It’s Saturday. I’ve been waiting around all day to hang out with you. I’ve cleaned my entire room. My hair can’t get any straighter, as my straightener has been on all day. I revisit the mirror every ten minutes, finding another stubborn piece to press between the hot plates, and readjusting my eyeliner one last time so that it’s perfect. The corner of my room by my closet has a growing pile of clothes lying in front of the closet, in search of the perfect outfit accentuating the features I know you love best about me. I spray perfume, but not too much. My legs are freshly shaven because I know that you can’t keep your hands off of them. When you finally text, saying you’re on your way, I dance around my room and pretend I didn’t see it. I turn the music up and tinker with things around my room, acting busy and surprised when you open the door. My eyes light up and I can’t wait to get out of here and see what kind of crazy adventure we get into next. It’s like you’re my drug, my high, and I can’t get enough of you.

It’s Saturday. You have already gone off to work at job number one. I’m exhausted from adjusting schedules. There are no classes on the weekends. It’s time to wake up and do the mountain of laundry arising in front of the washer. The house is filled with beer cans, full, half drank out of, and empty ones, scattered in every nook and cranny one would set their beer can into. There are pans piling up from meal after meal we just barely make time for after work, but not having the energy or the time to wash and take care of the aftermath. Funny, how that works. We are so anxious for the food, but not willing to deal with the mess that follows. Anyway, I send you a quick text telling you to have a good day and hope to see you sometime after my second job that night. We struggle to make ends meet, but it’s all worth it when I come home to you in bed, looking cute as ever. Your legs are wound around pillows in place of me and your arms are sprawled out as if they were searching for something that wasn’t there. When I lie down next to you, you subconsciously wrap your arms around me and pull me in tight as I too, drift off to sleep.

It’s Saturday. I’ve just gotten off my second job for the day. I give you a call to see what the nightly plans are. Surprise, surprise, you don’t answer. Doubt starts to rise in my mind. We’ve been arguing quite a bit lately and just can’t seem to be on the same page. My mind is cloudy and hazy with different emotions. I just try to focus on the music blaring throughout my car, and the road in front of me as I speed through the country roads, not even caring how fast I’m going. First, sadness fills throughout me as I feel like I’m not good enough for you anymore and I can’t be what you want me to be. Then, bile rises within me as I think of all of the times you have wronged me and I kept taking you back over and over again. Regret and guilt then make their way through my bloodstream, looking back at all of the things I did or said out of revenge because I didn’t want to get hurt. The final thing that runs through my head is determination. If you want something bad enough, you don’t give up. I wasn’t going to throw away something I had worked so hard and climbed so many obstacles for. I had invested so much time and effort into this thing, I wasn’t going to just give up. I was going to stay no matter what, I was going to prove the world wrong.

It’s Saturday. My body is numb. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. My body is shaking and my mind won’t stop. I’m sitting next to you in the hospital bed, even though I wasn’t sure if you even wanted me there. I couldn’t even bear to look at you, because every time I did, I welled up with tears. I didn’t even specifically know what I was crying about anymore. I have never cried so much in my life. Was it for the lack of control? the failing engagement? Was it the lying? the cheating? the shooting? the fact that the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with was lying there helplessly in the hospital bed with a possibility of never being able to walk again, and after everything, I STILL wanted to be with him? Time went by in a slur. The days seemed to blend together. We were still arguing. I saw all of the red flags, but the determination was still there. We were going to make it out on top, together. We were going to work through this, and I was going to be there for you, your solid rock to lean on. However, you kept chiseling away at me, absentmindedly. My heartstrings, my emotions, my mentality, were all stretched out to the max, so limber, and so near their breaking and collapsing point. Was I even wanted? You never wanted to talk about your feelings. I tried over and over again to make sense of the situation, but that was out of my hands.

It’s Saturday. I’m back with my parents. I’m doing all of the motions, but feel as if life is at a standstill. I had just endured the worst, loneliest holiday I could ever have imagined. Christmas was so depressing. Nobody knew what to say to me, nobody knew what to do. So, they just let me be confused in my thoughts, the constant cloud hovering over me. I didn’t know how to move on. I didn’t know how to do anything. I hadn’t been on my own in four years. You had weaved yourself into my life, and when I had to pull the strings, it left so many holes, that I needed to learn how to fill in again. I don’t even remember half of the things I did or say because thinking about it just brings a reoccurring lump to my chest, and I choose to push it out of my memory.

