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confessionsofatwentysomethin · 5 years

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Guess who’s back, back again.

It’s me, your favorite 20 something, one year later from what I can only surmise as a shit show from what I just read because I thought it would be a great idea to recap myself on what you all must think of me.

I cried a lot reading the posts I didn’t remember writing because I was out of my mind curling up at the bottom of whatever bottle I’d come across that day; I cried, even more, reading the posts I did remember because all of that pain and melancholy still exists like boulders in the luggage of my runaway heart.

There have been too many boys, friends, men, bottles, smiles, drugs, laughs, cries, midnight vomit sessions, breaths of fresh air, happy days, and days I didn’t think I’d recover from to count. Honestly, 2018 was the happiest and saddest year I have lived this far. I’m sure as we chat a little more, details will begin to reval themselves and stories will come up. These are just the important ones I don’t want to half ass.

I want to start this post with a small message to Janurary 2018 Angela:

I know you’re really butthurt about Nathaniel but WE (I) FUCKED HIS HOT COUSIN NICK AND HE WILL NEVER FIND OUT BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO HURT HIM LIKE THAT OR DEAL WITH THE REPERCUSSIONS BUT IF WE EVER DID TELL HIM IT WOULD SHATTER HIM AND HIS FRAGILE EGO. So forget that dude, Nick was a fucking 14/10 and you fucking nailed that REPEATEDLY and Nathaniel still sucks even to this day so get over it you big, beautiful fucking queen.

Anyway, back to raw, emotional, reflective Angela (our regularly scheduled programming):

New years 2018 has become an iconic day in my life and the lives of every person in my once close-knit group of high school friends. Ryan’s girlfriend Monika slept with Ryan’s best friends Matt and Mason, and all three boys were some of my closest friends for years.

Sure, it’s a huge joke amongst those of us who still strain relationships through the wreckage that night and the nights leading up to it caused, that everyone got to see everyone topless and I made out with Jordan and Ashley like it was some innate thing that I’d always wanted to do (because we literally all made eye contact and just started making out, zero prompting from anyone... I totally admit that it’s the only moment where I genuinely questioned my sexuality lmao). However, no number of boobs of old friends is ever going to make me forget the way two of my friends betrayed Ryan.

Nevermind the fact the Monika gave birth to a beautiful baby boy a few months ago. Don’t worry, we all did the math, it’s not Matt or Mason’s... but the lack of loyalty on that girl does not suggest he is genetically Ryan’s, which isn’t stopping him from being with her, which makes pretty much all of us dead to him. Can we blame him? I don’t, not even one bit. I can’t imagine the feeling Ryan must have carried for months, the betrayal. I’m not saying I understand why he stayed with her and shut every single one of us out, but I also don’t think it’s unreasonable that he did. I have, and always will wish him the best; I hope his son grows up loved, happy, and healthy, and that Monika can grow up for his sake.

With that being said, I really do think that day was the last nail in the coffin for this page. I was so overwhelmed with processing the entire thing and how exactly I fit into it, that I really do think I had to turn my mind off for a long time to survive it in a healthy way. I lost faith and respect for two boys that I had watched grow into men that I loved and respected like the older brothers I had prayed for years to have. I would never be able to look at them the same way, and it made me feel selfish for making it about me that I just didn’t, not even to myself.

I did not speak to anybody in that group for about 10 months before I responded to one of the many invitations to come together with what was left of the group, which was Lucas and his girlfriend Little Taylor, and that only lasted a little while until New Years 2019 when they got into an immature fight like they always do, and I couldn’t help myself; I called them out on it, and now I guess we aren’t speaking. New years 2019 was the first time I had seen Matt and Mason, it was as if nothing had changed, and like always, they made jokes about what upsets them: Ryan being gone, Ryan being a Dad, our group is in pieces and we don’t talk about it unless it’s a low blow to someone who isn’t even around to stand up for themselves.

I had an alright time. I had gone with my friend Tim from Bdubs Dekalb circa 2015 to his sisters wedding, and missed the stroke of midnight, which was okay because I was perfectly comfortable spending the first two minutes alone in my car. We got drunk, nostalgic, and silly, just how I wanted to remember them. I really do love every single one of them for surviving all of the teenage recklessness we stirred up together, but part of growing up was realizing that not all of your friends are friends who can be trusted with anything but drunken jokes and stupid nights. I love them for being drunk and stupid, and I am okay with just that.

