What was supposed to be a simple three-day weekend somehow spawned a monster. The kick-off was selling two treasured belongings to take care of responsibilities. I never expected to be parting ways with these, but alas - I am. I do have some resolve in knowing where they are going, and knowing that who will have them will cherish them even more than I have. But I accepted it, knowing I could spend three days with someone I care about and excited about sharing that time really put all thoughts out of my head about these items, but more important, how close of a nerve it touched upon from my past. That above all else, needing to be with someone that loved and cared about me was a distraction from my past. It was strength and foundation.
In an abrupt and brilliantly chaotic moment, that weekend away became a weekend of internalizing hurt. Crashing in on an already stunned and shattered heart, was the flood of suppressed past. It's such a mystery to me that somehow in 10 years with May, Allisin was but a visitor in our homes, and now, she perches upon my thoughts each and every day. We're doing each other no favors currently. She reminds me that I deserve this hurt, I refuse to allow her rest... so we fight.
Tuesday morning, functioning off of fragments of sleep, and a rum/vodka/whisky induced pyroclastic floe inside my head, I realize that all of the bedding is blood-stained, and I have 20 minutes to shower and get to work. That creeping swathe of pain when the hot water hits the wounds was nauseating, I buckled. It's never like that. But to work I went. Of course I wasn't able to focus, and of course I was going to fuck something up, and my boss, for the first time ever, called me out on it; yelling as he wrote me up and sent me home. Quite startling, like a slap back to reality. Amazing how sobering the fear of being unemployed and homeless is. He called me that night to see if I was okay, and apologized for the demeanor, and told me he made arrangements so I could take the week off and get my act together. I failed.
Tuesday, I was reminded that I had plans to meet up with a friend for coffee and catch up. "Good grief", I thought, "this isn't going to be catching up, this is going to be a therapy session." I told her I was in no state to hang out, she told me that's the perfect reason to hang out. And she was right, I felt okay finally. I voiced it... I felt like I could be okay.
Serendipity had other plans and kept me up til 6 in the morning. I chose to disembark on the same train from the weekend. Actually with a little less sense of caring and sort of hoping we hit something and derailed. Again, fate stepped in; took the pretty, shiny, pointy things away and took me to a movie. I thought I was okay, but not voicing anything and only witnessing in silence someone else's twisted mind, left me with mine. Didn't sleep.
Thursday - I wanted to run away. Actually, St. Augustine was where I wanted to go, but a glimpse at the bank account reminded me that you are staying put. It just didn't get any better. There is still laundry on the bed from Sunday waiting to be folded. Nothing in the art book got done, tables are still covered with fucking everything. And what's worse, I realized I am still as capable of jealous feelings as I ever was. Even though I have no right to feel them, and it's utterly a selfish act, there they are. Ripping at what's left of my arms and heart. I don't even remember how that day closed, I think it's my night of 3 hours of sleep.
Friday - likely my last chance at solitude and dealing with myself. "No?! Not possible? Okay, yes, let's calm your freak out and shattering life... I think I have enough quality of life in my own to get you through this." Constantly reminding myself, I deserve this, or else it wouldn't be. Plans to have lunch with the work wife were my escape. And escape I did. "2 for 1 drinks u say?" "Thank you, yes!" It was nice to see someone I didn't have to fear, fix, follow, or fabricate to. So fucking nice. I needed some time that evening to just go and be adsorbed and invisible. I thought The Falcon was a great opportunity to do so. At least until I hear "10:15 Saturday Night" and I am right back to hurt; to missing; to wishing. I had to go. Yeah, goths are supposed to be mopey and sad, but I didn't want any of it, I just wanted to leave.
Unfortunately, those feelings never left from Friday. It's my current live-in girlfriend. Quite needy. She's convinced me that I am making mistakes, that I let something amazing leave, and that I probably should continue doing stupid things to myself and send the one that got away texts all fucking night like a pathetic teenager... oh and I should drink and drink and drink and be drunk. I have a problem saying no. It was also decided that going to sleep was prohibitive to making the least of this vacation.
Now, it's Sunday evening. It's raining. I am blasting deathrock... I can't really complain at the moment about anything new. Birthday is making full use of having a queen-size bed all to himself, and I don't really care what happens the rest of the day. This vacation fell apart, period. And I was given the opportunity to heal as much as possible and be ready for Monday, and I never left my head, so it just got darker and dimmer. But I am ready, I think, to shelf it all and just go back to work. I think I can focus, I have to, and get back on track with my job. It's where the stability is and is controllable, so I need to put my energies there.
LOVESICK, LOVESICK, LOVESICK, OH!
LOVESICK IN MY HEART OH NO!
LOVESICK, LOVESICK, LOVESICK, OH!
LOVESICK IN MY HEART OH NO!
LOVESICK IN MY HEART, LOVESICK ALL ALONE
I'M NOT GONNA TAKE YOUR SHIT ANYMORE
GET OFF OF MY TIT! GET OFF OF MY TIT!
YOU'RE NOT MY BABY!
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