That seems to be the predominant question when it comes to me and The Guy I Used To See A  Lot.

And honestly, we don’t talk on a regular basis. Though, I can say in truth that it’s not an angry distance. It’s more like a well-why-would-we-talk-really? kind of distance. There is a lot of peace in my heart concerning the whole mess. In fact, I would say that in terms of us, the peace now outweighs the mess.

And that’s a freaking miracle.

I am grateful to be here. People tried to describe this place to me, back before I could see it for myself. And if felt somewhat like listening to someone tell you about their dream. It didn’t make much sense. You were never gonna be there, yourself. And then your mind starts to wander towards what’s for lunch, before making yourself try to listen to this dream that isn’t. even. real, just for the sake of your friend who is so passionately describing it.

But lookit! Turns out to be a real place, after all. I’m okay without him. I’m better than okay. I’m not the walking dead and the zombie apocalypse wouldn’t just feel like I’d finally come home, believe it or not.

But, back to the question: do we talk?

Sometimes. I mean, rarely, and always for some practical reason, but when we do, it’s okay.

And I’m grateful for this, too. I never wanted to be that girl who cannot even hear the name of the person who has hurt her so badly, for fear that she’ll have a conniption. And I’m not saying that a conniption isn’t necessarily warranted, but I am saying that I don’t want anyone to have that much power over me. Especially when it’s a person who does not actually want to take care of my heart.

But, I have to say that it did my heart a little good to have this conversation with him recently:

D: “I saw [a friend of ours] the other day.
J: “Oh yeah? How was that?”
D: “Good. He speaks of you very…well, very highly.”
J: “What’d he say?”
D: “He was trying to describe you to someone who’s never met you. So he went on and on–about how you look, how you dance, how you act and sing, how you’re so sweet, how you’ve made an album…I mean, he really just kept on going on and on about how amazing you are, Jess.”
J: “That must have made you feel great.”
D: “Yeah. I finally said that I’m the idiot who messed all that up.”
J: “Well, you are.”

And then we hung up the phone and I went on with my day and I felt peace and even if I didn’t ever hear that, I’d still have felt peace, because it doesn’t hinge on what he thinks of me.

Still, it wasn’t a bad thing to hear, I guess.

I mean, there are parts of me that have been around forever. Things that I am used to, that I even like now. Like the beauty mark in the middle of my forehead that causes random strangers to accuse me of playing with hindu tattoos. Or at least one random stranger, anyway. In a coffee shop. True story. But I am used to the fact that my eyes are brown, but green too when the sun shines in them just so. Or even that I hear myself referred to as skinny more often than anything else; that I can continue to use my own preference of slender as much as I can, slipping it into casual conversation in a clumsy attempt at subliminal messaging, but that won’t make my friend David stop saying that I am the skinniest person he’s ever met. And it won’t change the fact that I get no compassion when I complain about this to others either. Rather, they tell me that they’d love to be called skinny just once. And again, I am skinny. Not slender, but skinny, subliminal messaging and all.

But now I have a syndrome and I hate it.

Now when my phone rings or I get a text telling me to please call, I have a visceral reaction. My heart starts beating faster and faster, racing to I don’t know where, but it’s getting there way too soon. My breathing becomes shallow and I taste panic. It is not savory, it is not sweet; it is fear and it is pervasive. It starts in my mouth and eventually makes it down to my stomach so that there is no longer any room for food. And I become full and nauseous at once as all I know to do is wait for myself to waste away because nobody can live on fear for too long. Which is a little bit nice in the moment since it means that there is an end.

And an end to a very bad thing is actually a very good thing.

This morning, for instance, my brother called me before 9 am. And to a performer, that is early. Nobody calls me then, not even my mom. But he called and I was scared and if I am going to be honest, too scared to answer. So I didn’t. Whatever it was, I wanted to be blissfully ignorant for just a little bit longer. But then he texted and told me to call him. Shoot. No more sweet naivety. Instead, the panic. Instead, the heart beating hard enough to sustain a few hundred, rather than just one skinny (if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, right?) female.

And there it was, not even 9 in the morning and I was being reminded of my new syndrome. Nice. Perhaps, along with the simple task of answering a phone call from my brother, the sounds of my spoon against my cereal bowl will be just too much for me today also.

*oh, and on a completely different note, I was inspired by my brother who just added snow to his blog. So not to be outdone, I went out and got some for myself. Because of it being December and all. And because of my competitive nature and all. Hope the snowflakes don’t annoy you guys too much…Unfortunately, mine look more like dandruff while my brother’s look more like the beautiful romanticized snowflakes we all see on the victorian christmas cards we never do quite get around to mailing, but oh well. Merry Christmas anyway.