February 14, 2011

Standing In Love for Eleven Years

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What is the issue?
“Beauty! I can’t bear the thought that man of lofty mind and heart begins with the ideal of Madonna and ends with the ideal of Sodom. What’s still more awful is that man with the ideal of Sodom in his soul does not renounce the ideal of the Madonna, and his heart may be on fire with the ideal, genuinely on fire, just as in his days of youth and innocence.” – Dmitri Karamazov, The Brothers Karamazov

I have been standing in love for eleven years now. I met her in algebra class and we hit it off immediately and then one night she came over to my house and we drank whiskey from a water bottle and fucked for hours and hours. She was perfect and fourteen; I was built and fifteen. She was my second but she was still a virgin and bled all over. The sex was so great and my cock was so hard that even after I came it would not soften. I wiggled it around her face and she humbly sucked on it for a bit.  We dated for the rest of high school and did a lot of drugs together while still managing to make honor roll every year. I played baseball and was just naturally good at school. She did amphetamines and studied a lot because she hated being around people and wasn’t good at faking it. My pet name for her was “thing.”

Time passed and we graduated from high school. She went to college in Florida and I went to school in California. The physical distance was nothing. We talked everyday by phone or Skype or Gmail and she was my best friend. I was into my coursework at college though and she became increasingly more detached from school and more and more into hard drugs and partying. Still she did not cheat on me all that much; I know this because almost every night she would call me outside some party and say how much she needed me and loved me and missed me and how we had to get married when we graduated. I would often oblige, mostly out of boredom and horniness.  Sometimes I would chastise her for being a dumb bitch and then when she got back to her dorm make her spread her pussy open over Skype. She would oblige, reluctantly.

She dropped out of college junior year. She said something about being too pretty for college. She got into some ‘high society’ call girl circle in New York City and I think at first I was fazed and then I just got over it because it seemed inevitable and out of my control. She still loved me. I know this because she would be off traveling in Paris or the Caribbean and Skype me and we’d got at it digitally; she normally did it in the bathroom while the john was in the bedroom. This communicated something special to me.

The drugs, the prostitution (the mental illness really) finally wore on me and it forced our relationship into remission. There was something just too sad about what was happening to her. She was gone and I could not bring her back and who was I anyway to say being gone was a bad thing? I started dating another girl. She was nice, kind, and attractive in a commonplace way. It was a beautiful and calm couple of months. I had forgot feelings that could even exist and it was all so tender and compassionate. But we soon broke up because it got boring and I reentered a long-distance relationship with my ‘high school sweetheart.’

More time passed. Whatever happened. I moved from San Francisco to Los Angeles for a new job. She was living out of a suitcase (and her parent’s house) and traveling a lot, mainly to Vegas. She was hospitalized a couple times for alcohol poisoning, a drug overdose, and a suicide attempt. Each time she was released she said she wanted to be better and each time she would fail and any past commitments to change would be scoffed off and washed down with a vodka. It was also always my fault she failed. I would concur, apathetically. Or spill a Mel Gibson-like rant about her lack of integrity and willpower.

We talked on Skype the other night, a bit of the transcript is excerpted below. It is hyperbolic, but representative of our whole relationship.

Her – i see you for what you really are, i don’t deserve to be treated with disrespect
Me – that’s all you deserve
Me – and I love that, I really love that
Me – I need that
Me – I need someone who only deserves disrespect. And I don’t want you to change I want you to continue to be the piece of trash you are
Me — I don’t want a healthy relationship. That’s what I realized.
Her – im done dont im me
Her – im fucking crying
Her – i hate you
Her – don’t talk to me
Me — Wake up!
Her – you are horrible
Her – you are disgustingly evil
Me – You are horrible.
Me – DON’T YOU GET IT.
Me – WE ARE BOTH HORRIBLE. THAT IS WHY WE HAVE STUCK TOGETHER FOR SO LONG.
Her – im crying and im blocking you and this is exactly what u wanted
Her – don’t talk to me

She blocked me. Then an hour later came back online. We talked about Jersey Shore and I said I have never seen that show but that I just watched the British version of Skins.   She made me apologize for the mean things I said. I apologized. She was high on Oxycodone. I could tell because her voice was all raspy and she was relaxed and happy.

This has been the pattern of my life. I have been doing this for eleven years now.

She wanted me to come visit her for Valentine’s Day. I love her. But the trip to New York is too far. She offered to come out to LA and I said no and that it wouldn’t feel right. There is that Vanessa Carlton song – “Cause you know I’d walk a thousand miles / If I could just see you tonight.” I saw the lyrics to another song the other day on someone’s Tumblr and they express a similar sentiment but are a lot more romantic because they are more realistic: I love you enough to drive like an hour from wherever I am to be with you. And it is always the simplest shit that means the most.

Yeah, the simple shit. TC mark

John Borgan

He studied engineering at UC Davis and currently lives in Los Angeles.

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