I made someone cry yesterday.
I haven’t done that in years; not in that way.
I feel horrible.
It’s all I can think about.
I wish I’d never done it. I wish I’d never said that. I wish I could go back; go back and change things.
Why did I have to say that? Couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut for once, and not say what was on my mind?
Her name is Kirsty. I’ve never met her before. Not in person, anyway. I feel like I’ve known her for years though. We ‘met’ on the Internet. Not a dating site. Nothing like that.
The website is called Dailybooth. The idea is that you take a picture of yourself everyday, so that you can see how you change through the weeks, months and years. Like one of those time-lapse videos that you see, with a flower growing, and blooming, and wilting and dying. Or the ones with the clouds traveling across the sky, or the sun rising and setting.
That is the concept. But in practice, hardly anyone uses it like that. Mostly it’s people posting pictures of themselves and fishing for compliments, to boost their already high self-esteem. Of course, there are plenty of people who love to go through the pictures on the livefeed (which is where you can see pictures as and when they are posted, by anyone from anywhere) and tell everyone how cute they all are, and how they love their hair, and how they want those shoes, or that top, or that bag. It’s all very superficial when you think about it.
But this isn’t about Dailybooth. Not directly anyway. This isn’t a love story either – I’m warning you. There may be love involved, but it is not a love story.
I met Kirsty through one of her friends, Megan. I was conforming; telling Megan how nice her hair looked in that particular picture. Then came Kirsty, and we argued about whom liked Megan the most, and each tried to come up with the best compliment. I think “She is so hot, she is causing global warming” was the winning blow, although I don’t remember who won. It was all very pathetic really, don’t you think?
It sort of went from there. I started talking to Kirsty. About everything really: music, films, the world, people, everything. Music was probably the main one at first though. It was an important part in both of our lives. She was more of an Indie kid. She loved Joy Division, and Blur and The Horrors, and bands that had long since ceased existing. She shopped in Urban Outfitters and charity shops, and dressed like the decades gone by.
I don’t know who I was. I seemed to fit so many labels, yet none fitted me perfectly. I was clever, and got good grades without having to work too hard – so I was a nerd. I could solve a Rubik’s cube, and like reading books, and liked computers – so I was a geek. I loved music; I was always listening to music, and would listen to bands that no one had heard of, because I was always trying to find new music that I liked. Couple that with my irrational and strange love of triangles, and you have a new label – I was a hipster.
Anyway, we grew to be quite good friends. Internet friends – whatever that means. We became friends on Facebook, and exchanged numbers, and would talk often.
As time went by, I grew to like her more and more, until it got to the point where I thought I was in love with her. I liked everything about her. Or at least, what I didn’t like I could ignore completely, and not care about. That had never happened before. It wasn’t even her looks – from the photos I’ve seen, I could see that she was really pretty. But it wasn’t even her looks that I liked, it was her personality. The personality that I had been talking to for what seemed like a lifetime, but was in fact just a couple of months.
I thought I loved her. Then, she told me that she loved me. At first I didn’t believe her. Why would she? I had seen what she looked like. Girls like that didn’t like guys like me. At first I would just accept it, and say thanks, and how amazing that was.
But then I started thinking about it. I thought: “Why would she like me? She’s never met me, I’m just a Dailybooth friend. Why would she like me? Look at me. Look at her. Why would she like me? She doesn’t like me. I’m just a Dailybooth friend. She has loads of Dailybooth friends. What if she says it to every Dailybooth friend? I bet she does. I swear I’ve seen her say it to at least one of them before. She does. She doesn’t love me. I’m just a Dailybooth friend. Why would she love me? She doesn’t. She doesn’t know what love is. It’s just a word to her. What is love? She doesn’t know. Do I know? No. That’s not important right now. She doesn’t love me. I’m just a Dailybooth friend. She doesn’t. She doesn’t know. Love is just a word to her. A compliment, something to throw into a conversation. 4 letters. She doesn’t know… she doesn’t.”
I could not stop thinking about it, about her. It was all I thought about. I wasn’t sleeping. I was used to that, but now I spent my night thinking about this; thinking about her.
