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Being sad on the Internet is nothing new. In 2016, it’s trendy to be a sad boy. You can thank Drake for making it popular for men in their 20s to show emotion. I know that it is neither original or particularly tragic that I have girl problems. I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me. Just know that putting my thoughts down in a Word document is therapeutic.
I was drinking a few weekends ago (shocker, I know) with some friends when one of them said “John you LOVE being sad.” At the time, I couldn’t really disagree with her. For a few days after that, I thought about it and what I’ve come to realize is that I love being melancholy. I think Garden State is an excellent movie. I love Drake. Sad and melancholy are two very different things, though. Morose may even be a better description for my preferred mood. I think rainy days are better than sunny ones. I would rather go to a sus dive bar than the popping club downtown full of Cool Teens.
Are there really fifty ways to leave a lover, Paul Simon? Because from my seat in the rafters there are precisely zero.
It’s Sunday night and I’m in a cab on my way to O’Hare International Airport. “America” by Simon and Garfunkel plays in my headphones as I sit with my thoughts. Melancholy. Sexual cravings. A sneaking suspicion that this is probably the last time I’ll see her for a long time. What the hell am I doing here? Long distance doesn’t work. Never has, never will. She probably has someone who lives in her city that can give her what I can. But I don’t care. I’m stuck on this one girl and no amount of time or distance apart is going to convince me otherwise.
During a breakup, you want to be sad. It’s easier to be sad than it is to be happy following the end of a relationship. This wasn’t a breakup, though. It was a brief rendezvous with a set beginning and end. I never understood the lyrics to “Purple Rain” until I lived them. “I never wanted to be your weekend lover.” I didn’t ask for this. It just happened and now I’m stuck in a sort of purgatory.
In 500 Days Of Summer, Joseph Gordon Levitt’s character said, “I love how she makes me feel…like anything is possible”. And I can get down with that. When I’m with this girl, I’m happy. Like truly happy. The cynical attitude I’m known for? I don’t even know what cynical means when I’m sitting on a couch with her watching mindless television. I don’t scroll Twitter. I don’t text. Nothing matters.
The elephant in the room? She’d rather sit in silence with The Hills on low volume than talk about what this is. I think she wants to be with me but it’s just not feasible right now. She doesn’t like talking things out. She internalizes shit. Me? I’m the exact opposite. Maybe that’s why I love her so much. If I have a problem I’d rather just talk about it then let it fester like an open wound.
She’ll say things like, “Why can’t we just let the elephant in the room be and have fun. There is no point in talking about this.”
It’s a fair point, but it’s one that I have to disagree with when I’m talking about this particular situation. With other girls, I’d absolutely let it be. But I’m not in love with other girls. I don’t get butterflies in my stomach with other girls and my heart rate doesn’t increase because I’m a little nervous and a little excited at the same damn time. I’m just going through the motions with other girls.
I am the quintessential “you just have to get to know him” guy. I’m a dick, for sure, but to certain people it’s charming. Being in love stinks. I hate it because I’ve got no say in the matter. I can pretend like I’m not in love with her. But the heart wants what the heart wants. And I can’t help it if she’s the first person I think about when I wake up and the last when I go to sleep. My mind tells me it’s a fools errand. A suicide mission. Setting myself up for failure. My mind says that I should ignore these feelings. My heart tells me that I need to let her know how I feel.
I’m in love with a girl who lives a thousand miles away and can’t admit that she loves me back. You think I want to feel like this? You think being in love with someone who lives half a country away is fun? You think I like masturbating? (I do, but that’s not the point. I like having sex with her more.) What the fuck am I supposed to do? I can have meaningless sex with strangers. That’s fun. But with her, it’s just different. It’s better. It’s intimate. Can I make it work? Can the stars align for me just one time? Or will I remain in this relative unknown?
I’m sad on the Internet today. Just let me have this one. I’ll get it over it — I think. .