Lately, I've come to hate writing about what bothers me.  I feel so melodramatic.  Once upon a time it used to make me feel so much better. Now I just feel like It’s a burden. The thought of posting it publicly shames me a bit too, but sometimes the need to just empty what’s inside of you overpowers how melodramatic people will think of me.  After all, you chose to read it right?

Another day where I try to quiet down the thoughts in my head but can’t.  I want to just focus on work as tedious as it might be, but I can’t.

You’re going to do what’s right? What does that even mean? What’s right? Right for who?  I’m sorry you feel guilty that your intentions weren’t as true as mine. I’m sorry that this was way more than you ever thought it would be.  I’m sorry it brings up so much conflict in you.  I don’t want you to chose me out of guilt.  I don’t want you to chose me because you feel some sense of obligation to me.  I don’t want you to chose me because you’re afraid of losing me or you don’t want to hurt me. I’d rather be lost than resented. 

You love me, BUT.  It’s huge, it fills the room and I stand in its shadow being reminded how much of a foolish little girl I am.  How could I have been so stupid? How could I have just given up something so tangible and so obvious for words coupled with irrational feelings? How could I hurt the one person who I meant the world to? Just because I was dumb enough to believe the lines you spoon fed me.

And I do feel like they were lines. The emptiness in me tells my gut that they are.  It tries to convince me that you could never feel the same way about me that I feel towards you. That I was foolish and dumb for ever falling for them.  What were they ? Oh yes, holding me was the greatest privilege you ever knew, how you love me, how I’ve moved you to song and poem, how I’m the closest person to your secret heart, how I have the only embrace, how the thought of never cuddling me or gracing my lips again kills you. How all you want to do is be happy with me.  How quickly those words change, how quickly it is now that all you want is for me to be happy. How obvious it makes it that those were merely words to you, words you wrote to make me feel better, words you chose because you assumed it was what I wanted to hear.  All I have are my words.  All of the ones I’ve given you have been true. I’ve been nothing but honest with you, I’ve told you things that I knew would hurt, I was open, candid, and forthright my words.  I was more honest with you than I was with myself.  They’re all I have when I’m trying to tell you how I feel for you, they’re all I have when I have to try and describe the way you make me feel, how it feels being in your arms. I never used any of them to make you feel a different way. I never used them to make you think I wanted something else.  They’re all I have. They’re the only way you know how I feel. It hurts me so much to think that you just picked them to mislead me.

I can’t even concisely describe how I feel . It’s just coursing through my body bringing the rest of me down with it.  It makes me feel like a old greek mourner, I want to don my black clothes and wail as if the wailing will somehow soothe the pain of my soul.

Everything inside of me aches. My stomach is a mess again.  My whole body feels heavy. All I want to do is sleep.  I want to sleep until I forget your face, until I forget how it felt to be in your arms.  I want to sleep so long that I convince myself it all was a bad dream.

I feel so hollow –yet heavy.  There’s no density to me, but this entire burden weighs me down.  I feel so empty inside that I may collapse in on myself.  If I could unhinge my chest and take out my heart I would. If I could stop feeling I would.  I keep telling myself that this will all work out. This will all be ok, but I know it’s not going to be.  I keep seeing us together and I keep reaching out to them to you, but as soon as I get close it turns into sand and I want to sit on the floor wrap myself in my arms and cry and cry and cry until I can’t do so anymore.  I want to disappear.  I want to turn into the same sand that my thoughts of us turn into when I try to reach for them.

Even now, even as much as I hurt or as empty as I feel, I just, I want you to reach across and hold me. I want you to make me feel full again, but I know that it just won’t. It won’t because it’s now it’s disingenuous on your end.  It feels as if my whole being can tell. I don’t feel like Sweet Pea anymore or Eface or even Eleni♥, I just feel like me, the plain girl that I always knew I was.  The stupid foolish girl that I know I’ve been for years. The one you swore I wasn’t but deep down I always knew. What would make you see any different?  

