I haven't blogged in over a week. How does this happen? It's not like I've been terribly busy. In fact, the opposite is true. Maybe that's why I'm not blogging. Nothing is happening.
But things are happening. Last weekend I went spelunking. I had a really good time. I got a really good sunburn on this one part of my back. Yes, Spelunking. I wasn't in the cave the whole time. Sometimes I was outside of the cave...swimming...hence the sunburn. It itches.
Then I got back from spelunking and decided to spend the next 36 hours in bed, being sad. Okay, I wasn't sad the whole time. Sometimes I was watching Gossip Girl on the internet, and I was incredibly happy. Well, not incredibly. I was moderately happy watching Gossip Girl. Then sometimes I was terribly sad. Lately I've been forgetting to remind myself every day that I don't need a man to be happy and to feel secure, and lately I've been thinking that I do. When this happens, I usually have to get out of the house and go for a very long walk. I walk until I don't feel like I need a man anymore. This often takes a very long time, but that's good because I need the activity.
I left my Master's Degree at Liam's in May because I didn't want to risk getting it wrinkled or bent in my suitcase. He sent it to me a few weeks after I left, and, apparently, the post office has been trying to get it to me, but I haven't been getting the messages. They've sent it back to sender. I don't know if that means Liam or The University of Memphis because he used the same packaging they sent it in with their address printed on it. This...is exhausting to me. I don't want to go chasing after this. I gave a good portion of my study time to Liam thinking he was like, my partner or something. I gave him my graduation because I wanted to be with him, and now it seems I have to toss out the Certificate because I wanted it to be sent to me at my new "home" in England. I cried for about two hours yesterday. It's not that having the certificate makes having the Master's real. I have the Master's. I don't know how to explain it really. Everything I did to be with Liam was very hard for me because being without Liam was very hard for me. Sometimes it seems like none of that meant anything to him. Moving to England, trying to fit in, trying to make friends, trying to adapt. It meant so little to him. It hurts. Sometimes life feels like this never ending road of struggle. Life seems like suffering. I hurt.
There's a monologue in "Angels In America" the second part, given by this animatronic mormon woman. She describes life in this way (and I would use the actual words, if I could find my copy, but, alas): God cuts us open at the middle, reaches in and tears out all of our insides. Then we have to put them back together, and that is life. Except, what I feel is that I have come before this person that I fell madly in love with, and I cut myself open, and I let all that stuff fall out onto the floor...like an idiot. And here I am, picking it all up and putting it back together again. Kinda gross, I know...but a way to describe the feeling at least.
Sometimes I think the only thing I learn from my relationships is how to build bigger and stronger walls. I tell myself, I won't do that again, and that probably cuts me off from experience, but it also cuts me off from having to get down on my hands and knees amongst all the blood and guts and stuff it all back inside...alone.
I am angry with Liam for pretending to be an adult for longer than he knew how to. I am angry with myself for forgetting that I AM an adult. I am angry with myself for thinking that it had to be that hard for me, for thinking that I didn't deserve better. For continuing to think that.