2018... what a fucking year. I Don’t even think I remember all of it. From the looks of my posts, it might not be because I naturally have a horrible memory, Rumplemintz definitely had something to do with it.

2018 was that year I loved Cirissa and Chris, the couple who gave me hope and faith in a love that slowly matures but never grows old... until I realized that they had too many problems for me to start analyzing the way they were. Chronic alcoholism, a marriage that was a mix of co-dependence, lack of confidence to get anybody else, and fear of being alone sprinkled on top of a genuine love that was the root of my admiration. Every night we were together, we were the three best friends that anybody could have, our soundtrack was every Disney song we could get our hands on; we got off work, and my tongue always tasted like peppermint schnapps, and they would let me hit the button on the slot machine they chose that evening.

It was a fast, hard, deep, loving friendship for a year, and I wouldn’t trade that time for anything in the world. I have never for one second doubted that Cirissa truly did love me like a sister, and sometimes like a mom, and she did everything she could to make me feel that love as deeply as this heart could let me. There isn’t enough time in the world to go through how grateful I am for the emo sing alongs, drunken heart to hearts, and hugs that really did hold me together when I was falling apart.

Chris truly is one of the greatest men I have ever known, and I know he loved me like the really cool tomboy sister he never had. So many heavy metal nights and pep talks about how amazing I am, and how much better I deserve, and I am literally sobbing like an idiot because I miss the support and friendship that these two gave me so dearly.

The truth is, as much as I cherish them and all the crazy shit we did, it wasn’t healthy at all. I cannot blame anybody but myself for all of the liquor that I let take a shot at filling up my emptiness, but they were the cheerleaders that helped me believe that one day my demons would drown.

I know well enough now that there’s never going to be a moment where my vices beat my pain or complexities, and that mentality has tried to thrive in the little wasted snowglobe we created for the three best friends and died every single damn time.

There is no way in hell that Christian Boyajian will ever fit into words on a computer screen or a book or even an encyclopedia. Not because he is the greatest thing that ever happened to me; not because he is particularly special; not because I’ll never forget him or get over him or stop loving him.

Christian was simply someone who came into my life, and changed it forever, He changed me in ways that I had always written about but had no idea how heavy the words I was saying actually were.

June 2017 or somewhere in there, we had met on POF and bonded over Batman and how we both grew up so close to each other. I remember feeling like he was funny, smart, worldly, and clever. He’s in the Navy, and we lost touch because I’ve been a fuckboy for years, and he deployed before we got close enough for me to ever imagine signing up to be a navy girlfriend.

Fast forward to March 2018, we reconnected on POF. I was wasted at coach house with my friends, and it was like no time had passed.

He was living in San Diego, I was back in Illinois still, and we facetimed every night for a month before I decided to fly out to meet him. He told me he loved me before I even got on the plane. I knew it was fast, but I was so sick of being drunk and numb that I let myself feel whatever I wanted. I did know that I wanted to say I loved him to his face, like I always have with anyone.

I didn’t even write love poems about him, just fragments that still litter the notepad on my phone, because I knew it would be over faster than I could write it down and I wanted to soak up every single fucking second of being loved because I genuinely didn’t know if I would ever get the chance again.

Standing in front of him for the first 24 hours, I was on top of the world. I was loved. I was worshipped. I was unbreakable. But after that euphoria gave way to reality, the conversations about me moving to California didn’t seem as exciting to him. He started petty fights and didn’t look at me like his world was in my eyes anymore.

The worst part of finally getting to feel all of the beautiful things that I wrote about being in a love I knew nothing about before him, was having to feel all of the soul crushing things that I wrote about after I thought I had failed at love, except this time it was so real that it really did break me into a million tiny pieces.

I literally watched him lose interest infront of me without the barrier of a screen to make it feel a little less human. He stopped holding my hand in the car, made heart-breaking attempts to pretend he still wanted to keep all of his promises, and tried to break up with me at a Portillos. I, of course, didn’t let that happen because nobody gets dumped at Portillos. I will be fucking damned if you try to ruin the world’s best goddamn beef sandwich for me, fucking asshole.

