Plum Blossoms

What does it mean when you have a dream where your former infatuation kills herself by jumping off a highrise? (Above mentioned dream occurred some time over two weeks ago.) What does it mean when reminders of her existence as a human being, with a life of her own, makes your stomach go queasy?

No, I don't still like her. That's just not possible. But the above are rhetorical questions; I know the answers already. The hard part is to answer them honestly.

You like a girl without knowing really her, without finding a place for her in your life, and without her ever figuring out your position in hers. (Stop snickering: I'm trying to be melodramatic here.) Then it all goes to hell and your job is to purge her from your subconsciousness. You don't talk to her, and she'll happily reciprocate. The object of infatuation becomes just that, and nothing more. You ignore that she has a life, because you can't emotionally tolerate that she's going about her everyday business while her very life consumes and eats at your being. So she becomes a shell, at least in your eyes.

It turns out, therefore, that time doesn't exactly heal all wounds. The nature of the wounds change, but if they're not touched, they never actually need to scar up and stop festering. And that's exactly what happened, until recently, when something as ridiculous as Xanga had touched it. Sure, the impact was comparable to that of a feather, but when it hits a spot that you didn't expect to react so uncomfortably, you realize that the “cure” you prescribed for yourself has either some unexpected side effects, or it simply didn't work, period.

Of course, the resentment part is not helped by the fact that last time we communicated, it ended with me snapping at her for denying the obvious and mutually known fact that I was being specifically ignored on ICQ.

And so if existence, if life itself, of this particular person can act in such horrendous conflict to my own comfort and sanity, what is the desired solution? Obviously it's the end of said person's life. That undeniable fact, and the even more basic fact that I watched this episode of the Animatrix before I slept that night, combined to create the dream that is the point of this post.

And no, I'm not planning to kill her. Besides the obvious moral heinousness of it all, I'd have to confront her existence in order to existinguish it.

And no, it doesn't “hurt.” It's more like someone tickling the inside of your stomach. It churns the stomach but it never makes you want to run for the porcelain.

So what now, you may ask? How in the world do you put a full stop on something that, after over five years, refuses to accept it? I suppose it's probably impossible: it'll bug me for a while, but eventually the lack of stimulation will mean that I'll have “gotten over it,” at least until next time. And in complete honesty, I've made peace with that fact. But it's still gonna bug me for a while until the stimulation is forgotten.