What’s in a Name?

Brandon: Deception, pain, anger, bad memories. Love, good memories, almost the one. The reason I started this blog.

When I hear that name, no matter who the name belongs to, my first reaction is to think of those words. Names define a person. Perhaps not for everyone, but it does for me. I have a bad feeling about all girls names Allison because a girl back in high school was a huge bitch to me. Likewise, I immediately get a flash of hate when I meet or hear about someone named Brandon. I guess he just fucked me over that much.

So, imagine my surprise when I’m scrolling through Facebook and I see a picture my best friend “liked”. It was a picture Brandon had posted, and it was a picture of what I assumed was his 6 month old baby girl. Usually I wouldn’t care. I had gotten over him, right? I don’t care about his life anymore. But then I made the mistake of reading the caption.

“Amelia sleeping so peacefully tonight.”

For those of you who don’t know, that’s my name. My name is Amelia.

At first I was confused. Amelia? Why would he type that? Obviously that picture was not the picture of his baby girl… it was someone else’s. It had to be. So, of course, I consulted my best friend who “liked” the picture to confirm my thoughts.

But no. That is his baby girl. And he named her Amelia.

So now I’m sitting here, processing the idea that my ex’s little girl has my name. Perhaps you don’t understand what the big deal is, and if you don’t then feel free to consult the first 10-15 posts of this blog. He is the reason I started it. I was in a dark place after he kind of tossed me on the curb and then proceeded to try and drag me back for 6 more months. He wanted to be friends with me, but I just couldn’t. I didn’t want him to be able to say my name with any happiness.

But now he says it every day, full of love and hope and happiness.

And once again, like I’ve ended almost every blog post about him for the past 4 years, I’m still hurting.

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Waiting for It

“Love doesn’t discriminate
between the sinners
and the saints,
it takes and it takes and it takes
and we keep loving anyway.
We laugh and we cry
and we break
and we make our mistakes.
And if there’s a reason I’m by her side
when so many have tried
then I’m willing to wait for it.
I’m willing to wait for it…

Life doesn’t discriminate
between the sinners and the saints
it takes and it takes and it takes
and we keep living anyway,
we rise and we fall and we break
and we make our mistakes
and if there’s a reason
I’m still alive
when so many have died,
then I’m willing’ to wait for it…

Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints,
it takes and it takes and it takes
and we keep living anyway.
We rise and we fall
and we break
and we make our mistakes.
And if there’s a reason I’m still alive
when everyone who loves me has died
I’m willing to wait for it.
I’m willing to wait for it.
Wait for it.” – Wait for It, Hamilton

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The Last Five Years

I haven’t quite decided if sharing secrets bind friends together or tears them apart. I suppose it depends on the secret. Or maybe secrets bind friends together for as long as the secret remains critical. Or as long as the secret it kept just that: a secret.

Even though it happened almost 5 years ago, the repercussions still weigh heavily on me. At the time, this massive secret made us all feel closer to each other. We shared something no one else could possibly feel or understand. It made us stick together like glue — we were each other’s support. We were each other’s survival. I don’t think I could have ever gotten through a time like that without my best friends, and they probably couldn’t either.

And now, 5 years later, I feel like we are all trying to hold onto each other by a thread; trying to feel that closeness we had. I don’t know how much longer we will make an effort to stay in each other’s lives. It seems like they have all moved on with their life. They have been able to work through what happened and move past it. Sometimes I feel I have not.

And I get the sense that they blame me in some way. Not for everything, of course, but for a lot. I get the feeling that talking with me brings back every emotion from 5 years ago. I get the feeling that they all look at me and see Junior Year Amelia, trying to make sure nothing falls apart and sacrificing a lot to make that happen. They can’t fully forgive me. And I don’t blame them one bit. I can’t fully forgive myself, either. I was in the middle of it all, and I dragged them in with me, not wanting to go through it alone. I remind them of what we all went through. They all still talk to each other, and I sometimes find myself feeling very much alone.

We are all clutching on to ghosts of each other, and I don’t know how much longer that is going to last.

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I’ve lost my voice.
And I don’t know where to find it.
I lost it somewhere between staying young and growing up,
Which is a large span of time to search.
When did I put down the pen?
When did the words stop flowing from my fingertips?
I’m not sure.
I shouldn’t stop looking,
But I feel as if I should.
I feel as if I’ll never find it again.

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Touch

“Love, hunt me down,
I can’t stand to be so dead behind the eyes.
And feed me, spark me up,
A creature in my blood stream chews me up.

So I can feel something,
So I can feel something.

Give me touch
‘Cause I’ve been missing it.
I’m dreaming of
Strangers
Kissing me in the night
Just so I,
Just so I

Can feel something

You steal me away
With your eyes and with your mouth.
And just take me back to a room in your house,
And stare at me with the lights off.

To feel something

In the night,
In the night,
In the night,
When we touch
In the night,
‘Cause I’ve been lusting it.” – Touch by Daughter

In the night
In the night
In the night
When we touch
In the night
‘Cause I’ve been lusting it

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An Angry Letter to Dad.

Dear Dad,

When you asked me if I understood why you stay away from the house, I didn’t. When you asked me how I felt when Tom and I broke up, I rolled my eyes because you think that is comparable. Yes, I didn’t want to see Tom. I didn’t want to be around him or think about him. But here is the difference: there weren’t children involved.

And yes, I told you to grow the fuck up because there are children involved. You are hurting, I get it. You don’t want to see mom or the house; I get it. But what I don’t get is that you feel it is acceptable to not see your two daughters for weeks on end just because you’re hurting. Grow the fuck up. Get over it. See your children.

And no, I’m not ecstatic over the divorce and neither is mother. Thanks to your inability to talk things out with her, I’ve had to be the one to hold my own mother when she cries because you won’t talk to her (or when you do, you tell her that you feel she is going to hell because her soul isn’t saved — not cool).

I’m sorry that your plan to be married to mom forever and to live in our house forever isn’t happening anymore, but whose fault was the divorce? Yes, mom has her issues, but stop acting blameless. Stop playing the victim.

Stop being a shitty father.

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Grumble Grumble.

I’m not quite sure why my subconscious likes to torture me, but for the past month my nights have been filled with dreams about how I don’t have a boyfriend/my journey getting a boyfriend/having a boyfriend. Essentially all things boyfriend. Why my subconscious thinks I need to be aware of my boyfriendless state 24/7 (because I think about it when I’m awake, too), but apparently I do.

Of course, it probably doesn’t help that a good majority of the girls I went to high school with have gotten engaged/married the past few months — even the extremely smart ones — so at 22 years old I feel like I have fallen behind where I am supposed to be in my life.

It also doesn’t help that I’m pretty much successful in everything else except relationships of any kind, whereas many unsuccessful people around me are actually successful in relationships. What do they have that I don’t have?

Ah, yes, the ramblings of a drunk female.

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