fine line between acceptance and regret, part one

I have very few regrets in my life. In fact, I can count them on one hand. Two fingers, actually.

One of them I can attempt to rationalize by reminding myself that I was nine, and really, didn't know better.

In fourth grade, I was the new girl in school, and in a class of thirty who had been together since preschool, it woke things up a bit, to say the least. I was exciting, a fresh novelty, and well-liked. I was instantly popular, instantly adored, and instantly I had a close group of friends. I got involved in the clubs that my friends were, the Girl Scouts, the church group, even cheerleading. A natural leader, I decided to start my own group.

It's silly, thinking back to this little club I created- "The Glow Girls." Why? That's beyond me at this point. Our "inside cheer" was even more inane- "You glow girl!" But I decided it was to be exclusive- not just anyone could join. There were maybe twelve girls in my class, and I let all but three in the "Glow Girls." The club didn't do anything. It served no purpose other than to draw the line in the sand of who was popular, and who wasn't. It was absolutely pointless, other than Fridays, we all wore purple and side ponytails on Tuesdays. But for whatever reason, without prodding or recruitment, all of the girls in the class wanted to be a part of it.

I rejected three people, and one of those girl's faces is burned into my brain. She was devastated, because we were doing a class project to her, and I was perfectly nice to her when we did that. Occasionally we'd play on the swings, kickball, basketball, all of the elementary school things. But because she wasn't the prettiest girl, and I didn't like the way she dressed, I told her, and others, they were not able to join. They told my teacher, who instructed me "no secret societies, everyone can join, blah, blah," and they were allowed in, and the "Glow Girls" soon disbanded.

I regretted my decision to be so hurtful. I was being selfish, egotistical, and power-hungry. I always felt guilty, I was well aware I was intentionally trying to be mean. And I succeeded.

That girl was tragically and brutally murdered our freshman year of high school. I had long left my elementary school and read in the newspaper about her brother murdering the girl, her mother, and her sister.

My only real memory of this girl was the look on her face when I told her she didn't qualify, she wasn't "good enough." I'm occasionally haunted by this, and I am flooded with sadness and regret. It goes far beyond the fact she died at 14.

The grief and guilt comes because this is the first and only time I ever actively tried to hurt another person. I knew what I was doing was wrong, and I did it anyway, because it made me feel more powerful. I learned a hard lesson at a young age, and never was I ever intentionally cruel to anyone ever again. I always worked quite hard to make sure everyone felt included, that I never made anyone I knew feel like a 3rd wheel or unwanted. Even if I didn't want someone around, I was just as warm and kind to them as I was to anyone else.

Now, I regularly drive by her old house on the way to work, and sometimes, in passing, I remember her and her spirit. Her sweetness. But unfortunately, my memory of her is also occupied by my cruelty. I will forever associate her with something wicked that I did. I try to accept that it was long ago, and I for sure have learned a lesson, but it proves to be difficult. Regret doesn't die easily. It's not easy to move to that place of acceptance. In fact, it's quite difficult.

(end part one)

ours was a stormy kind of love

"blue eyed boy meets a brown eyed girl (oh oooh oh, the sweetest thing)"

The night I broke his heart, I slept in a t-shirt that smelled like him- and maybe not as much him as his home. I went to sleep well, content, slightly tipsy, slightly regretful at causing emotional pain to another human being, but I was able to get to sleep that night.

However, before it was over, when I was still a member of that exclusive branding of "couple", the shirt smelled horrible to me. I hated it- it wasn't as though the smell was bad, I just didn't like it. Tropical fruit and berries are not my desired notes- I prefer clean scents, citruses, florals. I couldn't wait until my next load of laundry so I wouldn't need to smell it any longer. So a few weeks before, I tossed it in my "dirty" pile, which was building up in a corner of my bedroom and reached for something else.

As it turns out, that night, I was so glad that I procrastinate laundry for weeks on end. I wanted, craved, required, like oxygen, to sleep in that scent. Although before it wasn't something I wanted to smell, at this point, I didn't know the next time I would smell that scent, if ever again, so I threw it on, in a form of passive comfort. Even though I pushed it- no, shoved it is more accurate- away, it was my way of keeping him close to me when I no longer wanted him close to me. I was having my cake, and wearing it too.

But it was over. Despite my bedroom attire, I knew it. I had known for quite some time. It wasn't a matter of if, but of when. Although there were parts of him I loved, most of him I was ready and able to let go. More than anything, I needed someone I could call "friend." I never needed to say "boyfriend," and the opportunity was both alarming and unnecessary. It was never what I wanted or needed.

"you can sew it up, but you still see the tear (oh oooh oh, the sweetest thing)- baby's got blue skies up ahead, but in this i'm a raincloud, ours was a stormy kind of love"

I can't stop being myself. I can't change who I am to be a better partner for this person, especially if they don't leave me with tingles. Even if I care for him, I'm nothing if not authentic. I knew it was over before it began- I never felt exquisitely happy or the way you do in the beginning of a special something. That special feeling escaped me- there were no butterflies, no zip, no zap, no spark. No romantic connection. And in a way, that was comforting, his dependability, his ease, his sweetness.

But the comfort only took me so far. I demand butterflies, and I promised myself I wouldn't settle for anything less than someone who brought me to ridiculous feelings to the point of irrational and inconvenient. Sadly, to no fault of his own, that was never him. That magic only happens when the universe lines up in a special way. Stars need to be aligned, your hair is just right, and the world, it just becomes perfect. Everything is as it should be in that moment. I don't know if there's only one of those for everyone, but I know that those moments are rare, if ever. And everyone should want the best.

"my love, she throws me like a rubber ball, she won't catch me or break my fall.
baby's got blue skies up ahead, but in this, i'm a raincloud.
you know she likes a dry kind of love. i'm losing you, ain't love the sweetest thing?
i wanted to run, but she made me crawl"

to be continued...