I'm Going to Explode

So I've been simmering for about 4 months on a particular issue and I've spoken about it candidly to a choice few but I am so fed up tonight I just have to write about it. I can't take it any more and I don't know how I'm supposed to survive the next few weeks.

Gossip travels so fast in a single's ward I wanted to cap it as much as possible but I'm emotional tonight and irrational and I realized that this is all a temporary situation but it is also VERY HARD for me and I need to vent and this is my blog so I get to talk. And the 5 people actually read it probably already know what I am talking about.

Sometime in the middle of last year I started casually seeing a boy. Let's Call him Lurpy. I wrote about a few realizations I had around Nov when things completely melted down here (read that first if any of this is going to make sense).

My heart still isn't bleeding. I'm just angry. Things have gone from bad to worse to worser to nearly a nightmare.

What happened when I "casually disclosed my feelings" was a night from a bad After School Special that somehow managed to harrow up every insecurity possible.

Halloween.

We're on our way to an outing with some friends. The night before (in front of another group, mind you) Lurpy owns the fact that he embarrassingly read a very stupid series of girly books to impress a girl, namely me. I'm thinking we might get out of second gear and possibly into third and this makes me happy all day. The night comes and he shows up with a very pretty, very unknowing, very non-member girl from school dressed in heals and practically in his pocket. I'm shocked. He gives no explanation, just comfortably looking couply with this lovely girl.

I'm weirded out and hurt the whole night. It was truly a terrifying Halloween. I'm hurting so much it totally numbed me in the moment and I can't fully wrap my mind around it for a few days.

I call him on it, ask whats up, hes all indefintion and excuses and gives me nothing concrete. Nothing at all. In fact he claims to be "confused". This boy is *never* confused. I finally say I'm unhappy because I like him and thought he had the taste and good sense to like me back and he shows up with his friend??! If anyone has a reason to be confused it's me. Once again. He has nothing to say.

Lurpy is supposed to go away. His schooling is supposed to take him far away and for a long time so I'm thinking "no biggie. It's all good."

He goes away for a few months, proceeds to do more passive aggressive damage from afar and offending my friends as well as me so that is the start of my hurt turning into seething anger.

We see each other after the holidays. He has nothing to say. So I think "OK - this guy is a waste of oxygen and testosterone and I need to just let it go." Which I still do - I know that.

But he started popping up at church with his friend from Halloween. She bravely came with out him a lot too. Turns out she was investigating and decided to get baptized. I'm sure she's the sweetest girl in the world but I haven't been able to bring myself to talk to her because every time I see her all I feel is the horror of that night and the bile of betrayal I felt, and still feel. Every time. Every Sunday. It's so horrible and I just get hurt and angry all over again. By the end of the week I've got it stuffed back in a box on the shelf but the second I see his profile my stomach knots up and all I want to do is hit something. Specifically him.

Everything was left so unsaid and so undone. He has this Fagin way of getting a girl to think ahead. To make promises without making them, to give the illusion of stability. Now this? Out of no where and for no reason? And then he left for months with nothing but cowardly silence in the meantime. I swore to myself that I would never be that girl and I would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that he got to me. And if he reads this blog and knows what the heck I'm talking about well then whatever.

I don't hate him because I never loved him. I just loathe him and am so angry that he figured out everything that could possibly hurt and unseat me and every insecurity I thought no one could see and he created a scenario that chimes and heralds every single one. It's like a custom emotional medieval torture gauntlet.

I thought time would make it better but its just making it worse.

I just got back from Institute and he was smugly there and all I wanted to do was beat him from the room.

I hate it. I hate this feeling and I loathe his diabolical talent for drawing out the worst in people and making it a reality. He is a dating Dementor. But I'm not afraid of him. All I want to do is smack him so hard he spits out a tooth and watch him drive away forever.

Is that too much to ask?

Why??!

Why do I find my self agreeing when people want to go bowling? It always seems like a good idea at the time and a lovely venture into suburban life. I think I can count on one hand the amount of times I've ever been bowling and whenever people bring it up I think "well that doesn't sound so bad - maybe that will work...." But there is always something tugging in the back of my head - you know... Like when people try to schedule something and something else is tugging at you saying "you've got something going on that day, Don't agree. Don't commit" but you can't remember exactly what it is so you say "let me check my planner and see".

Well - the thing that I always forget about bowling is: I am TERRIBLE at it, its an unmitigated din inside one of those places, and I always, always, ALWAYS severely break a nail in a very painful way at one or multiple points in the evening.

(Not to mention the questionable bacterial content of rented bowling shoes and a very unpredictable cross section of patronage generally consisting of somewhat inebriated people or screaming teenagers. This is a factor anywhere in public so I don't really begrudge that too much but it still seems noteworthy.)

Last night was much like any other. We started it with Chinese food and Gatorade and we ended up on lane 33 at Brunswick. I had my shoes and we were doing the name-inputting thing and I was pulling on my numbered leather clad beauties and *WHAM*! My middle finger's nail popped off (below the fingertip mind you) and was flying through the air. As I watched it land and proceeded to suck the bloody mess my fingertip had just become a number of things happened. Firstly, I had to squash the urge to be a sissy girl and scream "I broke my nail!!" because

a) most people have fake nails and numbed receptors from acrylic overdose so they don't understand the millions of nerve endings that are currently making their presence known and

b) that most people don't get that your entire hand has officially become aesthetically offensive and the tragedy that is. And when you have hands that are less attractive like mine a good set is kind of important. Its like insta-Quasimodo status in the hand department. Bad. Very bad.

The second thing I realized, and slightly more important, is why I don't care for bowling. Because I'm bad at it, I have to wear silly shoes and I always leave damaged. Remind me again how this is fun? Why there are organized leagues? How people get sponsorships and write screenplays about the stuff? Because I just. don't. get it. Maybe because the shirts are sort of cute...

Ironically I got the highest score of my life on the first round - 135- and I got three strikes in a row. Strange - its true. Considering I just stood at the line and threw the ball most of the time. My thumb nail got ripped off half way through the second game but me and my 13lb yellow marbled wing man managed a 125. The cost was high and I remain to be won over but being with my friends is worth it and always has been. So if they love it, so do I. Nails grow back. I will get over it. When my fingers stop pulsating from the shock.