A Salty Gaping Wound

You won’t find this particular definition of the word "salty" in Webster’s. Although, you will find it in the Urban Dictionary. It’s common slang, but just in case you are an old and crusty sole that is unfamiliar with the phrase "feeling salty", let me explain. Salty is being pissed, agitated, upset, embarrassed. It’s an irritated state of mind, in contrast to the contented state of feeling sweet and the more intensely angry, judgmental, and longer-lasting state of feeling bitter. The word originated in Philadelphia and in general means that you just got played or you are looking stupid, either because of something you did, or something that was done to you. With that said, I’m salty. I’m mad. I’m sad. I’m shocked. I’m disappointed. Tell me when I should stop trying to express how I feel in a bunch or worthless, mundane words? When you’ve heard enough. Actually, I’m having a hard time trying to write because I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. To put it bluntly, it’s fucked up.

Like most people, I have a tendency to say mean things when I am upset. Despite the fact I try my darndest to bite my tongue, occasionally something is bound to slip out that I later regret. Unfortunately by then, it’s hard to "take it back", hard to apologize, hard to convince the other person you didn’t really mean it and it was just said out of anger. For this very reason, I’ve kept my mouth shut for the past week – to avoid putting my foot in my mouth. And more importantly, to avoid unnecessarily hurting her. I’m not quite sure if that’s the adult thing to do, to think of someone else’s feelings before my own. Or if it’s the stupid thing to do, to stuff my own feelings down and let them fester inside of me. I suppose that is why I write and why I am writing this now. It’s how I release things, how I unload the weight on my chest. And I’m sure I shouldn’t admit this, especially in print, but my chest actually hurts. I’ve been feeling nauseated and distracted all the time as well. It takes a certain amount of extra effort at work to stay focused and that is NOT the norm for me.

I’m sure I’m being a stupid boy. One who is being oversensitive, over attached and one who should just get over it already. So what’s my problem? Shouldn’t I have entered the "I don’t really give a fuck" stage by now? What’s taking so long? She seemed to enter that stage immediately and here I am a week later whining about it on my dorky blog like some pussy. Seriously, this is one time where I think I need to grow a pair. She’s just another girl. No big deal, right? Right, David? That’s what I’ve been trying to convince myself of today, but something in me doesn’t seem to be buying it. I’ve been keeping busy waging wars on myself and I can’t seem stop the fight. The battle where there is never a winner or even an end, it just keeps going on and on until it drives me mad!

I don’t know what to think. I just know I feel disgusted by my whole giant mess of emotions that are consuming me right now and I want detoxified from the effects they are having on me. I can’t decide if I am more mad than sad. Or if I’m more shocked than disappointed. I’m a whole slew of these things and more, but mostly, I’m overwhelmed with frustration. I honestly hate myself for ever getting involved. I regret all the time I spent for it to never evolve into what I wanted it to truly become. It feels like a big waste and that is one thing I NEVER wanted. I tend to romanticize things in my head more than I probably should, that is no one’s fault but my own. And because of that, I blame myself for feeling like a love sick puppy licking his salty gaping wound.

***UPDATE:***
This post has been heavily edited. After much debating, I have decided to remove the next and original 5 paragraphs, which essentially was a HUGE chunk of the story. I didn’t do this upon her request. I did it because I truly feel there are two sides to every story and my words (sometimes angry, sometimes sad and sometimes complimentary) only reflected my side. When I initially published this, I was torn between my want for discretion and my need to vent. After reflecting on this for a few hours, I feel it’s in her best interest, as well as my own, that this is kept private. I appreciate everyone understanding and apologize for any confusion this may have caused.

I really do think this whole situation just sucks though. It’s ridiculous it has come to this. It makes me want to return to my manwhoring ways. No attachment = no hurt. And there will be no need to ever cut my feelings because I’ll never develop feelings to begin with. Brilliant! I’ll fuck a girl and then she has 5 minutes to get the fuck out. Ok, I’ll give her 15 minutes, sometimes it's hard to find your scattered clothes in the dark.

As sad and as pissed as I am right now, I do wish her well in DC. And I already miss her. I wish I didn't, but at this point, I can't really help that. Lastly, I'm sorry reality didn't unfold the way I had romanticized it to play out in my head.

Related post of interest...
07/17/08 Less Than 5 Days To Keep Her