I’m sitting at work trying not to cry, trying to do anything but think about this, but the emptiness in my chest won’t let me. It feels like it’s going to suck me in. I feel as ifI’m going to collapse into it.  My stomach is churning and the rational side of me is just telling me how much of an idiot I am. How I should’ve known that you could never have felt anything for me. Why would anybody?

My protesting and propaganda can’t make you want me. No matter how much I want you, there’s absolutely nothing I can do to make you feel the same way about me. As happy as I get talking about how much I want to be with you, how much whatever it is inside of me that makes me want to reach out of me and wind itself around you, it means absolutely nothing, because just like the dreams above that turn to sand, it just reaches out and falls to the floor because you don’t feel the same way about me, so it can’t grab on to you, and that hole in my chest gets larger and the pain in my shoulders stronger, and I just feel like crawling into it and never coming out.

I used to see different things with us.  Awesome explosions, even when did did the most mundane things.  THey seemed something like this:

Different images come into my head. Different visions of the future come to mind. Rather than awesome explosions, we carry as if nothing ever happened.  We act like things are fine, we see each other occasionally—random parties, tournaments, wherever, because we’ve become people we “used to know”. And we carry on with different people. I go on pretending like there’s nothing there for you.  Faking it until it finally doesn’t hurt anymore, or at least until I become numb to it. We finally become the two ships we were meant to be.  I don’t want that, but if you want to be with someone else please let me go. Lose me, because I can’t stand around pretending that I’m ok with someone else being where I feel like I should be.  I can’t pretend that I’m happy for you when inside all of me is dying.  I can’t stand there and be your friend and listen to you tell me that you want me to be the closest person to you, but you’re with someone else.  I don’t want to keep pining for you and wanting to be with you.  I’ve done that entirely too long.

I could keep writing for days. I could keep writing and writing, till I ran out of paper to carry my words, till I start writing on all the streets, on buildings, on people, on trees, on leaves but it’s be pointless. It does absolutely nothing. 

(* stick figure images are from xkcd  used entirely out of context.  top image created using Wordle)

Delicate
We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate

So why'd you fill my sorrows
With the words you've borrowed
From the only place you've known
And why'd ya sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why'd you sing with me at all?

We might live like never before
When there's nothing to give
Well how can we ask for more
We might make love in some sacred place
The look on your face is delicate

So why'd you fill my sorrow
With the words you've borrowed
From the only place that you've known
And why'd you sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why'd you sing with me at all?

And why'd you fill my sorrows
With the words you've borrowed
From the only place that you've known
Why'd you sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why'd you sing with me at all?
-Damien Rice

The Metric song Hustle Rose keeps playing in my head.  I suppose it's the soundtrack for this post.  The emptiness of it I guess captures my own emptiness.

My stomach has been a mess for the last two months.  I finally threw up today.  A feeling I've had for the last two months.  Finally it came out. I thought throwing up would make me feel better, it hasn't, but I want to keep doing it.   I want to keep going until I feel as small physically as I feel emotionally.  

Realistically what's even the point of posting? Does anyone really care that I feel absolutely hollow inside?  I feel like I'm made of bird bones.  There's no density to me, I could easily be picked up and carted away.  Only feeling like I can float away isn't liberating. I don't find any freedom from this flying, just the feeling of loneliness and hopelessness.  I need the balloon to keep me alive but at the same time it takes me further and further away from the ground.  

I'm supposed to come over tomorrow.  I don't really know if I want to. I don't really even think you want me to. I'm setting myself up for the worst because everything in me is telling me that's what's going to happen.  It adds to my feeling empty. I already know what to expect.  I already know what you're going to say.  I already know what you're thinking.  You're just trying to find the right words to use. Shouldn't I just save you the effort of having to save face.  You're just not that interested.  This all got way out of hand way too fast.  You love me, but _________.  I can hear it in your breath after the words come out of your mouth. Save them and spare me the train ride. Say them across the telephone wires and let me get closer to having a full night of sleep. 

       I've already lost so many nights of sleep over you.  How many now over the last year plus? I've lost count. What difference do a couple more make? They are the less important of my causalities so far.   This feeling is temporary.  The actions I've done to get to this point aren't.  But that's my cross to bear.