I did start this process and made it clear that I was totally shocking at following anything of this nature.
But, I am back and this is the topic for day 9: Pinings.
I knew what it meant, but it made sense to google the meaning just so that I wasn’t missing something.
v. pined, pin·ing, pinesv.intr.1. To feel a lingering, often nostalgic desire.2. To wither or waste away from longing or grief: pined away and died.v.tr. ArchaicTo grieve or mourn for.
n.ArchaicIntense longing or grief.
I have pined for many things in my life. In most cases I am one of those people who get sad, but eventually pull my pants up, wipe the Marie biscuit crumbs off my front, and just get on with it.
I wanted to remain in the moment, not over think the subject matter, and write about the first thing that popped in to my head.
I gave it some thought about things that I have pined for, and my brain kept running back to an ex-boyfriend of over 20+ years ago.
Let’s call him Jim. That isn’t his name, but uses far less characters than his real name, so works really well when you are trying to type up a quick post.
Jim entered my life at a time when I was not sure who I was, where I was going, and what I needed to get there. I was 18 or 19 years old, and had avoided relationships to a large part up to that point.
I felt an overriding urge to “protect” myself, and I tended to appear aloof and rather stand off’ish to most people.
He totally blew me away, and I was absolutely smitten.
My mother, bless her, saw Jim and knew that this was not a good idea, and she tried every tactic to ensure that I did not see him.
The only option left to me, was to bunk College and then head out to see him during the day when I should have been at class. I had a strict curfew and pretty much after 17h00 my every move was monitored. Granted it was not the only option, but I was 18, cripes what did I know about creative problem solving. And knock on consequences.
My mom had never ground me, not once in my life. I was a model student, I was the most responsible for the three children, I was pretty much Mary-Ellen of the fucking Waltons.
My mom took one look at Jim, and thought “yep that is not a good idea” and proceeded to ground me.
I carried on seeing Jim, and in the euphoria of young (and somewhat stupid) love was that I could not see what was right in front of me. I thought the sun rose and set on either sides of his shoulders – I did not stop to think about myself, and that I was in way over my head, emotionally.
I thought on weekends he could turn water into wine, and maybe separate the Red Sea if he was in the area.
The term “idolized” does not even hint at the extent of it.
The short story is that one day he was there — then one day he never arrived when he said he would.
He just disappeared. “Poof” gone. Never to be heard from again.
This was before cell phones, google and google maps – so when someone dropped off the radar, you were pretty much stuck with TELKOM, and two numbers.
Jim exited the scene. With no reason. No excuse, and not so much as a “hey, I am off to serve in the Foreign Legion” or what ever vaguely creative story he could have come up with.
If you have ever been a teen-age girl, you will know how fragile their psyches are and how thin the layer is that protects their self esteem. Paper thin.
I was absolutely infallibly in love with this idiot on a very intense level – who did not even look over his shoulder as he disappeared out of my life.
I spent months, months questioning every action, every thing I had ever said, because I felt it was me. I had been the cause. It was my fault. I had done something wrong.
It affected me on a profound level. It still does, strangely enough. The fact that someone was “so into me” and then just disappeared, left me with questions about myself. I beat myself up about it for years, and what is funny is I never thought of him as the shit he was.
To add insult to injury — I stumbled across the same person again earlier this year. Being me, still stupid it would seem, I was totally taken by him. The warning bells rang, but I put them on snooze and carried on without a care in the world.
Then he “broke” up with me via SMS. NO really. No! Fucking really.
I spent a few weeks going over the “how” “what” and “what the fucks” — again ——I reverted to the same strategy that had not worked for me before, and again I looked at myself and what I had done wrong.
Eventually I realised that actually it was not me. It was totally him. He was an arse then, he is an arse now.
I don’t wish him dead, I wish him well.
The one good thing, is that the “stuff” I had dragged around with me from when I was 18 or 19, disappeared, because I realised I had been pining for something that was in my imagination. The reality was that I should be thankful he did a runner, then and now.
It was painful, like pulling a plaster off a sore. But once it is off, you have a slight burning sensation and then hey-presto, that shit is almost all forgotten.
I should fall on the floor and give an “amen” because I dodged a bullet …. twice.
Fuck pining!! Fuck it totally.
Life is too damn short, and really I do not have the energy.