now, it’s been confirmed that she’s dealt with this too! While I had thought I was alone and crazy crushing on her. This energy. This unknown force that has kept us solid throughout the years. Regardless of our differences.
I was confused as to how to handle this. Torn. To jump or shove that crush back in it’s corner? Risk this amazing friendship?
My hardcore remedy was two bottles of wine. Didn’t say it was healthy. Nor am I promoting my ways.
Two bottles of wine to slam those mental castle doors!
Go numb! Detach! Push!
My mentality was that I’ve confessed enough. It’s her turn to make a move. Irregardless of extenuating circumstances. Tell me what you want me to do with this!
“Do you want me to squash this? I can do it. But, you’re not gonna like it.” I remember.
Without a definite answer I took matters into my own hands. Two bottles, please and thank you.
Sloshing, slurring, hammered drunk. Angry, confused drunk. My tongue is not so sweet anymore. It cuts. Deep.
Didn’t say I was fond of this behavior.
Who? Of course, gets the brunt of it. You know it.
Drunk. Angry. Sad. Disappointed. So fucking confused. And tired. A love-sick mess.
Waking up hung over and further confused since I had no clue what transpired on the phone during my intoxicated speech. Then, I couldn’t reach her. Wondering how far or bad I had pushed?
No text. No call back. OK.
Ya went further than intended. Lengthy apology? Text? E-mail? Gotta go to work. Sarcastically to myself on the road to work, “Well done, V.V.” More crying. Fighting back. Going to work.
My phone rings. She tells me some of what I’ve said. Understands I was drunk and everything that’s been going on. She asked if I had been pushing.
Confused as to why she’s even talking to me. Staring at the road. Zoning. “Yes.”
As she’s talking, I realize us speaking after that night is making me worse. The fact that she knew what I was doing and understands me. Then it hits me. All these years I’ve dealt with my crushing on her. No matter the contact. It’s been hanging around in some form.
Realizing that it’s not one sided fucked with my head. I heard past conversations a little differently. So, what am I gonna do? Spend every free moment inebriated? Pushing until she’s done with my shit?
A break was in order. Some space to think and rationalize.
I was still going on with life. Prepping to live with my best friend. No matter where we went with these confessions. The idea of not moving with her didn’t seem to effect me physically. I’d tell myself that I can’t. Everything was complicated. But, my hands and feet kept trekking her way.
I was an emotional roller-coaster.