Ridiculous Things

I have had my heart broken.

I have rested my head on a cologne spritzed pillow as a boy flies across the sea. I have done this twice. 

I have fallen asleep with my nose pressed against the familiar scent of forgotten t-shirts. I have woken up with the scent gone. I have torn apart my room, clawing at piles of laundry for something else that housed the faint bouquet of Tide and Old Spice. I have driven to the store and bought Tide and Old Spice. I have cried when unable to replicate the lost aroma, not realizing that what was missing was the unattainable flavor of his skin. I continued to sleep with it anyway, thinking maybe it'd come back. 

I have spent an entire week eating nothing but Doritos. I have watched "The Notebook" back to back. I have thrown said bag of Doritos at the television while screaming. I have cried over spilt Doritos. I have apologized to said bag of Doritos and said television. I have swore off of men and on to Doritos. Doritos will never let me down. I have stuck by this to this day. 

I have been blatantly rude to a couple that I have deemed is being too lovey-dovey. I have scowled at their interlocked hands. I have scowled at their happy faces. I have warned them that they better live it up before one of them decides to stab the other in the heart over and over again with a dull, rusty knife. No, I didn't say that to their faces. Just in my head. I mumbled "$9.75" and "credit or debit" and "sign this please" to them. I refrained from "have a nice day". I have gritted my teeth at their turned back and thought, "Why should they have a nice day while I sit here miserable? Why should they get to be happy and kissy-face and disgusting and gross and-- oh my god, I'm going to be alone forever. There is no hope for me anymore. Where are my Doritos?" 

I have rambled. 

I have written about you. A lot. I wrote about you once. I couldn't write about you for the longest time but I finally did. I'm scared to write about you. I still write about you. 

I write about boys a lot.

I have listened to songs on repeat. I have listened to the same songs on repeat for six straight hours. I have blared Taylor Swift over my car's speakers while screaming at my dog in the passenger seat, "SHE TOTALLY GETS IT! THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! OH GOD NO, I RELATE TO TAYLOR SWIFT!"  I have grown to like Taylor Swift. Heartbreak does horrible things to the female brain. I have tried to teach myself "Teardrops on my Guitar". It ended with teardrops on my guitar. I have become a horrible person.

I have eaten an entire box of chocolate. I don't like chocolate. It just felt right. 

I have permanently stained the pages of too many books with my tears. I have stained the keyboard of my computer. I have stained my pillowcase, my bedspread, my favorite shirt. I have been asked if I have pinkeye in both my eyes. I have been asked if I have allergies. I have been asked "what the hell is wrong with you?" I've been told I look tired. Thanks, mom. 

I have said "I love you" when I haven't meant it. I have said "I hate you" when I haven't meant it. I have said "oh yeah, no, I'm totally over him". Still not sure if I ever once mean't it. I have given relationship advice to people I love. I have gone back to the wrong guy. I have gone back , and againandagainandagainandagainandagain.

I have woken up and forgotten what his favorite color was and which side his hair swept. I forgot what his middle name was and I forgot what "our" song was. I have driven past his house and not wondered if he was there. I have heard a Taylor Swift song and thought "turn this song off before my brain explodes" instead of immediately bursting into the sobs of a crazy lady. I have nuzzled my head into other necks and said "I love you" to others and felt comfortable snuggled on different couches.

I have done ridiculous things. But the single-handidly most ridiculous thing I ever did was get over them. I have walked outside and breathed in the air and felt the sun on my skin. I have done this alone. And I have been okay.