And I’m listening to NSYNC
11:29 PM
him: you mention those 4 years as much as i mention “hey want me to cam”
give it up already sheesh
me: I can’t
him: you must
please
me: I live in a hole of bad memories
him: i implore you
why so bad
it wasnt so bad
i wasnt some big deal
me: Have you ever googled your screenames? :B
Talking to him always makes me feel incredibly inadequate because even though he wasn’t some big deal, he is everything that reminds me of my 16 year old self. I hate that I sound so small talking to him. Inadequate, small, you know, being Zeb’s weird girlfriend, sad, deranged, angry. Basically like every other 16 year old (have fun with that, Mindy :B). But I haven’t talked to anybody since that time, aside from him four years after. And its like a giant waterfall of sucktastic memories that I don’t want to remember.
That is, until the asshat brings in the old saved conversations that I can’t get away from.
I want to run from them, but at the same time, I’m drawn to those memories. They were my first actual time on the internet, the first internet drama, first blog (if it weren’t for him and my old friends, ATW would exist only in my handwritten journals), first total crap time and kick in the gut. I miss those days, I hate those days, I loved those days. I miss the days when the only drama I got into were internet ones, with giant forum fights. I miss having a crush on Tyler (the fella above), then getting mad at him since I disappeared for like 2 weeks on a trip I didn’t want to go to and he was off flirting with somebody else. I miss talking to my old friends. I miss getting in crazy forum fights with him and the girls and the ugly guy. I miss the love triangles, the sarcastic joking, screename changing, forum changing, journal invasions, the intentionally pissing people off — being everything you (and I) truly hated.
Most of all, I miss that they were the only thing I had to worry about. I hate that I have actual things to worry over, such as finding a job where my boss isn’t a total tool, passing my class, finding money for next quarter, my teeth, my eyesight and my failing health.
Perhaps it really is time to move on.
You are much braver than I am. I have boxes of journals detailing what was the worst 12 years of my life and I’m afraid to open them. (No internet at the time.) But even thinking about him makes me want to shrink into nothingness, punch him in the face and still be very afraid. I personally don’t know how I’d react if I actually spoke to him. I hope I never find out unless it’s to identify a corpse.
Maybe not punching him in the face is the bravest thing you could have done :]