an 8:56 p.m. rant

Let me put us on the same page. Fighting every day. Endless bickering. He gets mad because I “talk to guys,” I get mad because he does hypocritical things. Less than a week ago, I got mad because he wasn’t taking me seriously and he let me leave without a word. So he broke it off, ended it. Why? Because I “get mad over everything.” The next day, he freaked out because a friend of his heard me giving my best friend the scoop. He said things that scared me, rattled me. My best friend, proving her status, made me talk to him. I ended up taking him to his truck so that we could talk longer.

In Applebee’s parking lot, I sat in his lap in the passenger seat, so in love that I was drowning. We talked about what had happened that night and about why we kept resenting each other. We decided to be more me-third. We decided to keep our innocence, and to be apologetic (not hot-headed) when the other got mad. And on the way home that night, I promised myself to speak up. If I felt alone, ignored or taken for granted, I would either make it better or leave. That Friday night, I was making it better.

But the thing about making it better is that you can tell yourself you’re making it better and have nothing better come of it. You can have a heart to heart conversation in Applebee’s parking lot and “make it better” and then watch yourself drown over and over as the next few weeks slam your head against the wall.

If I weren’t so in love, Kyle and I would stay broken up. But I’m so helplessly captured by his sense of humor and his gentlemanly mannerisms that I’m afraid to sacrifice him for my own emotional health.

He’s toxic and I don’t care.

All I know right now is that I have a lot of hope. Unfortunately, hope is the most disappointed adjective in the English vocabulary.

We graduate in less than four whole months, and I’m not sure if being separated will pull us apart for good or mend what it seems will never be fixed. Only time will tell.

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