I want to post something. I want to write… be it here or on MySpace… I just… I want to say something and I can't.
I feel like… shit. Physically, mentally… I just feel crummy.
But I don't want to talk about that.
I don't want to talk about how my body feels battered and bruised, and how I can't sleep at night because no matter what I do… there's no getting comfortable. And once I finally fall asleep, I wake up not wanting to move because as soon as I move off the side I'm used to sleeping on all the air in my lungs just expels… leaving me breathless, gasping for air.
I don't want to talk about how tired I am… not just because of my dark bags under my eyes, especially when the left eye looks swollen like someone just punched me. But how mentally tired I am. How I can't remember simple instructions, or remember one small comment that was made not more than ten to fifteen minutes ago. And how I keep having something I want to say, but it just won't materialize into the simple sentence it was in my mind. I find myself tripping, stumbling, stuttering over conversation that normally I have no problems with.
I'm wondering if it really is me.
The people I talk to tell me not to get emotional. To calm down. To stop fighting them. To open up. To give them pieces of me.
And when I do… they prove themselves unworthy. I know sometimes I ask alot from people. I know I have expectations that are far too high. I know part of it is me.
Why is it so wrong to get angry? Why can't I be sad?
Is it because I hold on to so much that people don't expect me to exhibit these emotions..? Because I let things slide… because I say, 'I'm fine' or 'No worries…' when things aren't always as good as I am trying to project them to be.
I bottle things up, and then when I finally show the emotions, specifically the angry ones, I am called out as a vicious bitch…. the sad, melancholy ones, I'm too emotional and a cry baby.
Of course when I finally get angry alot comes with it. I bite back much harder than I guess I should… and when I cry, it's like waterworks… I'm unable to stop it. But you know… each time I cry lately… I stop. I feel the tears coming, my eyes water, my throat closes up… and I stop. I blink until my eyes dry without a single tear spilling. I swallow a few times until that lump falls back into the pit of my stomach. I somehow find the few words I'm supposed to say.
I want to cry damnit. I want to bawl my eyes out. I want to… and for some reason, even now… even so close to being able to… I stop myself.
I miss him. We talk every night on the phone… and then Friday comes… and I won't hear from him again until Monday. And that makes me want to cry.
Friday nights have always been a night for tears. I can't remember the last Friday that was some semblence of… normal. And now, Fridays are worse than they were just a few months ago. It's not just about worrying about having to go pick up the drinker from the bar…
It's about telling the guy, who convinced me I should feel more for him, goodbye and how I hope he has a good weekend with his kids and (almost ex) wife… How I understand he made the right decision for him and his kids. How I'll be ok even though I don't feel like I will. How us just being friends is fine with me even though when I said that from the beginning it wasn't fine then for him, and isn't fine now for me.
Each day that passes as we talk on the phone… after I convinced myself that as long as he was in my life I would be ok… I feel worse. He is the first person I just… connect with. And the funny thing is… is that I didn't realize just how big the connection felt until he cut me off for a week when he went home. And just when I thought I was ok to not talk to him… he was back. And every day since all I do is wait for those times to talk to him. To have that contact. To hear his voice in my hear. To hear him talk about nothing at all… And each night, I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want to say goodnight. I just want five more minutes. I want to feel like I'm not alone. And I want to not feel that by talking to him… I'm going to hurt his family, him, or myself.
He can't leave them again… and I know he won't.
So what am I still doing?
I'm… so… stupid. ~smile~ And still… I can't cry.