Please Close the Door Behind You

No. I don't want to go to that stupid ballet performance. I've been there last year, and I could have just close my eyes for I only care about the Tchaikovsky music but not those stupid ballet dancers. They were cute and all, but I just couldn't stand them. In my eyes, all of their faces turned into Amanda's face, and Amanda, and Amanda, and Amanda. The girl that Noel chose over me. The girl with whom he set the trapped and got me into all of the mess.

O, my, am I obsessed with her instead of Noel now? I felt like I want to slap my own face.

Mark just called mentioned he has two tickets for that stupid performance. Can we go somewhere else, another play or another performances where no ballet dancers involve? Please?

Mark insisted. He just moved here and he wanted to see that. Can he get another date? Wait. I must slap my own face now. I am mad of something that doesn't exist. Of the past that has long gone.

I should have never let him or the thoughts entered my mind any longer. I should have closed the door behind me and never turned back. That's theory, and it won't work right away, isn't it? I just hope it worked. I just hoped I could just forget about everything and not being so hard on myself and just forget all of those ever happened. As if it was a nightmare that I forgot once I was awake.

I am not saying that I am not trying. I did try everything, from dating three other people after him, which was obviously a mistake since I didn't like the person. (That was so mean of me).Or cutting all of our pictures through a paper disposal machine in my office. Or burned all the letters he ever sent to me. Or having more and more of other friends and going out with other circle of friends. He can't be that good, isn't he? Or is he? He doesn't deserve the rest of my time in this world while he ruined my two precious years of youth!

I tried to go to a counselor for a teraphy cause David suggested me too (remember David my ex gay roomate). It was supposed to be a theopostic counseling where we have a one-on-one private conversation going back to my childhood to track back "what was wrong with me that leads me into this mess". I couldn't do it. I stopped because I think I am healthy. When I got back and confess to David, he said, "Wulan, a crazy person never realize she was crazy" while he pointed his finger right on my head, laughing. That time, I almost thought he was correct.

Now, I think I tried another one. Journaling. This book: Journal of Mortifying Moments, a novel, is short-of making me feel that I should do the same thing. The character's story is trying to forget her problematic relationships through putting them into words. It take a courage, but putting the pain into black and white form will help heal them and untangled the chaos woven. It didn't work for me. It made every single memory bolder and bolder. And all I did was crying and crying all the time. Pethatic!

To be continued here