Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

My Inner Charlotte

with 3 comments

I used to think that tears lived in a bottomless, self-replenishing well inside of us, but then I felt the wretchedness of a truly broken heart, and eventually cried myself out. Between not showering, not eating, and barely even sleeping, I saw the ugliest side of heartbreak:  a mirror. I punished myself further by taking up ‘sobbing’ as a hobby, since no one was willing to pay me for it; I considered it volunteer work. The guy didn’t want me, so neither did I – being around me actually felt like community service, even to myself. As for the crying, I was perfectly content to weep in my bed, in the kitchen, on the phone, in my car, out in the fields, upon a mountaintop, or while riding on a camel… you name it, I wept in it. I was like a portable Wailing Wall – it wasn’t pretty.

Then one day, I was done. I felt like I had cried through twenty lifetimes, four wars, two recessions, one week of Scientology class, and an entire episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. My eyes were Goodyear Blimp-like, my skin was yellow, and I smelled like an old sock; but I had felt the bottom of the well, and was done with the blubbering bits. The feeling of weary completion was intoxicating, confusing, and final. I couldn’t tell if I had moved on, or if my body had just pooped out – was I over it, or just waiting for the well to re-fill?

There’s a point that everyone hits during a Sob-O-Rama:  it’s the moment of truth. Are you going to let your howling dwindle away, reduce it to self-pitying sniffles, and walk away? Or are you going to throw gasoline on the fire and stoke that tantrum into something that could burn down an entire fucking city? I say, go gasoline or go home. Once you’re committed, the inhuman keening that comes natural to dogs will take over your life and consume you – the sound of it sets my teeth on edge, even when it’s me doing it. I think it sounds like a robot slitting its’ wrists.

The reason crying is on my mind tonight is because Califlower took me to see the Sex & the City movie this evening. Yeah, I cried buckets. I’ve been crying a lot lately–happy, sad, angry, confused, tired, pensive, crazy–so I wasn’t all that surprised; I think the well replenished itself years ago and I just haven’t had a chance to use it. But I was pretty surprised at what set my weep meter off in the theater. I cried because my life was simpler back in the days when I watched SATC; I cried because the people I used to watch it with aren’t around anymore. I also shed some tears over the movie itself: the girls aren’t really ‘girls’ anymore, they look their ages now, the movie was poorly written (and the execution was sketchy, although I was still entertained), and I will never own any of those shoes. I also had a hard time identifying my feelings over relating to Charlotte’s character, whom I mercilessly made fun of for the better part of five years. I bawled my big brown head off when she was talking about being a woman who had it all–happy family, lots of money, nice apartment, good health–and that she lived in fear of something bad happening to balance out the fact that people don’t get to have it all. It was a big thing for me, because we’ve been going through that lately (and by “we”, I mean I’ve been going through it, and the Esq has been dragged along for the ride), and it really fucking sucks.

I am not a woman who has it all, but I feel lucky (or some version of “hallelujah!”) every day. Sure, there’s crushing debt, a messy apartment, a partner with an opposite work schedule, and 60 pounds to lose; it’s called Life. But I wake up every day, grateful that the Esq is the first face I see; it’s hard to explain how freakishly connected we are, but even with all of Life’s unexpected poopy shit, he makes Life merry (like Santa!). Let’s be honest here: before I met Justin, I was headed towards dating Below-Average Joe, who probably would have been a knuckle-dragging troglodyte with control issues and back hair (historically speaking). It’s not that I don’t like solid, quirky, intelligent men–of course I do, look at the Esq. But they generally date girls who I like to think of as Aren’t Me, so I never really saw myself with someone like him. Luckily, he was a nerd, too, and not an Abercrombie-loving frat boy. I have next to nothing in my life right now–no money, no clothes (goddamn you, spa industry! I shake my fist at your goth-inspired, standard black uniforms!), and did I say no money? But it’s easy to love our penniless existence, because I have someone who gets me–ME, the extroverted introvert–and we get to build a better life with and for each other. It’s nice being part of a team; it’s fun walking through the world with him.

The reason for this schmoopy pile of bullhonky is this: “Be careful what you wish for” is the most appropriate title for this blog posting, because it is exactly how Charlotte and I are alike. Now that I have something worth losing, that’s all I can think about: losing him. Ever since we started dating, I”ve felt like I was on borrowed time, because I know the kind of relationship karma I deserve, and it’s not for the meek. I feel like my well is refilling itself with epic, crocodile tears, and preparing me for something awful. I know it’s just me being all Drama School, but it wasn’t until Charlotte said it onscreen that I completely realized my greatest fears. I have frequent nightmares that address these fears (death & dying, the fun stuff), but I never wake up relieved–just temporarily assuaged, heart racing at seeing the Esq alive and breathing, reaching for me with concern on his face. And I wonder, is it worth it to have one dream come true if it turns into a daily nightmare?

I say yes. I also think that all the crying I’ve been doing lately is largely hormonal, but it could be practical, too; maybe if I keep the well somewhat low in the water department, I won’t need it for grief of any kind, imagined or otherwise. Whatever it is, I find it aggravating to be eternally grateful for something that could potentially bring me the greatest amount of pain, but I guess that’s the trade-off. I know it’s putting the cart before the horse, but it’s true. And now I have to figure out how to move past it. Cupcakes would have done the trick two days ago, but with the cupcake debacle that happened today, I am currently not a fan of the wee sugary treats; I’m a bigger fan of heroin, to be honest. I hear it’s fast-acting and effective, like foot powder, or Advil. I wonder where I can get some.


Written by sn0tteh

June 13, 2008 at 8:42 AM

Posted in SATC

3 Responses

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  1. This post just gave me hope.

    If i finally find myself with what you describe, something that’s foreign to me, i know i’d feel the same as you.

    Simply because, like you, I know a good thing when i have it.


    June 13, 2008 at 3:29 PM

  2. Very touching, and a nice reminder that I at least still have my aloof kitty cat.


    June 13, 2008 at 3:44 PM

  3. The Esq is kind of like an aloof kitty cat–one that brings hope to others, apparently. 🙂

    I agree wholeheartedly with both of those statements.

    Snotty McSnotterson

    June 13, 2008 at 4:57 PM

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