I loved him so fucking much that when he called me after a week of the silent treatment, all I could say was “you promised me. You fucking promised me, Christian. You won, you got me, that actually hurts” and he was so cold and disassociated that I knew that he had. I had finally felt something and it went from being so beautiful and reckless and amazing to an earth shattering sound I can never reproduce clawing its way out of my throat and dragging me to my fucking knees in my garage. I had poured so much of myself into him that I didn’t even have the strength to get off the concrete for 15 minutes. I just laid there and cried when we hung up because I had been so stoic during the call. I remember he had said “Goodnight, Angela.” and I replied coldly with “Goodbye, Christian”.because I wanted to rob him of the opportunity to feel like he would be missed, like all of this meant anything, just like he had robbed me.

Christian was everything I projected onto all of those boys before about how I craved to be loved, and everything I had projected on those goodbyes before him that I fabricated to write gut-wrenching poetry.

The only hard part of that was actually feeling it, and I finally understand that I cannot ever write things because they sound good because someday I will have to feel them and I have to be incredibly careful what I wish for.

I found out in October 2019 that he had gotten into a relationship 2 weeks after we broke up, and all the pain I had tried to pickle in vodka took a new breath of life, and it took me months to build peace with it again.

I didn’t even speak to a boy romantically for six months after that, which actually occurred a week ago... so there’s that for a timeline. We’ll get to present day soon, I swear.

Taylor, my beloved person, my forever friend, is gone. Not dead, just fucking gone. Christian and I had broken up in the beginning of July, she had gone through all that with me, gotten into a relationship with a guy named Ben who laughed like a goose and constantly saddled her with his alcohol issues (totally not judging because I have my own issues with alcohol but she didn’t and I wanted to protect her the best I could because I loved her so so much) (that ‘d’ was really hard to put after love, I guess it’s still raw). September came around, time for my birthday. I wasn’t particularly excited this year because if the depression and alcoholism and crippling loneliness, but she was determined to revive my normal birthday over-enthusiasm. So, she did, and when it came time... she couldn’t seem to follow through.

She’s a beautiful writer, but I think every writer is guilty at some point in their life of having more beautiful words than beautiful actions, and this was hers.

An extravagant birthday dripping in mimosas and mani pedis before a night of dressing to the nines and going out on the town somehow got stripped down to Walmart face masks and painting each other’s nails at home for the weekend I had requested off work an entire month in advance... and I had to tell her that I could do that on a normal day, but not my birthday weekend.

She got her wisdom teeth out just days before, and tried to tell me it wasn’t an appointment scheduled months in advance. I told her I was driving to Nashville for my birthday, and we could do a DIY spa day upon my return, but it really hurt me that she couldn’t be bothered to follow through with her promises, even if they weren’t as big in real life as they were in my inbox. She knew it was a dark time for me, and she put forth so little effort to build me back up the way I have always worked so hard to give her a big beautiful life full of laughter and stupid jokes and amazing memories.

We have spoken once since I sent that text. It was an accidental 2am FaceTime butt dial where she immediately hung up and said “sorry I left my phone open in my pocket”. I didn’t respond, and I lost my best friend because I told her that she hurt me, and the best way to deal with that is not to deal with it at all, I suppose.

Treasure and I reunited shortly after this, but not too shortly because I wanted to prove to myself that I didn’t need a “person” or a best friend or anyone because it had been such a horrible year for depending on others that I truly never wanted to do it ever again.

I got all of the best parts of Treasure back, the jokes, the stories, the laughing in unison, making everyone else in the room uncomfortable because the only ones that mattered to either of us was US. We were stupid but mentally sparred regularly, and kept eachother sharp on political, social, and emotional topics, and really worked to support and better eachother. In my time away from her, I grew my own voice, opinion, and sense of direction. This new characteristics allowed our friendship to flourish, and still is. She is still with DeAndre, and loves his son very much. I met him once, he”s smart and amazing and loves me. Her life is so filled with love, and I could see that she had found her corner of the universe. I was so happy to have her back in this new and healthy way, that it almost made it impossible to leave her.

Oh, here’s the kicker: I picked up my life and moved again, but this time? I moved to Seattle.

This is day 22 that I am wrapping up,

and that’s exactly why I’m back, bitches.

#Triggerwarning bitchimback confessionsofatwentysomething Seattle Travel newstart Newlife Whodis Recap dontcallitacomeback

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