Archive for March, 2005

(Gay) Boy Magnet

Tuesday, March 22nd, 2005

It is so emblematic of my life that I go out for a big night on the town, and the only phone number I come home with belongs to a gay boy with the same taste in comics as me.

That said, it would have been more of a crushing disappointment had I actually been looking to pick up (and had the gay boy in question not been genuinely lovely). And you know, had I been looking to find a special friend for the night, I could probably have made a better choice than to go somewhere where 90% of my fellow bar-and-dancefloor denizens would be gay men (and where most of the remaining 10% would be friendly but straight girls on party drugs).

Such is life.

Grief

Thursday, March 10th, 2005

I’ve just begun my fifth consecutive year at Uni. Clearly, I am insane. So far I’m having a major attack of the I’m-not-smart-enoughs, brought on mostly by the fact that I’m taking a critical theory subject which makes my brain want to flee in terror.

It’s not making the loss of Bec any easier, though. I’ve been understandably rather down for the last few months, and it doesn’t help being back in a place which I associate so strongly with her; not just because it’s where I met her and got to know her, but because she was so active in trying to make the Uni a better place for everyone to be at. I’m finding that parts of my brain switch off when I go in to class, just so I can make it through my time there without crying. I’m hoping it will get better; it’s not something I’d quit my course over, but it does make what is already a difficult time for me emotionally even worse.

My course. There’s another problem. Bec was supposed to be in my class this semester. I spent the first seminar, all two hours of it, trying desperately not to think about how she should have been there, patting me and trying to force-feed me bites of muffin and flashing me that gigantic, beaming grin everytime she caught my eye. And she wasn’t, of course, and I felt her absence so keenly. It brought on a big case of the maudlins.

I’ve been trying to blindly charge on regardless since December. Sometimes it works, but only for a while. Often it doesn’t, and I retreat further and further into myself in a pointless quest to make it stop hurting so much. It’s something I’ve got a tendency to do, and I promised myself I wouldn’t anymore after all that’s happened, but it’s a fairly deeply ingrained behaviour pattern by now. It’s a comforting response without the comfort.

I waver between not wanting to say anything on this, and wanting to say too much. I compose elaborate letters to Bec in my head that will never be sent or even written down, yet mostly shy away from talking or otherwise communicating my thoughts. I waver between trying to keep this page relatively lighthearted, and wanting to write honestly. I’m not completely without joy at the moment, but things are difficult.

What it comes down to is a fundamental inability to understand: I accept that Bec is dead, but at the same time, cannot comprehend it. I cried, I rang people at all hours to deliver rambling, shambolic soliloquies, I saw her body, I went to her funeral. But it still doesn’t make sense. I know she’s walked out that door and closed it behind her, but there is always a part of my mind that’s staring at the door, waiting for her to step back in at any moment.

Grasping reality is difficult when you don’t even want to touch the damn thing.