I started writing because I knew I couldn't sleep; but now I think I'm sleepy, so this is part 1...

So, I haven't been here in quite a while, but please believe me when I say that my number of posts has no direct relation to the number of goings on in my life... Friendships, relationships, family, career - they've all been all over the map in the last 5 months. I would say that all of that is why I haven't written, but I know that all of that is exactly why I should write more often... But I've got to stop should-ing, and just do. So, I'll pick up with why I'm writing at 1:19 a.m. on Thursday night/Friday morning. Which, perhaps ironically enough, is somewhat where I last left off...

Whence last we left off, I thought I was in love. Which may have very well been true. I might have gotten the chance to further explore those feelings had the boy (I'm not sure why I continue to refer to people my own age as "boys and girls", but I don't feel as though it will soon end, so we'll just roll with it) that I thought I may be in love with not... well... had a mental breakdown. He was (is? was? pssshhh... who knows...) going through some things that he needed to deal with, emotionally, and wasn't really dealing well, if at all.

I really tried to nurture him through it. I wanted to be there for him and help him see that, even though life sucks a lot of the time, it's really all there is so we just have to deal with it the best we can each day. I wanted so badly for him to see that, even though he had been through some horrible things, he could move past it and be happy. And I tried my damnedest to be a reason for him to move on. I wanted him to move on with - and for - me.

Scratch that - I wanted him to want to move on with and for me. But it doesn't seem to have worked out that way.

Shortly after my declaration of possible love in the previous post, there was a period of time where, even though it had been a while since I had seen him, we talked every day. But he was depressed every day. And then, for quite a while, we only talked a couple of times a week...

As much as I wanted to be with him, I also knew that I wanted him to want it, too. So I let him make the contact; I let him initiate all communications. And those attempts to initiate communication quickly got fewer and farther between. Things would come to a head, and I would get frustrated and let him know, and we wouldn't talk for a while. And then I'd feel bad because I know how it feels to be depressed and I'd apologize and be kind and nurturing again.

Then, there were times when we hadn't talked for weeks and I would be lonely and missing him, so I'd initiate contact, thinking that maybe it had been long enough; maybe something had happened and he would want to live his life and would be happy to hear from me and there would be something encouraging... But it was always the same, and I was always disappointed that he wasn't at the place I wished he was.

After one of these last disappointments, my BFF - the Miranda to my Charlotte (props for the SATC reference, anyone? No? OK...) - encouraged me to delete his number from my phone. It took some real coercing and peer pressure, but I did it. She was right - he knew how I felt, and I needed to try to leave him be at that. If and when he contacted me again, it would be OK to talk to him. And it felt good at the time. It felt like I had taken some control. It was a concrete way for me to help myself realize that he was the one who needed to take the action in this situation, and it was good for me.

Weeks went by and I hadn't heard from him at all. And then, randomly, he started talking to me on Facebook. Shortly after that, he started texting me again. I was optimistic that he was turning a corner, though I was guarded and cautious. And then one night, the conversation turned right back into what it had been for months; he was depressed and his life was awful and, though some people see things as "it could be worse," all he could see was how it could be so much better, and he doesn't know why he bothers to even leave the house, and his glass is half empty... and I lost it. I told him that he confused the hell out of me; that just when I think he wants to try to live his life - just when I think he might be ready to have a relationship, he says shit like that. I said "at what point during you feeling especially shitty about your life tonight did you think it was a great time to talk to me?" I asked him what he wanted... It was harsh, and I immediately regretted it, and I told him so. I apologized and said some more sweet, nurturing things... And that was it. I didn't hear from him again.

That was a little less than a month ago. And for the last two weeks, I haven't been able to get him out of my head. I miss him and I wonder how he's doing and I Facebook-stalk him to check in and make sure he's not too depressed. I've been thinking about the way he smells and the kind of soda he drinks and the way he bites his bottom lip when he's concentrating. I close my eyes and I see his face right next to mine; he's not wearing his glasses and he's grinning just like he would do right before he started kissing me.

Tonight, after days of wishing I had never erased his number but not wanting to ask anyone for it for fear of doing the "wrong" thing, I remembered that I still had the email where he gave me his number the first time. I opened it up and read it, but didn't write down the number or dial it right away, and quickly closed the email. When I found myself chanting his phone number in my head 15 minutes later, I sent him the same text message he had sent me hundreds of times (literally - hundreds): "Hey you." And then, "Can't stop thinking about you... Miss you."

When he hadn't responded an hour and a half later and I was ready to turn off the computer and head to bed, I decided to check in on the world via Facebook one more time, and snuck over to his page, just for a quick check (seriously... I felt like I was sneaking, even though it's just me and the cat over here...) The first thing I saw was that freaking, reddish-pink, relationship heart. I think it must have jumped off of the damned screen and slapped me in the face.

I can still feel the burn across my cheek.