your battered love that’s hanging on to memories.

Let’s travel forward in our magical time machine –oh, I didn’t mention this before?–to 2009. Philadelphia. More specifically, my desk in my bedroom here in West Philly.

Lately I have been worrying about how I am portraying Ryan here on frightened by bees. and also in my other work. Because honestly, he quite accidentally changed the entire course of my life. And I’m sure every individual that has had the honor of trying to cultivate a relationship with me in the P.R. (post Ryan) era has wanted to punch him in the face for passing so much cumbersome baggage on to me. A little bit of him appears in every word I write.

A few weeks ago my friend Marlyn asked me, “Would you ever let Dylan read this stuff?” My answer was a resounding “HELL NO.” It’s not the drugs. Or the sleeping around. Or even all of my neuroses. Sure, I would like to wait until she is about thirty to share all of that with her, but all of these details are just part of my own growing up process.

Really, I just want to protect her from the truth about her parents’ fucked up relationship. I’m not saying that we were any more dysfunctional than any other existing/potential parents in the world. All relationships have ugly moments…words instantly regretted…actions that may be forgiven but never forgotten. But Dylan should always know that she was the product of love…because, honestly, she really was. For everything, all of the push and pull, all of the anguish and pain…I never stopped loving Ryan. And for every stupid statement he made, he said no less than twenty beautiful, unforgettable things to me.

So I wonder now…has my pen–or my keyboard, in this case–turned Ryan into a bad character? A “cocksucker” (according to Miriam), if you will?

It’s hard to write a story in the first person while still painting the rest of the characters in full-color. I want all of my characters to be three-dimensional. After all, everyone in every single thing I have written is real to me, even in work labeled as “fiction.”

If you rewind to some of the older parts of the ongoing story thread, you will see that Ryan was a pretty great guy. He said and did many great things. But we have reached that point in this tragedy/comedy wherein Ryan is, well, a cocksucker. He is accidentally hurting me on a regular basis. I don’t think his intentions are bad. Obviously any individual consuming so many substances on a regular basis is looking for something: salvation, release, happiness, confidence.

The 22-year old Amanda has a feeling that something is awry in her boyfriend’s head, but she still hasn’t learned to trust her own instincts. She knows he is secretly insecure, but if she allows herself to truly believe that, her own confidence in him will be threatened. And at this point, she is channeling all of her hope into him. She hasn’t found anything else worthy of her faith.


5 thoughts on “your battered love that’s hanging on to memories.

  1. BDS says:

    I’m on my way to dinner right now but all I want to do is devote my time to a smartly written comment.

  2. the heiress. says:

    dang…well, i better see a smartly written comment asap.

  3. MiRK says:

    alright [i’m attempting tp eliminate the word ok, for obivous reasons, from my vocabulary], when i called ryan a cocksucker, i meant it. i do not doubt the love you felt for him. nor do i doubt the love you felt from him. your entire story, for me, is true love, and why people should not do drugs. because drugs make people selfish. i called ryan a cocksucker because i don’t know what he looks like, but i could just picture that crease in one’s skin when they have that smug, half-smiled smirk. and i pictured that little h0e, curled up beside him. i only empathize. i don’t judge. i stalk your blog because the first entry i ever read broke my heart. because to me it was true love and what drugs can do to it.

    [sidenote] i got really excited and felt special seeing my name in this post.

    now i must finish reading.

  4. MiRK says:

    now that i am finished- it is easier for me to be angry at ryan, and say mean things, because i remember how my heart felt when i read that first post. and i don’t want this to make you sad, but even with every post wherein he is being a jerk, i always think about his coat pockets full of photos of you. i don’t ever doubt he loved you. and i don’t ever doubt he was not a douche. it just tears my heart to wonder bout the what ifs. like the tranny from the real world this season. my mind runs… and runs…

  5. BDS says:

    no smart comment here. i’m hungover and starving…
    i do not think that ryan was a cocksucker. aside from your daughter and his death, i’ve been there. i’ve taken it all. in the end those men still hold fond places in my memory.
    so when i read that you returned from your trip to the bathroom and this megan chick is all up on ryan and he has the audacity to lift his head up, look you square in the eyes and say “Sometimes monogamy is just so hard, you know?” i don’t think cocksucker. i’m not surprised. i stop and remember the monday after the weekend i lost my virginity to an asshole. i walked up to asshole and he told me that slutbag was his girlfriend. i still saw him the next weekend, and perhaps the next. still dealt with it all for 3 more years. or, when 5 years later a different asshole sat in front of me in a car filled with friends and told me that i was a crazy, worthless piece of shit. that he had used me to run his drugs and fu*k*d me a couple of times, but i was a slut who he never wanted to see again. (i still catch up with him every few months. he asks about my job and my husband i ask about his kids and who he is seeing now- friendly stuff).

    so, no worries about painting the portrait of a douchebag when it comes to this reader. and i don’t even need a reminder of the pocket filled with photos.
    i love how you tell a story and i think you’re brave.

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