The Lengths I Go

Against my better judgement, I texted my ex to see if we were going to dinner. He called and we decided to meet. I called him back and asked him if it was a good idea.

He said, "No. I'm glad you asked."

So I went out to dinner with some friends who took pity on me. After dinner, full and restless, a thought popped into my mind: What did he mean that it wasn't a good idea?

I couldn't very well call him and ask the question so I called my ex-husband.

This conversation consisted of his life, his parents, his complaints of the flying industry, his girlfriend's new job, his interview at a local restaraunt as a server. I piped in about my student teacher and he then digressed to my first year teaching and how he is surprised I made it. He then began to describe his perception of my insanity: panic attacks, cries for help, getting sober. And I laughed with him until his voice became bitter and it was turing into "M., you're insane, you hurt me, you ruined my life, I'm where I'm at today because of you."

I held the phone against my ear and stared at the ceiling fan above me wondering why I didn't just try to stick my head into the twirling blades if I wanted to hurt myself a bit.

But I love drama.

So using my "I feel" words, I proceeded to tell him that I can not continue this friendship if he continues to hurt me everytime we talk...I don't deserve that.

He apologized and then started to ask uncomfortable questions...like why is there drama...why am I calling him so much after two years of nothing.

Hmmm. Good point.

When I was sitting up in my bed, tears welling in my eyes and the words, "I can not change the past" fell from my lips, a wave of well being and excitement ran up and down my spine. I live for this shit. Tears, anger and melodramatic replies give meaning to my life. I fear the boredom of every day living...drama gives my life meaning.

And it finally occurred to me (though it has before and will again) that I'm just using these guys to give my life some meaning--and that's bullshit too, my life has meaning, I just want something to do, something to obsess about, some drama to analyze. If they were willing to give themselves over to me I'd be annoyed and not interested, writing about how they need to go and how they aren't doing it right.

This is a part of my spiritual malady. There is a peace and serenity in me that I am afraid to live because I've never realized it was there.

I don't know how to be happy within the realms of peace and serenity.