"So...I was just wondering...were you going to take the day off from work on our anniversary?"
"I don't know...I don't think I can take any days off. What I have to do in my life doesn't matter. What they want me to do there is all that matters."
Pause.
Tomorrow comes. I'm making dinner thinking about those words, trying to find some better way of interpreting them, and a ceramic dishes slips from my hands. I'm still thinking about it as I miss a tiny fragment of dish. I finally stop thinking about it when said tiny fragment ends up in my foot and I'm in incredible pain considering how tiny the piece actually was.
There's blood on the kitchen floor. At least the fish came out amazing.
Staring at my plate I ask you what exactly you meant by that.
The typical answer. It's just a busy time. It won't be like this forever. It's what I have to do to keep my job.
Sure. I'll swallow that. It's exactly what I've come to expect from you.
It's still nice to dream that maybe someday you wouldn't ever say something so careless, and if you did...you'd know what a real apology sounds like and give me one.
Maybe I'm just too sensitive.
Either way...does it really matter? It always comes down to the fact that reality tells me, you're the best of what's around.
Resume.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Say Hi to Your Mom
"Next to walls that jut from the earth
like frozen trajectories of superheroes,
we nibble and jest about things that drain and the taste of lust.
And she is over here
and I am over there
and the unlucky dark cloud is in the middle.
We like to time ourselves,
we like to watch ourselves,
and her winks cut through me like a Ginsu:
my sweet sweet heartkiller,
my sweet sweet heartkiller,
my sweet sweet heartkiller,
my sweet sweet heartkiller.
And everything's good
and everything's fine
and everything's bitter like sweet things should be,
when I'm sinking my teeth into her"
Stuck in my head. What is with my obsession with biting lately? The tickle as their teeth drag along my skin, before finally taking hold, and then the gentle pinch. It's been going around and around in my head all day.
That's all. No soul-crushing depression today.
What can I say...I have good days sometimes.
like frozen trajectories of superheroes,
we nibble and jest about things that drain and the taste of lust.
And she is over here
and I am over there
and the unlucky dark cloud is in the middle.
We like to time ourselves,
we like to watch ourselves,
and her winks cut through me like a Ginsu:
my sweet sweet heartkiller,
my sweet sweet heartkiller,
my sweet sweet heartkiller,
my sweet sweet heartkiller.
And everything's good
and everything's fine
and everything's bitter like sweet things should be,
when I'm sinking my teeth into her"
Stuck in my head. What is with my obsession with biting lately? The tickle as their teeth drag along my skin, before finally taking hold, and then the gentle pinch. It's been going around and around in my head all day.
That's all. No soul-crushing depression today.
What can I say...I have good days sometimes.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Reflecting
I've been reading over my old posts, and realized...I've never explained what exactly happened to me *after* my heart was broken. Well, I never explain anything exactly, I merely give the shape of a feeling.
A new friend (rabbit) made me realize how important that particular part of the story might be.
It was...the darkest time in my life, and darker so because before it all had been so bright. He was a white hot light, and I could handle his heat. But slowly the flame began to blue, and then yellow, orange, and then there were just the black, mucky ash left. Since then everything has been a shade of gray...though now and then, my grays have some blue in them.
Needless to say, I don't like remembering those days, but I am starting to think that maybe sharing it could be therapeutic.
In a way, I should have seen the disaster that has swallowed my life coming. Everyone around me seemed to think I should have anyway. That's how I know none of them have ever been in love...but that's another topic for another day. The point is, there was no one to go to, no one to talk to, no one who didn't think it was my own fault. Including me. I didn't think I had a right to grieve. I was cut open, hallowed out inside, and I simply closed myself up, and continued life devoid of feeling. I was so sad, but I wouldn't let myself be. Every time I wanted to cry I swallowed the lump in my throat and said no. I pretended to keep being the person I was even though I was entirely altered. I was friends with all the same people with no real affection for them. I could no longer talk to people. All I wanted to say was how much I was hurting, but I wouldn't allow myself the release. I had it coming. I should have known. I had no right to be sad.
