I’ve raged. I’ve screamed, I’ve wailed. I’ve drank, I’ve smoked. I’m finally limp, energy expended. The tears finally dried, to a weird, almost sticky film on my eyes, turning my eyelashes twisted and stiff.
I’m calm again…for the most part. I think what really fucked with me this relapse around was that I felt as if my whole world perspective was being tested, and I felt like it was failing. I always preach the Golden Rule way of living right? Karma, pure and simple. You treat people nice, you put positive energy into the universe and you’ll reap it in return. My catatonic state, which followed my initial utter freak-out, had me haphazardly cross-legged on the floor of my room. I stared into the middle distance as tears streamed down my face, working through the pseudo-math. Was I that big of a dick that I deserved these feelings? I felt so wronged, and while it initially surfaced as fierce defiance, that empowerment was slowly whittled away to a husk of its former self. I thought long and hard about the course of events. Then I thought about it some more. I still feel that my contribution was not as monumental as his to our break up, but I wasn’t exactly a saint myself. ‘B-b-but’, I thought, ‘I’d already admitted that to myself! I’d admitted it and moved on!’
Then my Self chimed in, ‘No, L’s, you didn’t. You allowed those emotions to swallow you, and they mutated you a bit, didn’t they? ….L’s? Answer the question.’ Begrudgingly I entertained the Dr. L’s/Ms. Bitch idea: I concede that I was coming over that hill until Monday. Until I got information confirmed that was already in the back of my mind, but I was initially able to ignore it because I refused to just make assumptions. When it was thrust in my face, not by my own insatiable curiosity but by someone else’s, I lost my fucking mind again. My fury flowed from my fingers like vicious, viscous lava. Despite my outrage, I should have waited a day. I should have screamed in my journal instead. Whelp, nobody’s perfect, right? I’ve promised myself to force a step backwards from now on. I think my frustration stems from feeling as though my point of view, while maybe understood now, is not accepted. But I would imagine my ex feels the same way. We just don’t speak the same language, not anymore.
My uncle told me once that his worst breakups were really based in the same set of factors: he wasn’t happy with himself. There was a need he had that was not being fulfilled. When those relationships inevitably ended, he was so hurt because that hole in his heart was no longer taken up. It gaped like a raw wound and he still hadn’t solved how to fill it himself. So maybe that’s why this breakup has been so hard on me. Even just knowing that helps the new sutures stick just a bit more.
This year has been stuffing life lessons down my throat since it started. I’m full ok, 2014? So fucking stuffed, like a goose about to head to the butcher for their tasty liver. Can you please just chill the eff out now and go out with a lil’ whimper? I’m being tested in school enough, can you let up on my personal life? Pretty please? K, thanks. *kisses*
Current Jam: “I don’t wanna be an asshole anymore” Menzingers