Sometimes The Reason Is You

I honestly don't know why John and I never ended up really together. Well, maybe that's not true. I suspect that John was simply smart enough to realize how much I needed to grow up, and also smart enough to know that it would be better for him if I chose to do so on my own. It was kind of like waiting for Godot.

He put up with a lot of shit that I can see now must have hurt him. I'm not sure if I imagined my situations didn't affect him because he had never made any definite steps toward a relationship, or if I was simply too wrapped up in my own pain and needed him too much to keep some things to myself. I suppose it doesn't matter, both "reasons" boil down to the simple fact that I was selfish and immature. Trust that karma is, indeed, a bitch and I have been duly repaid for my actions.

I've done way more than my share of stupid things, in fact, I may have done several people's share of stupid things, but I'm OK with most of that. One thing I'm not OK with was my repeated, completely clueless denial that John needed things for himself too. In turn, this became my repeated denial of him, and I honestly and truly never saw it that way. Going back to that place and trying to figure out what the fuck was going on in that beer soaked brain of mine won't change the past. I get how ridiculous and contradictory and self-destructive I was, I'm pretty sure that's enough.

It never occurred to me then how lucky I was, and how much he really loved me. I knew he did, just because I knew, but I never considered it fully. John sat on a chair in the middle of a crowd of standing people, head resting in a large stained glass bowl in his lap, glasses askew, picking his head up only to slur, "Megan, you know I love you, right?" I laughed, ruffled his hair and said that I did. Then I left, taking some guy I didn't know along with me. The next day John had to listen to the guy telling the story of how I accidentally called his girlfriend while pressing myself against him. I never considered how shitty my actions must have made John feel, and I'm pretty sure he realized I possessed that ridiculous personality defect.

Time and time again, I dumped my personal drama in his lap because I felt safe with him. He knew me well, gave good advice, and didn't blow smoke up my ass. If I was being an idiot, he told me. Unfortunately, he never told me that I was being an idiot about him. Well, not that I heard and processed anyway. It's quite possible he tried. After he graduated and moved, I made semi-regular visits to him, mostly when I desperately needed him and I was in shit way over my head. For the first three to four years after John graduated, I dated the same guy. We'll ignore the details of that particular fireworks show, save one. When the dating fiasco spanning several years began, I was in the habit of sharing a bed with, well, just about anyone. This turned out in the expected manner maybe a quarter of the time, but many, many nights were spent simply sleeping next to someone. My then boyfriend politely requested that I change that particular habit. I agreed, with two exceptions noted, John being one of them, even though he no longer lived in the area and I rarely saw him. That's just how much he was a part of me, you know, in my own twisted way.

I'm losing this now, I'll try to find it again. :)