Ice

So I just drove forty-five minutes from Burbank to my house and it was a little past midnight. As I entered Simi Valley’s dark and quieter streets, I felt safe and, for once, felt as though home was nearby. I had, forty-five minutes earlier, just turned my back on a recent ex-boyfriend/friend/the Terminator. We hadn’t really been together for a month and a half now since our last “break up” discussion, but things between us were never solidified. At least, not what I understood of it. However, in recent weeks, we had been speaking and randomly seeing each other at convenient intervals. Needless to say, I had to make things clearer, for myself, in any case. I wasn’t going to endure another on and off relationship where the guy could never honestly love me back or truly want to be with me. Which is fine, in retrospect, because this is what happens to people. But I, personally, don’t think I have it in me to keep holding on to something so uncertain, confusing, and slippery.

I have attempted to think like a guy and enjoy the moments of uncertainty run by pure animalistic instinct. I lasted about three days of not letting my emotions get to me, and then it failed once I shared my stories with close and not-so-close friends. No matter the differences between each friends’ status, the answer was the same. “You deserve someone who WANTS to be with you.”

So, as reality clicked in on punctual time, it struck me that I was allowing myself to fall into another disastrous loop trap with an ex. This time I put my foot down, which was really hard to do, and drove away from Burbank to home, with no tears, but definitely a deep frown creasing my brow.

I knew, as I drove down the blackened highways of Southern California, that this time I was on my own. My last break up was comforted and surrounded by loyal and loving friends who did everything in their power to help me survive. Those friends still exist, but are far away and are no longer available. My parents are no longer available because, they too, are far away. This time, I’m in it alone. Just me and my cat. But really, just me.

Fortunately, in this particular case, I have become much more durable. It only frightens me a little that I have been able to cut off direct connection to deep feelings, that I have become colder inside, and that that coldness has given me the strength and confidence to move on.

What can a person do? When they have no close friends? When they have no loved ones nearby? When she must live with the fact that the man she was with didn’t want her anymore? What does a person do in order to survive the isolation? She becomes like ice, freezes over until someone decides to make her warm with the sun again.