Preface

Estoy sentada en silencio...
Pensándote a gritos.
I'm sitting in silence...
Loudly thinking of you.

Well. It finally happened. And it was... very true to the way MY story tends to go, it was very AnoMALIE-esque.

AnoMALIE fact #76893: In high school, I asked three guys to prom. THREE. I was bucked off the horse twice, dusted myself off... and finally gave up the third time my face hit the floor. Real talk: I asked three different guys to prom, and each time I was turned down. I spent prom by first failing my driving test, and then taking the longest bubble bath of my life... where I'm sure the ration of my tears to tap water was somewhere along the lines of 2:1.
For a shy girl... I sure do put myself out there when it comes to letting guys know how I feel. Not once have I succeeded there, as in, not once have I heard a positive... but I still do it. I don't know why. My brain will continuously scream at me to shut the fuck up... but my stupid, STUPID heart plows past the warnings... like the real asshole it is.

While in the last few days I've probably felt every fucking feeling that exists in my heart... there is ONE positive: I am suddenly SO. DAMN. CREATIVE.
I've been drawing and writing like a maniac.
The drawing is fine because it stays in my sketchpads, but the writing is a mess-- it's just a bunch of thoughts that I need to reorganize... and proof-read. But it's clear that my brain has kicked up the productivity/creativity in the last two days.
It's the best way I know how to deal.
I know I gained a great affinity for weight lifting because of this intense desire to cope with heartbreak/disillusionment. It helps transform whatever emotional pain I may be feeling into actual physical pain. There's also punishment for anytime my mind is anywhere other than in the lift I'm performing. It cracks the whip.
But I'm not going to lie, I am enjoying the spurt of creativity... even if my esophagus feels as if I've swallowed a gallon of battery acid... my cheeks feel hot as if I've been attacked by a gang of backhanding sumo wrestlers... and my heart feels as if someone ripped a strip of the protective duct tape I've managed to wrap around my heart as means to keep anything from leaving or entering.
Everything hurts... but I suddenly have this urgency to write it all down, before it too gets lost... just like that fleeting sense of happiness I sometimes have the privilege of creeping up on.

I think I'll do this in installments... it's uh... rather lengthy, and let's be honest, you don't have the patience to read it, nor I the attention span to write it.
It IS part of a story... it has always made an appearance in my stories... but those who know me best know this deserves it's own... book... a book I can finally complete due to an ending finally being available, I guess you could say.
No, I won't write the "short story" version of it here... just the skeleton of it. I wouldn't subject y'all to that pain.
And please, don't feel sorry for me... it's just... the way the cookie crumbles for me... always. I just don't understand why I made myself believe that this time around it would change.
Things never change for AnoMALIE.
Refusing to accept that constant was my biggest mistake... so I brought this upon myself.

You can't make someone love you, just like you can't choose who you love.
Back when I was in middle school, I remember watching a Jennifer Aniston film, where she's in love with her gay best friend... and I remember feeling extremely gutted for her after she utters this line:
“I want you to be with me, I want you to marry me, I want you to love me the way that I love you. I don’t really want to see who you are at all.”
My soul felt crushed for the character... especially after seeing, and hearing, the way she pleads the part I underlined.

I want you to be with me...
Fucking words have haunted me since.