The Love Triangle: A Recount.

"But time has changed nothing at all -
You're still the only one that feels like home.
I've tried cutting the ropes and I let you go,

But you're still the only one that feels like home."

Last night I was at an after party. And things got messy. Not entirely because of the alcoholic content available, but more so because of a few issues that was happening between myself, a friend (who we'll call Miss Maid), and an ex boyfriend (who we'll call Number Three).

You see, Number Three and I, we have a good history. And things had started sparking up between us again. Unfortunately for Miss Maid, feelings had started sparking up for her towards him too, and things had happened at a particular gathering half a week ago that well, to put it bluntly - fucked things up for both her and him.

It's no ones fault really. Just they say not to mix alcohol, and people don't seem to realise that they don't only mean drugs and certain other drinks when they say that. You need to take in situations and circumstance, mental stability and pressure. And too few people acknowledge that.

Now, I remember everything fairly clearly, but there were a few moments that stand out from last night.

There was the bit at the beginning, before I'd even drunk anything, but Miss Maid had already consumed a fair bit. She was upset, and isolated, and I remember opening up to her, admitting that I hadn't been able to trust guys properly ever since my last...obsession (if you will), with "The Gentleman". I hadn't been able to accept them straight up, and was finding it hard to let new ones in. I told her how - with Number Three - I didn't need to let him in or accept him because he was already there, always had been. I already trusted him, and didn't need to scope out whether or not he would just walk out on me when things got slightly complicated.
I also remember promising to her that I would not do anything that night with Number Three.

"I didn't need to let him in or accept him because he was already there, always had been."

Things got a little better after that, and I remember lying in the cul-de-sac, laughing and chatting with a few others, being probably a bit too noisy for 1am. That was one of the only times I saw Miss Maid really happy for the whole night.

Because there were then a couple of times when I was merely talking to Number Three when Miss Maid would walk in, jump to the conclusion that we were sucking face, call me a bitch and storm outside.

Sure I was more than angry that she would jump to that conclusion after I'd promised her otherwise, but how do you express that anger to someone who is now sitting in the wet grass, screaming things about how it's okay, she won't be around tomorrow to care anyway.

Personally, the threat of suicide is thrown around a little too much in my life. And it's becoming harder for me to handle.
After calming her down a bit, she convinced herself that it would be a much better option to kiss the reasonably attractive trumpet player that had been hanging around. I wasn't about to argue.

Another memory, is sitting by the heater, in a state of confusion and light-headed dizziness.

I'd convinced myself it would be a nice idea to lie around the corner of the backyard, on a slab of concrete and stare at the tree-tops. Apparently I was there for longer than I'd thought, but I probably would have frozen if Number Three hadn't come over and draped his jacket over me, hugging me as I shook, complained, and just talked about everything. It was nice, but hazy. And very cold. And very sad.

That's really how I see this whole situation. A hazy state of confusion and mixed feelings, blended in with sad emotions, that had been dug up and re-earthed after being buried a long time ago. 

In all honesty, I don't know what to do. Miss Maid has said she now gives her "permission" to date Number Three again, but I don't know how that's going to fair in light of things.

I don't know what's going to happen at the end of it all, nor what I'm expected to do from this situation.

As a reader, I guess you can just hang in there. Being Dannie, I'll keep you posted on how it all folds out. And I'm all up for advice, but don't expect me to take it.

But to Miss Maid and Number Three - I love you both. And I hope this ends in someway soon, so we can all get back to how things were.

 "I don't know what I've done,
Or if I like what I've begun.
But something told me to run,
And honey you know me it's all or none."

Don't Give Up.

"And we tried, oh how we cried.
We lost ourselves, the love has died.
And oh, we tried, you can't deny,
We're left as shells, we lost the fight."

I have this friend. I call him a friend rather than an aquaintance, because that's what I hope we can be. And I don't want to lose him.

Him. Let's just call him LJ for the time being. And those aren't his initials, so don't even think about stalking my facebook friends in an attempt to find him. 

Now LJ, has been feeling a bit...down lately.

Ha, lately. He's been feeling a bit depressed for a while actually. But last night, was the worst I'd ever seen him. The worst his best friend had ever seen him.

And I know he wants us to butt out. Well, at least me to butt out. And not worry. And let him deal with it on his own. He doesn't feel like he knows me enough for me to interfere like I am. And he has a point. 
 

