You get over a relationship … but sometimes you don’t get over why the relationship ended. In my case, I was never told why the relationship ended, but 8 months down the line, I’m starting to piece together a web of 5 years worth of lies, betrayal, adultery, and dishonesty, and I can safely tell you this: I may be over him, but what he did to me will take years to heal. That’s another story, for another day, which I don’t care to recount. Not tonight, not ever. It’s safe to say that this will stay with me forever, and one of the biggest scars I will carry around is this: cynicism.
I’ve always been cynical, but this last week, I’ve discovered just how much, and just how bad it’s become. If you have ever watched Practical Magic (that cheesy 90s chick flick with Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman) you will recall a little Sally Owens casting a true love spell – not to find love, but to ensure she never gets hurt the way her mom did (who died of a broken heart at the tragic passing of her husband as per the family curse). When that movie came out, and when I watched it recently (recent being somewhere between 2006 and 2010) I thought she was stupid – who wouldn’t want the magic of falling in love? Now I know exactly why she did it. Would you like to know why? Here we go: love is a myth. Love doesn’t exist. Not that kind of love anyway. There is no such thing as true love. Yes, you love your parents, parents love their kids, but I no longer believe in true love. That reason is why I made myself a promise earlier this week. It was a simple promise, but a promise I will forever keep: I will never feel the pain of falling in love ever again.
That leads me to my next point: I will never marry, I will never have kids. I say this for two reasons: one being the above, and the other being that I do not believe in marriage. If it should happen that I break my first rule, and end up in a long-term, committed, faithful (okay, here I go again, believing in fairytales! Nobody commits, nobody stays faithful! It’s all a Goddamn fallacy invented by greeting card companies and Shakespeare). Cynicism aside, I have an excellent reason (or three) to not want to be married. Firstly, I don’t want to be tied down to someone too much; if I smell a rat, I want to be able to run far, and fast. Second, I don’t believe in any particular religion, so the religious part of a marriage is just a waste of my time. Thirdly, legally speaking, I don’t feel like I need more than a few contracts to protect myself and my assets to be with someone. I also strongly object to having to have a piece of paper to consider myself with someone, and for me to know I am going to spend and make my life with someone. I think it’s the anarchist in me who totally objects to the idea of being told I’m something – in this case “and I pronounce you man and wife”. Don’t misunderstand me, there will be legal protection in the form of division of assets contracts etc (I’m not a lawyer, I don’t know all the lingo), and should there come a child from this long-term union (unlikely, I’ve spent way too much time trying to avoid having a period, I’ve messed up my chances of ever having a fertile uterus ever again, so we can safely say that should never happen), that child will be legally protected. Oh, and the surname, let’s not forget the scandals caused by surnames of children born out of wedlock. If that so happens, that child will have both our surnames, and when we decide he is old enough to choose, he can. He can take mine, or his father’s. I however, will always be a Tibble. I will honour the only man in the world I can trust, and I will forever be a Tibble. My name will die with me, but I will never change it. I have spent 24 years as a Tibble, that’s not going to change. I will not dishonour the only 2 people in the world I can 100% trust by giving that up.
This has also taught me a little something about trust: I trust too much, and too easily. It has taught me to remove trust from all situations, treat everyone as though they are not worthy of trust, and if they by some miracle earn some form of trust from me, it will be fragile, or it will given on a day-to-day basis. In fact, I just think that I won’t be trusting at all any time soon. The people I thought I could trust: all liars. I’ve found comfort in strange things and strange places, but for the most part, nobody is worth opening yourself up to, and having them drive a knife through your heart. Not now, not ever. The people who were supposed to be on my side? Those ones? Yeah, not so much. I guess that’s my mistake, my fault for trusting people. Never again.
All I know is, I will never love again, I will never trust. Not today, not ever. Oh, and don’t come with that “when you meet the right man it will all change crap”. It won’t, because I have no intention of meeting the right man, I have no intention of forming that bond with anyone, ever ever again. I’d rather die alone, with my cats, than with a broken heart. Well … I guess that’s me. I’ve actually run out of angry things to say, and to write. It doesn’t mean I’m not angry anymore. Fuck knows I am, but I just can’t anymore. I just want to put these feelings in a box, shut it, tape it closed, possibly encase it in a ton of concrete and drop it down the Marina’s Trench. That should keep me going.