I lost every part of myself. My writing. My heart. My love. Myself.
I had every right to be sad. I had every right to cry and cry and cry. I had every right to call on every one of my friends, and be that pain in the ass complaining about their broken heart. But no one said that to me. No one made me face it. No one even noticed I was shutting down, and breaking off. No one noticed the panic attacks I began having. The first was in a movie theater. All of the sudden I couldn't breathe, and a sudden wave a realization hit me of how alone I was, and what an impossible endeavor it was to go back to having nothing. I just thought "I can't do this. I can't do this." My two friends sitting on either side of me noticed nothing. There was no one who knew me. No one except him, and he didn't want me.
None of that matters though, not really. Because what I discovered once I finally fessed up to myself that I was still hurting 7 years later, is that I do not have it in me to recover from what happened. There is no getting better for me. There is just acceptance.
And the chance to not do what was done to me.
Oh...and that tiny bit of hope I can't seem to kill that maybe, just maybe...I might find someone who gets me again. Even if we're not in love...even if they can't protect me from my host of personal demons, to be understood again...to feel at home again. It would mean so much. It would even more to again find my heart...to take a breath and not have my chest feel tight.
It's been so long.
A new friend (rabbit) made me realize how important that particular part of the story might be.
It was...the darkest time in my life, and darker so because before it all had been so bright. He was a white hot light, and I could handle his heat. But slowly the flame began to blue, and then yellow, orange, and then there were just the black, mucky ash left. Since then everything has been a shade of gray...though now and then, my grays have some blue in them.
Needless to say, I don't like remembering those days, but I am starting to think that maybe sharing it could be therapeutic.
In a way, I should have seen the disaster that has swallowed my life coming. Everyone around me seemed to think I should have anyway. That's how I know none of them have ever been in love...but that's another topic for another day. The point is, there was no one to go to, no one to talk to, no one who didn't think it was my own fault. Including me. I didn't think I had a right to grieve. I was cut open, hallowed out inside, and I simply closed myself up, and continued life devoid of feeling. I was so sad, but I wouldn't let myself be. Every time I wanted to cry I swallowed the lump in my throat and said no. I pretended to keep being the person I was even though I was entirely altered. I was friends with all the same people with no real affection for them. I could no longer talk to people. All I wanted to say was how much I was hurting, but I wouldn't allow myself the release. I had it coming. I should have known. I had no right to be sad.
I lost every part of myself. My writing. My heart. My love. Myself.
I had every right to be sad. I had every right to cry and cry and cry. I had every right to call on every one of my friends, and be that pain in the ass complaining about their broken heart. But no one said that to me. No one made me face it. No one even noticed I was shutting down, and breaking off. No one noticed the panic attacks I began having. The first was in a movie theater. All of the sudden I couldn't breathe, and a sudden wave a realization hit me of how alone I was, and what an impossible endeavor it was to go back to having nothing. I just thought "I can't do this. I can't do this." My two friends sitting on either side of me noticed nothing. There was no one who knew me. No one except him, and he didn't want me.
None of that matters though, not really. Because what I discovered once I finally fessed up to myself that I was still hurting 7 years later, is that I do not have it in me to recover from what happened. There is no getting better for me. There is just acceptance.
And the chance to not do what was done to me.
Oh...and that tiny bit of hope I can't seem to kill that maybe, just maybe...I might find someone who gets me again. Even if we're not in love...even if they can't protect me from my host of personal demons, to be understood again...to feel at home again. It would mean so much. It would even more to again find my heart...to take a breath and not have my chest feel tight.
It's been so long.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
What You Don't Notice
You don't notice how when I know I am going to see you I get so excited that I can't sit still. I often clean the house 3 or 4 times before you even get home just because I can't contain the elation.
And every time you walk in the door and notice nothing I deflate.
