Monday, March 05, 2012

When There's No One Around

It isn’t right in my face every moment of every day anymore.  At first it was every commercial, every song, every show, every time I turned on the TV and heard that god damn chime that played on the one we had and so on; I couldn’t forget.  It was always lurking just below the surface, I thought I was covering it up but I could see it in the faces of my friends that I was not doing a good job.  I guess after a while I got good at faking it, but it was always there in the front of my mind, coloring my view of the world.  It took a few months, but after a while they stopped asking.  I guess they just figure everything is back to “normal” at this point, whatever the fuck that means.

Right now I don’t have to try to push those memories out of my mind, when I’m occupied they stay out of my way.  When I find myself alone and my head clear, that’s when it happens.  As I lay my head on that pillow and wait for the Benadryl to kick in, a thought will often cross my mind and then it is too late.  I don’t know what triggers it, but as soon as I’m asleep it’s all over.

I can’t ever actually remember the dreams, just the feeling they leave me with when I wake.  I will roll over and reach for her only to find the side of the bed that she slept on cold.  It is usually then that I close my eyes and feel a tear roll off my face and into my ear.  After a few minutes I’ll fall back asleep and it starts all over again.  I usually just wake up with a pain in my chest and a vague memory of pleading with her to no avail, in my dreams she is so very heartless.

Look, I don’t even know why the hell I’m writing this.  I still love her and it hurts so fucking much, why can’t I move on?  I don’t want to feel for her anymore, I don’t want to see her when I sleep; I’m so tired.  I don’t have anyone to talk to about it: my friends have heard enough, parents don’t get it and the therapist is about as helpful as a third nut.  

I suppose that first paragraph isn’t completely accurate, you see what prompted me to write this is the fact that she seems to be on my mind an awful lot over the past few days.  Maybe it has something to do with the fact that two years ago at this very moment I was the happiest I had been in my entire life, I had just arrived in New York.  All the hard work had finally paid off; she was mine at long last.  It sure didn’t take me long to fuck that up, did it?

Here we are now, two years later, and everything is completely the opposite.  All that work we put in is all gone now, I’m just another on the list of assholes who have hurt her in her life.  Maybe I’m the worst, who knows?  I know I’ll never get a phone call or an email from her saying that she forgives me, let alone that she is sorry for how she did it.  I’m just a speck in the rearview mirror now, an immature child who never was quite good enough for her.  I wonder now if I am good enough for anyone, I know people tell me I am, but I don’t feel the same.  I’ve never been hurt like this before and after nearly six months I still haven’t the slightest clue as to how to “heal” as she put it.  I don’t really even know who I am anymore; she gave me definition for so long.  Maybe that should have been the clue as to how much of a loser I really am.

She was my support, my rock and my love; I guess I was just never the same for her.  It makes me feel less than human.  It makes me feel like giving up.  It makes me feel like a failure that wasted both our time.  I don’t see a purpose in my life anymore, and I have not for a long time now.  I don’t see the point anymore.  It’s like that first Saturday night we ever shared was a microcosm of our entire time together.  Wonderful at first, I fuck up, she walks away and I try to chase her.  Except this time she doesn’t take me back in, this time she never thinks of me again.  Just a speck in the rearview mirror, someone who couldn’t handle it, who blamed New York for all his problems…weak, insecure and dishonest.  Never worth her time anyway, or anyone else’s for that matter.

How’s that for self-pity?

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