Fuck Facebook. Fuck it for making everyone on planet Earth believe that every matter of the heart can just be plopped into this category of utter and hopeless complication.
You and I aren’t a Facebook relationship status. We are people. And sometimes people have the grand and inexplicable impulse to destroy things. We get selfish and we get greedy and we get needy and we can only think about one thing, no matter how out-of-reach that one thing is.
I don’t think things are ever quite as complicated as we believe them to be.
You want me to provide you with a real life example. Turn my ambiguous “you” into a true story and yank my skeletons out of the closet. Show you my screw ups and tell you how many situations I have messed up, chalking them up to things being “complicated.” You want me to tell you that my stories are covered in sin, that I drink until my lips turn purple thinking about the men I have loved or liked or lusted after (or, in a few rare cases, all of the above) who slipped through my pretty little fingers.
All true. All there. Take note.
But, I had to stop telling myself that things were complicated. I had to stop using that as an excuse to behave like a complete and unadulterated jackass. At some juncture, I had to take ownership of how I felt, of the situations I put myself in, of my part in letting some things spiral entirely out of control.
See, things are not complicated. But, people? Oh, people are complicated as all hell.
Things are usually very simple. Black and white.
“We are friends; that would ruin the relationship.”
“No, he has a girlfriend.”
“This situation is going nowhere.”
“I don’t like him.”
“My friend already dated him or my friend already likes him or TERRITORY TERRITORY TERRITORY.”
Those are all things, unwritten and written codes we live by so we don’t litter our relationships with the filth of selfishness and short-sightedness.
Yet here we are, complex creatures, trying to live our lives by seemingly simple rules. And we just want to throw out that “it’s complicated” but it is so fucking not. No, we are the complicated ones. Every thing or relationship I have ever messed up in this life, I knew from my gut that I was messing it up. I knew what the run rules were and I knew at the very moment when I stopped playing by them. I knew exactly when I said something or did something or insinuated something that lit the torch. But, sometimes it felt good to stick my hand in a fire and get burned. Sometimes the burns remind us that our skin is there. Our heart is still racing. The heat still exists. Sometimes we forget. It shouldn’t require a burn. Unfortunately, it usually does. Life starts feeling so stagnant and colorless, and sometimes the wrong people remind us of the right things.
Stop saying it’s complicated. Stop reducing your whole life to a trite Facebook relationship status. It is not complicated. But, you, my love, are complicated. You are fragile and complex and sometimes stupidly selfish. You are hungry and you are human and fully capable of pure fuckery. You are animalistic and impulsive and unpredictable. Sometimes you follow your heart, sometimes you listen to your mind and sometimes you give in to your libido. You are beautiful and layered, a frenzied body of glowing contradictions. You are dynamic and ever-changing. At any given moment, there are 100 different truths inhabiting your tiny, beating heart. The things are not complicated; don’t give them so much credit. But you are complicated and will, by nature, complicate it.