Maybe I didn't do it well enough, maybe you have something else on your mind, but you always seem to have something else on your mind, am I ever on your mind? Am I ever your focus?
You're always mine.
Are we working, am I making you happy, should I leave you so you can find someone who really does make you happy?
Would you be happier if I just stopped trying?
Sigh.
Over and over again I have to remind myself not to think that you should notice the things that make me, me. You should not be endeared by my small things. You should not notice, or love my quirks. I have to be happy just to have someone around. I'm past looking for rightness and understanding. You're a warm body to sleep next to, and that is far, far better than I ever thought possible.
So why can't I stop wishing you'd see me?
I just want to stop wanting.
And every time you walk in the door and notice nothing I deflate.
Maybe I didn't do it well enough, maybe you have something else on your mind, but you always seem to have something else on your mind, am I ever on your mind? Am I ever your focus?
You're always mine.
Are we working, am I making you happy, should I leave you so you can find someone who really does make you happy?
Would you be happier if I just stopped trying?
Sigh.
Over and over again I have to remind myself not to think that you should notice the things that make me, me. You should not be endeared by my small things. You should not notice, or love my quirks. I have to be happy just to have someone around. I'm past looking for rightness and understanding. You're a warm body to sleep next to, and that is far, far better than I ever thought possible.
So why can't I stop wishing you'd see me?
I just want to stop wanting.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Dear Rabbit
I hear you. I don't think you're a creep.
I've been where you are. I've felt what you're feeling. I've read your words, and I know. I even left a few comments telling you as much, but they don't seem to be showing up on your blog, not sure why.
In any case...I know how alone you feel, and that it will get worse. If you need a friend, someone to listen, someone to take your mind off things, email me.
lostcause.jude@yahoo.com
You may be flawed. You may be to blame for things. But there is beauty in you, and things will be better. The good in you will see to that.
I've been where you are. I've felt what you're feeling. I've read your words, and I know. I even left a few comments telling you as much, but they don't seem to be showing up on your blog, not sure why.
In any case...I know how alone you feel, and that it will get worse. If you need a friend, someone to listen, someone to take your mind off things, email me.
lostcause.jude@yahoo.com
You may be flawed. You may be to blame for things. But there is beauty in you, and things will be better. The good in you will see to that.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Maybe Because it's Late...
I'm acutely aware of how hopeless every single thing is.
"Everyone is a let down, it just depends on how far down they can go."
And that includes me.
"Everyone is a let down, it just depends on how far down they can go."
And that includes me.
Learned Behaviors
At night I find my favorite pair of sweat pants, and the comfiest sweatshirt I own. I need these friends of my skin because I know what every night brings.
The cold.
The tremors.
The sheer panic.
You can see it if you watch me sleep...I'm fighting an enemy you can't see. I thrash and whimper. I cry and scream. And by morning it's as though I never slept at all.
It always starts the same. I get into bed and wrap around myself pretending you're holding me. I think of who you might be, try to see your face. Sometimes this happy day dream keeps the fight away, but most of the time the sadness finds me and tries to take you away, and make me remember everything I need you to protect me from. I lose my grip on your phantom and must prepare for battle.
I can't talk about it with anyone. I can't say to anyone "well the reason I'm so tired all the time is because I won't ever be able to sleep until he finds me and keeps me safe from the dreams."
It's a learned behavior...keeping your sadness to yourself. But not here. Here I can say it's been so long since my last post because sometimes the misery swallows me up and takes away my words. It convinces me that there is no reason to keep writing, to keep trying, to keep holding on to my sanity.
But I wouldn't have to try so hard...or keep anything to myself if I could find you. I'd like to believe I will. Jude does, so part of me does.
And so I ask, as I ask every day....Where are you?
The cold.
The tremors.
The sheer panic.
You can see it if you watch me sleep...I'm fighting an enemy you can't see. I thrash and whimper. I cry and scream. And by morning it's as though I never slept at all.
