Thursday, March 16, 2006

Here it is...

Let's make memories ___________ Backroom Leave your memory Remember me Message me My memories

I stayed home today, like I really had a choice. I'm truly convinced I'm dying. I woke up this morning and I felt so nauseous and dizzy and shaky, and I still do, I can't even type well right now. I want to just crawl back into bed, but I did make a promise to you all. So I'm going to tell you, right now. It's really hard for me to recall all the details. It happened so long ago and unfortunately it's all a blur now. I was twelve then. Young, naive, and twelve. Even then I was depressed. Even then I was on the edge of giving up. It's funny now to think about what I considered sadness back then. It was around September when it happened. I was a member of this forum on the internet, just a low-key member that no one ever really connected to a personality. One day, a member of that forum Instant Messaged me. I knew him; he was always posting in the same topics I would, but we never really actually had a one-on-one talk. God, I must have talked to him for hours that day. He was such a nice guy and it was just so easy to have a conversation with him. He had probably the lamest one-liners I'd heard in my life, but he seemed to take pleasure in being a clown. He told me just about every detail of his life, even though we'd only just met. His real name was Jason, he lived in Arizona, he played rugby and he was 17 years old—five years older than me, though he didn't know it. Then he popped the question, and I still remember how he phrased it: "Listen, I like you, and I think we make a really great team. Will you go out with me?" I didn't answer him at first; I left him with a maybe. I was every bit as skeptical as you probably are now. Of course I didn't think there was anything romantic about an AIM window. But he was such a nice guy, and I wanted a chance to talk to him again. Besides, I was young and I never considered it would develop into anything—"love" at that age never does. I'd done this sort of thing online before, and nothing ever became of it. What would make this any different? But I think the thing that influenced my decision most of all was that, even though he told me every detail of his life, he never asked how old I was. He was mature, and I was old for my age. The truth was I wasn't 12. I was much older than the numbers gave me credit for. I was thrilled with the possibility of being able to talk to have a mature conversation with someone, to have someone I could talk to after a long day and get advice, someone not biased by their opinions of the real me or by the flaws of youth. So eventually I said yes, and he was delighted. Only after I agreed did he ask how old I was, and I told the first in a long series of lies: I was 17, born May 8, 1987—five days before him. I was happy. For the first time in my life I had something to look forward to. I loved the fact that after a hard day at school I could go home and talk to somebody who wasn't to busy worshipping Hilary Duff's latest music video on MTV. I loved that there was somebody who could give me advice even if I never was able to tell exactly what was wrong. For all the details of his life he told me, I told none. Of course he noted my insecurities and secrecy, but he didn't mind. He didn't care who I was in the real world. And I don't know when it happened, or why, but sure enough, it eventually did: I fell in love. Weeks went by and I didn't even care about my real life. All I wanted was to go home and talk to him. He made everything worthwhile. He wanted nothing more than to help me, to rescue me. I knew what I was feeling was nothing short of love. The beating of my heart when I saw his name appear on my buddy list, the gentle comfort he gave only to me, the way I found myself reading every post he made on that forum, smiling every time he mentioned me—how could it be anything else? He loved me as well. He told me about this ring, a diamond ring he had, one that he intended to give to a girl long ago before she left him. He kept that ring on his bedside table, waiting for the right girl to give it to. Waiting for the person he loved. He told me that person was me… and I was shocked. Things got serious quick. I knew I couldn't stay with him forever. He was so much older than me, and one day he'd want to actually meet me, actually rescue me. In October I turned 13 and I don't think I'd ever cried so much on any day as I did that day. It hurt so much to not be told "happy birthday" by the one you loved. I knew my days with him were numbered, but still I procrastinated. How could I not? He made me happier than anything else ever had. For the first time in my life, somebody loved me. I learned that love was the thing I'd been missing all my life. Love was the void I'd always felt but could never define. How could I just turn my back on the most beautiful thing in the world? But there was regret as well. So much regret. I hated myself for having lied to him. I never really liked myself, but never until I met him did I truly hate myself. He was the most beautiful person in the world, and I lied to him all at a chance to see a world I'll never be a part of. Time ticked by steadily. He tried so hard to break past my shell, to actually know the true me. He wanted to meet me, to talk to me, to actually see me after weeks of romance through text. I couldn't do that, though. I couldn't even give him a reason why. I knew I had to end it. One way or another he'd find out the truth or even begin to hate me for being so insecure. I tried constantly to end it, but I couldn't find the words to say. One day in November—I don't remember the date but I know it was a Thursday—I woke up and knew it would be the day. I went home and signed on and was relieved to find he wasn't online. The truth is, I was too much of a coward to tell him "face-to-face". So I did it in an e-mail. I didn't even tell him why or anything… how could I? How could I tell him the "woman" he loved was really just a child? So he never found out the truth. I got a reply mail from him. He said he didn't understand but he did respect my decision, and if I ever changed my mind he would be there. He was going to move in with a friend when he turned 18, and he said I would always be welcome in his home no matter what. I can remember the last time I talked to him. It was the day after I sent the mail. His words this time were angry, and they were the most painful words I ever had to read. I knew I deserved it, though. I knew I deserved to be punished, to be hated. My final words to him were "I'm sorry", and then I did the hardest thing I ever had to do: I pressed the "block user" button. That's my story. I'm sure it doesn't really seem as extravagant as you were expecting, but to me it was the most significant thing that had ever happened. I guess love is something you just can't describe in words, no more than you can describe happiness or sadness. How can one describe an emotion? I think I got close to saying everything I needed to, though. I still wonder what happened to him. I wonder what happened to that diamond ring, and whether it's sitting on some other girl's finger right now, or if it's still on his bedside table, solitary and unused. I wonder if he still thinks about me, or if he moved on as though it never even happened. Sometimes I wonder if he ever even loved me, but I know he did. Love was in the way he promised to be there for me no matter what. Love was in the way his doors, his arms were always open to me. Love was in the way that he confided in me, even if the confiding was unreciprocated. He loved me. And I remember having promised once that I would always love him—and I do. I do still love him. After all the lies I told him, I made sure at least that was a truth.

Comments (5)