It’s Saturday. You’re with her. I’m seeing him. We still see each other. I wake up on a bed with no sheets. I roll over and see this hungover man lying next to me, in an attempt to try to seduce me the previous night, he had his arms around me. Another hundred dollar night drunk at the bar. I’d probably swipe that card again to grab me and that low life some food. I wanted to prove that I was something. I wanted to prove that I was independent and that I could still have fun. Instead, I found myself in a blur with someone I thought I had begun to care about. I was skipping class, getting drunk on weeknights, flying out the front door before anyone could manage a word asking where I was going or when I was going to be back. The truth is, I had no idea. I didn’t know. I’m just trying to get over you. Yet, I find myself in a mess of things I know I’m much better than. I know I’m better than this, but I just can’t seem to get out of this slump. You know I’m vulnerable. You text me asking what I’m doing, begging for me. You tell me that we might cross paths again in the future. We’re friends, but we both know we’re more than that. It’s like we get high on sneaking around and doing dirty things. It’s exciting, but exhausting.  It’s like I’m a rubber band so stretched out, I don’t know if I’ll ever retract. How much more can it stretch before I break?

It’s Saturday. You invited me to your birthday party. I raced out of work and hurried to change into something sexy. I know your weaknesses, and I also know I looked great. I had lost so much weight. I hadn’t eaten anything all day but I was prepared to drink. All of our old friends were there. It brought back so many memories. People were yelling out my name, happy to see me, like old times. It made me sad, but I masked it very well. I took another swig of my drink. I see your family and talk to a few of them. It makes me sad and I have to step away. I chug the rest of my drink. I head to my car for another. I see you. You see me. We laugh and joke like old times. This is good. We’re friends. We hop into your truck like old times, tearing up the field. I get the same giddy excitement I used to, four years ago as I sit in the truck, looking over at you with a big grin on your face as we tear it up. You love this. I love this. Hours have gone by now as I’ve made my rounds around the fire having long talks with old friends, drinking it up. I see her. The new one. Your latest subject. We all know that you can’t be alone. I take a bold step and start talking to her. She’s great. She’s pretty. I make my way to you and boldly sneak out a snarky remark. We start fighting. You say rude things, as always. You didn’t care. I made my way to my car. No one seemed to even notice I had gone. My head is spinning. I can’t drive home. After I get off the phone with my dad to come and get me, I’m leaning out the car door puking. My body is trying so hard to get everything out of me, but there’s not much but liquid that comes out. I haven’t eaten anything all day. My body hated me, and I could feel it. I hated me. I puked in your driveway and I didn’t care. You didn’t care. Except I did care. Still.

It’s Saturday. My first Saturday in my new dorm room, far away from the small town that I so desperately needed to get out of. I had made another big decision in my life. I still was thinking about you occasionally, wondering if you would miss me. You still somehow seem to appear out of thin air, randomly asking how I’m doing and telling me about your life. I have yet to realize that I am not ready to settle down. I had yet to realize that there were a few more temporaries I had to get through to get to the next point of emotional stability. I had yet to overcome the tear-filled facetimes with my sister, the meltdown calls to home, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life.

It’s about to be Saturday. I have just finished midterms. A wave of relief has rolled over me, but not entirely, as I’m still stressed about the normal college things that never go away. You have just messaged me, telling me about your truck. I give a chuckle. I’m not impressed. Looking back, it’s hard to believe it was all real. I push it out a lot of times, but at the same time, it seems to be a dark looming shadow in the back of my mind, never fully leaving. I find myself bringing us up a lot when relating to others or talking of the past. But it’s just that, the past. The strings have mostly been cut. Although, I will never fully be detached. You were my first love. I will never stop loving you. But it’s just that, a first love. I can deal with that, I have accepted that. I have overcome the emotional instability. I’m not exactly sure why everything happened the way it did, but someday I will find out. I’m a different person than I was then, but that’s okay. I am now given the chance to do so many things for myself I never dreamt I could do before. I have established new friendships and a new life for myself that I don’t want to let go of. Just because love didn’t work for us, or even for some of the most important people in my life, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’ve learned that just because something got taken away from me, and just because it didn’t work out, doesn’t mean that I can’t ever love again. Does that mean I want to? Not right now. My heart is still fragile. I’m over trying to find somebody to occupy my time. The best things in life happen unplanned. It’s time to live my life the way I want in best interest for my future. The rest will fall into place. I hope that one day I can love like that again without living in fear of being hurt like that again.

Originally written October 16, 2015