It always starts the same. I get into bed and wrap around myself pretending you're holding me. I think of who you might be, try to see your face. Sometimes this happy day dream keeps the fight away, but most of the time the sadness finds me and tries to take you away, and make me remember everything I need you to protect me from. I lose my grip on your phantom and must prepare for battle.
I can't talk about it with anyone. I can't say to anyone "well the reason I'm so tired all the time is because I won't ever be able to sleep until he finds me and keeps me safe from the dreams."
It's a learned behavior...keeping your sadness to yourself. But not here. Here I can say it's been so long since my last post because sometimes the misery swallows me up and takes away my words. It convinces me that there is no reason to keep writing, to keep trying, to keep holding on to my sanity.
But I wouldn't have to try so hard...or keep anything to myself if I could find you. I'd like to believe I will. Jude does, so part of me does.
And so I ask, as I ask every day....Where are you?
My Letters to You
Dear You,
What's wrong with me? It's been almost a decade since there was an "us," and I still find your memory strung around my neck, weighting me down. I can't move on. This is my life now, remembering you. I don't miss you. I don't want you, or even to go back and live those days again.
I just remember you.
And pretend. That may be the worst part. I pretend to love someone else. It didn't start that way, I thought that in time your hold on my heart would loosen, I'd start to feel again. And maybe I would have if I'd chosen better. Instead with every kiss, every touch, I am reminded how alone I am. I used to treat your every expression as a treasure, and you reciprocated. No one else seems to speak the language. He doesn't notice my despair, he can't feel the falseness of my affection, nor does he notice when my soul takes flight for a brief moment. I think it's because he is in a constant state of neutrality. He appears to feel nothing, and his motivations come from places foreign to me. We don't understand each other, and it simply pokes the bruised surface of my desolated heart.
I know you're asking why I stay. I know it because I ask myself the same thing in those all too frequent moments of weakness. I stay because I know what you taught me. That that thing I am looking for, that I thought I found in you, isn't real, and should I find it, it will be a life destroying lie that I need to run, and run fast from. I stay because I know that this is safe, and it is the best I can hope to find. It is love, as imperfect as it is, it is love. And the only thing to keep me from completely detaching from humanity.
Maybe it's foolish, but I continue to hope in spite of you. I hope I can find the indescribable. I hope I can fall in love again, and that when it happens I'll have some way to know that it isn't a lie...that I'll have some way to trust it.
So don't go ruining that too. Asshole.
What's wrong with me? It's been almost a decade since there was an "us," and I still find your memory strung around my neck, weighting me down. I can't move on. This is my life now, remembering you. I don't miss you. I don't want you, or even to go back and live those days again.
I just remember you.
And pretend. That may be the worst part. I pretend to love someone else. It didn't start that way, I thought that in time your hold on my heart would loosen, I'd start to feel again. And maybe I would have if I'd chosen better. Instead with every kiss, every touch, I am reminded how alone I am. I used to treat your every expression as a treasure, and you reciprocated. No one else seems to speak the language. He doesn't notice my despair, he can't feel the falseness of my affection, nor does he notice when my soul takes flight for a brief moment. I think it's because he is in a constant state of neutrality. He appears to feel nothing, and his motivations come from places foreign to me. We don't understand each other, and it simply pokes the bruised surface of my desolated heart.
I know you're asking why I stay. I know it because I ask myself the same thing in those all too frequent moments of weakness. I stay because I know what you taught me. That that thing I am looking for, that I thought I found in you, isn't real, and should I find it, it will be a life destroying lie that I need to run, and run fast from. I stay because I know that this is safe, and it is the best I can hope to find. It is love, as imperfect as it is, it is love. And the only thing to keep me from completely detaching from humanity.
Maybe it's foolish, but I continue to hope in spite of you. I hope I can find the indescribable. I hope I can fall in love again, and that when it happens I'll have some way to know that it isn't a lie...that I'll have some way to trust it.
So don't go ruining that too. Asshole.
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