Eventually it got to the point where I had to bring it up, or I though my head would explode. I needed to be capable of thinking of other things.
It was the 1st of January 2011. A new year. A new start. A new era. 1/1/11. Simbolysing unity, togetherness. One.
I had had a great New Year – I went to a party at my friend’s house. We had a great time. Through out the night, I received texts from Kirsty, and Megan. They were both drunk. Kirsty told me she loved me again. She was drunk.
An amazing night. I didn’t usually drink, and had never smoked anything, let alone weed. New year, new me right? I don’t believe in that bullshit.
We drank and laughed, smoked and ate, and danced, and sang.
Then it all ended. We all went home the next morning, back to monotonous everyday life.
I talked to her several times throughout the day, just on and off. Chit chat. Casual conversation. All the bullshit you say because it’s polite. “How was your night? How are you? Did you have a good time? Made any New Year’s Resolutions? Have any plans for the year?” That kind of thing, you know.
Later that evening I was talking to her again. I don’t remember what was said, to be honest. She had been drinking again. She still was. She was drunk. Tipsy at the least. When I was leaving, she said “I love you” again. I said that she was drunk, that she didn’t mean it, just like the day before. You say things you don’t mean to when you’re drunk. Things you will regret. She denied it, said she wasn’t drunk, but admitted that she was yesterday. Said that she really did love me. I left it at that, bid her goodnight, and left.
But there it was again. That constant thought in the back of my head. Flashing lights at me, to get my attention. Telling me that she doesn’t love me. I’m just her Dailybooth friend. It grows more and more convincing. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I went back to my computer, opened up Facebook, and asked Kirsty “What is love to you?” I thought that wouldn’t be too obvious. She gave one of the best answers I’ve heard. She said that love was enjoying spending time with someone so much that you never get bored of them, enjoying listening to them so much that you never want them to shut up; you miss them when you’re not with them. You can see past their flaws, and ignore them, and see the person underneath, and love them for who they are.
I thought about it for a second then said “Well why do you throw it around so much then?” No. Mistake. Big mistake. Huge mistake.
She said it was because she liked to mess people around all the time, and was heartless bitch, and hated everyone. This was so untrue it hurt. I had upset her. She was crying. I knew it.
I hated myself for that. I hated myself for saying it. I hated myself for allowing the thought to stay in the back of my head for so long, for allowing it to grow, and consume me.
The next few hours are a blur. We argued. Pointless arguments. We argued over whose fault it was, both blaming ourselves. We argued over whether it was true, though it obviously wasn’t. We talked, then we didn’t. Sat there in silence.
I wanted to leave; to go away. Delete my Dailybooth. Delete her on Facebook. Get a new phone number. I wanted her to forget me. I had made her cry, and I hated myself for it. I said I was going to leave; to let her be. I sent her At The Bottom Of Everything, by Bright Eyes, a beautiful song that made me sad and happy and confused. Said I was leaving, and sent it.
She said no. She forbid me to leave. Said she couldn’t cope if I did. So I stayed – I didn’t want to make her cry any more, not again. I tried to make small talk, to pass the time, and brighten the mood. It was obvious that she didn’t want to talk though, least of all to me.
So I sat there in silence; sat there waiting, waiting for nothing. I didn’t want to leave until she had cheered up. I was waiting for her to crack a smile. But everything I said seemed to make it worse, so I didn’t say anything. I sat thinking.
Around 3 o’clock in the morning, I decided that it wasn’t doing any good to anyone sat here doing nothing. I said goodbye to Kirsty and left, abandoning the plan to stay until she was feeling better – I couldn’t even do nothing. How amazing am I?
I failed. I failed her, and I failed myself. I went to bed, and forced myself not to think about anything, in an effort to get to sleep. I failed at that too. How could I not think of her? I don’t know how.
I’m going to restrict my contact with her now. Reduce myself to simply thinking of her. I’m good at that. I can do that. If I open my mouth, everything falls apart.
No one wants that. Least of all me.
That’s the end. I told you it was no love story.
