Love shit on me. It shit on my head. A big shit. The shit is still in my hair after two years. That’s how big the shit was. I didn’t see the shit coming, to be honest. I would have never thought that a love as beautiful as the one I had,was even capable of such a shit. But I have learned, since being shit on; the more powerful the love, the more powerful the shit.
I first fell in love at the tender age of seventeen. I tell people that, and most of the time I get the following responses:
1. You were (are) young; you didn’t (don’t) know what love is.
2. You are young; you will love again!
3. Young love never lasts, but at least you know what to look for now!
4. Me too! …..but it ended –or- and now we’re married with 12 amazing kids.
Well SHIT. Anyways, I fell in love. And he fell in love with me. I’m determined we were the power couple of our generation. Not only was he sexy as hell, but also smart, driven, talented, honest, and funny. Ditto for me. We were unstoppable. Me and my cowboy were never going to split, were going to make beautiful babies one day, and were more in love than when Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell first fell in love. (Weprobably have similar stories now that I think of it, minus Paula’s drug abuse-that fits nowhere in my story).
My family was more obsessed with him than I was, and I was…pretty obsessed. My best friend believed (believes) that we were getting married. He was a part of my family. He made life beautiful and whole and perfect and great. We were perfect. Then I went to Africa.
Before you plan on going to Africa, be aware of the following.
1. Sierra Leone is super fucked up, don’t go there
2. If you’re going to live in Sierra Leone for over a month, make sure that you can handle some demonic, messed up shit.
3. When you come home you MAY in fact have PTSD
4. When you come back you MAY in fact ruin a ton of incredible relationships
5. When you come back… you MAY in fact and probably WILL lose the love of your life forever.
I warn you only because that is exactly what happened to me. It could happen to you too. It probably will. Don’t go there. Don’t go to fucking Africa.
So I came home, I did a lot of messed up shit, and lost my rugged, cowboy love. He was gone forever, and was soon-to-be-dating a dog faced bitch. I pleaded and begged and somewhere in the midst of my psychotic breakdown lost him for good. He then proceeded by playing ME, an already horribly broken person. He did this really awesome, ass-hole-ish thing where he came to my house and surprised me and my entire family onThanksgiving…while dating a new girl. She looks like the possum my dad killedlast week. Supercute. Then the day after thanksgiving he told me he wanted nothing to do with me.
Writing/Recording/Publishing songs about him did absolutely nothing, other than give me a reason to cry a little more and give other peopleto say “wow, sounds like you really loved him.” Yeah, I did asshole. Get off me.
I felt bad for myself for a long time. In fact, I still do sometimes. Poor me, I got my heart broken. I should have a party. A pity party. And you’ll all be invited.