And it makes me wonder. How close do you need to be to someone before you can start calling the shots, claiming that you have the right to know how they are, to know if they're okay? To know if they're still alive? Is it merely the resident best friend's job? Or can other people intrude rudely and ask questions?

Personally, the answers change depending on the situation. 

If you were the one who was doubting your own life, who was thinking of giving up - the answer would be that it's only your business to know, and yes maybe the best friend's, and no one elses.

But if you were the random who cared for said person, then you'd want the answer to be that they'll at least keep you updated. Or talk to you conversationally, rather than a simple "Hi" or "I'm fine" and that's it.

"We all love you."

I know you don't want to talk to me right now. Heck, you don't really want to talk to anyone right now.
But hopefully you'll at least take the time to read this.
You have so much talent.
You have so many friends.
You are smart and unique and just need to apply yourself and you'll be excellent at everything and anything you attempt.
I care about you.
I'm here for you.
No matter how much I'm shunned, or pushed away, I will wait here - quietly or with hoarding questions - I'll still be waiting.

And I feel like I really need you.
I need someone to look after me when I'm crazy and not thinking.
I need someone to learn from, to discover the secrets of the HSC with - the good and the bad, the pressure, stess, and the celebratory eventual ease.
I need someone to breathe out in my face, and tell me not to walk up the driveway - no matter how consistant I am that I'm safe to walk.
I need you to tell me everything's okay - in a calm tone - when I'm breaking down and crumpling in a stairwell - an hour before I'm meant to be on stage - simply fearing for you.

You can use me as an extra friend on Facebook, a warm hug on an icy day, a passing-by wave or nod, or just someone to sit with silently at lunch times. You don't have to talk, you don't have to tell me anything. You don't have to even acknowledge I exist. But you should know - always - that I'm here to listen, and I'm here to comfort or cry, or spill secrets. I'm here for a laugh or a smile or a sit through serious jamming. I'm here to recount good times - and bad times.


But most of all, I'm here.
And that's really what I wanted to say.
We all love you.

"Don't give up,
You still have us.
We're proud of who you are.
You know it's never been easy.
Don't give up,
'Cause I believe there's the a place,
There's a place where we belong."

The Number Nine.

"And a house is not a home,
When there's no one there to hold you tight,
And no one there you can kiss good night."

A stitch in time, saves nine.

There are nine major planets in our solar system.

A cat is said to have nine lives.

There is a limit of nine innings in a baseball game.

A human pregnancy approximately lasts nine months.

I have a very small, very perfect number nine, etched into my skin where a bird bit me today.

And this last nine, actually really annoys me for two reasons.
One, because it is on the side of my right hand, at the bottom of my index finger, so that whenever I look down at what I'm typing, or holding - I see it there. 

And two - it makes me wonder. Because this small incision in my skin, this small mark where that bird's beak pierced my hand - it's too perfect to be an accident.

And I know it sounds stupid, and seems like complete superficial nonsense - but I think this symbol might mean something.

Whether it's something to make me remember that I am brave enough to grab two wild Rainbow Lorikeets and throw them out the window in maths class, or whether it's a sign for something about to happen - I don't know. I mean, tomorrow is the ninth - perhaps it means that'll be a good day for me. But whatever it is, the mysteriousness about this mark on my hand really intrigues me. A little too much.

And all this research on the number nine makes me think I know why.

"I have a very small, very perfect number nine, etched into my skin."

I've been having a lot of emotional relapses lately.

The kind where I think I'm over you, then something will happen, and I'll remember a certain memory, and then everything will come back and I will suddenly be the obsessive, young child you constantly accuse me of being. The obsessive, young child that I probably am.

But as of a few days ago, I looked back at those "relapse memories" with a sigh and a smile, rather than a sense of longing.
Kind of like the final acceptance of a deceased childhood pet. I'll remember those times we had, and honour them, but I'll accept that I'll never get them back.

So now, this genuine feeling of finally "getting over you" - well, it feels real. It feels like birds flying. Like hopping back into bed after turning off your nagging, annoying alarm in the morning. Like a compliment on a bad hair day. Like a fresh start.

Like freedom.

I'm beginning to think the number nine on my hand could mean a new beginning.

In many languages, nine and new are similar words. For instance, in Spanish nine and new are nueve and nuevo. In French the word neuf means both nine and new. 

So it could be that. 

Or it could just be a cut in my skin, caused by a frenzied bird.

"So rather than trying to protect you,
I'm going to cover my bases first.
So rather than trying to open my heart,
I'm going to lock it with a key.
So that only the special ones,
Can ever get through to me."