It’s official. I’m moving back to Colorado Springs.
Only a few people know:
I don’t plan on telling Andrew. We were supposed to get dinner this Sunday, and even though we haven’t spoken in two weeks (the longest time we’ve gone without talking in four years), I figured that I’d check in with him yesterday and confirm our plans.
He said “quit your shit” when I told him it was alright if he wasn’t interested in seeing me. Uh, what?
WARNING: Andrew Doneson has turned into a bigger tool (despite earthly limitations).
Whatever. I keep trying to maintain some sort of civil relationship with this human but it’s worthless. I’ve done nothing but be genuine, loving, and sweet since I landed in Orange County, and he’s all “quit your shit” this and “shut the fuck up” that and “boo hiss, I’m a fucking moron”. It’s too exhausting to even bother. I made sure that the last text I sent him was mostly nice. I just don’t want to the last thing I say to him be mean. But Andrew, who is incapable of general compassion, likes to leave me with meaningful phrases like “okay” and “whatever”.
At least I don’t love him much, anymore. I mean, no matter what I’m doing, I still pause and think of him, but I’ve moved on. He’s such a small person.
Alright, since I got that out of my system, I must continue on with the cluster-fuck that is my life. I move back on Friday. That leaves me five days to get boxes, ship all of my things, clean, pack, figure out how to get Bones (my snake, who is currently being adorable) to Colorado, and say goodbye to the kids. Did I mention that Kathy is going to be out of town, so I have about three hours each day when both kids are in school? Yeah, this will be fun. If I don’t land in Denver on Friday morning it’s because I died.
Time to spend all the money I made in California on finding my way back to Colorado. Let’s do this shit.
I woke up from a nightmare about Andrew, rolled over, and didn’t know where I was. I drank a lot last night. I was underneath some stairs.
I went to the pet store and bought a live baby mouse (I didn’t want to do this, but Noodles wouldn’t eat frozen mice and I had been force feeding him turkey). It was pink with no eyeballs. My heart was in my mouth.
I went back to Kathy’s and no one was home, so I found my way inside and went upstairs. I molested Noodles and the poor baby mouse (who by at this point earned the name “Wilbur”) for about half an hour without any luck.
I walked down the street, chain smoking and sobbing. I called my mom. We talked about my life, my dad, Andrew, Jason, Nicole, high school, Kathy, and just about everything else. I was laying down on the side of a dirt path for about an hour. I’m so fucking cute. I walked home, still feeling like shit, but feeling better about a lot.
Kathy gets home with about a million people and the intention of throwing a party, sees the baby mouse, freaks out, and tells everyone. I promptly leave.
I brought Noodles back to Petsmart. Luckily, my friend works there, so we got him all situated and we’re thinking about adopting him and co-parenting. Since there’s something wrong with him, they legally can’t sell him to anyone else. I miss him. I bought a ball python (getting another corn snake was making me sad). I don’t know what to name him yet.. He’s fucking cute though. A lot larger.
After that whole ordeal, I drove around for a few hours, listened to great music, talked on the phone with Clint, and felt a lot better about everything. I was singing, feeling awesome, ready to move on from Andrew, and then I came back to Kathy’s.
This old bitch (Kathy’s mom) chewed me out for about fifteen minutes about having a snake. I have never, in my entire life, been so disrespected and harassed by an adult. I was shocked. I basically told her to fuck off by defending myself and getting aggressive towards her, but holy shit, I ran into my room and started crying after that. I called my mom again, though. She always makes me feel better.
The baby mouse is still alive. I don’t know what to do. I keep petting it and feeling like I’m going to cry.
I’m moving back to Colorado, but I don’t think I’m going to move back to the Springs. Fuck being here, though.
I mean, one of the reasons I moved was to get over Andrew, but that’s a long and unfortunate story that I’m sick of telling. I moved to California so I could fall in love with myself. I mean, hey, I’m a mildly attractive female. I’ve got a wicked personality. I’m smart, talented, outgoing… What’s not to like? Sure, I’m emotional, neurotic, and a wee bit compulsive, but I like that about myself. Weird is the new normal. I’m losing weight like crazy. I dyed my hair. I go to the beach. I get my nails done. I buy myself presents and take myself on dates. I’m damn good at courting myself.
There’s been a lot of misconception about my move, and a lot of rightful assumptions. I am lonely. Probably the loneliest I’ve ever been in my entire life. But the people I left in Colorado could give a fuck about my disappearance. It’s easier for them to pretend I’m dead than ask me how I am. I also deleted my Facebook, which probably doesn’t help, but after the whole “my little brother and Andrew went to Skylab together and had an ecstasy party” incident, I came to the conclusion that I was not sane enough to manage a social networking site besides Tumblr. A wrongful idea about my move that people tend to come up with is that I’m miserable. I am sad. But who the fuck wouldn’t be sad? I moved across the country on a whim. I’ve got a lot going on emotionally, physically, and mentally… But I’m pushing through it. I’m strong. I start going to therapy next week. I sleep a lot. I bought really expensive shampoo that smells vaguely like gummy bears.
When people out here ask me where I’m from, I never know what to say. I say I just moved here, but then I feel like that’s a lie, so I backtrack and explain that was born in New York, lived in Carlsbad for a bit, did the majority of my growing up in San Diego, lived in Ladera Ranch for a year (which is where I live now), and then moved to Colorado which is where I went to middle school and high school. Then they ask me why my family wanted to move back to California. After I explain to them that despite getting into the college I wanted to go to and having a decently enviable life, I drop the bomb: I just moved to California by myself. They ask me if I’m alright, and then they tend to say, “That’s impressive. Good for you.” I’ll smile and nod, not really understanding what’s so fucking impressive. I mean, yeah, I’m a badass, but it’s not like moving makes me some sort of robot. Since I got here, I’ve spent a lot of nights in bed, sobbing like a baby, staring at my phone. I kept a snail as a pet for a few days. I’m not a machine.
I think what hurts the most about leaving Colorado is that I lost loved ones. I didn’t think that I would. I mean, I knew that a handful of people would give up on me the instant I stepped onto the plane (Andrew/Jason), but I didn’t think that everyone I knew would transition into pretending I died. I miss things like the cool weather, the people I was getting to know, Nosh, my cat, and the mountains, but there’s a lot of things I don’t miss (example: panic attacks on the side of the highway).
I guess that people betray you, turn their back on you, and forget about you because they never really gave a fuck about you in the first place. It sucks to know that so many years were spent on relationships that failed, hurt, and never amounted to much, but at least I made it to the ocean.